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Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 03

By: Paris Waterman



At university the following morning I studied my fellow third year students looking for one who was truly my peer. I say this not because I'm a snob, although I may well be one. But because of the age difference and my military service, both of which have caused me to be more mature physically and mentally then they. Not only did I not find one among them that I thought might make a worthwhile contribution to my sexual dilemma; but I reached a decision in the process of examining them and their habits that would cause me to leave Oxford within a fortnight.

For I had concluded thusly: A man goes to university for two obvious reasons. First, one hopes to gain sufficient knowledge so as to be competent enough to make a decent fortune in the course of their lifetime. Second, one hopes to obtain through both university and the company it provides to become a gentleman of manners as well as means.

With the sudden inheritance from Mr. Dorian Gray I had my fortune. With my family gone, I had the good fortune to be nurtured along with my brother Harry, by the local Squire, a gentleman named Galvin. Squire Dennis Galvin as it turned out saw to it that Harry and I learned proper etiquette and good manners sufficient enough for us to be offered entry level rank as officers when we joined to fight in the Crimean War. That we declined the offer and entered as privates in all probability is the sole reason I'm alive today. For the officers were always the prime targets of the enemy. I saw many felled by a sniper's bullet while standing a foot or two away from them. To be sure I could have been taken out just as easily as they, but as the shooter had his choice, the officer died and I lived.

The money goaded me into taking action. By ten in the morning I had decided to leave Oxford. I spoke with the registrar and the Dean's assistant and on making clear that I had come into a substantial amount of money found that they tended to agree with me. Before I could make my departure, they were besieging me with requests for donations. I informed them that I would certainly make a donation after I had a clear understanding of what it was that I had inherited. I made a note to send them a thousand pounds the following week in order to remain in their good graces.

After leaving the university I stopped by Mr. Wainwright's office as I had determined that as a man of means I should have my own home, and not live in a boarding house as it was unbecoming in that I could well afford a home.

Mr. Wainwright agreed with me and promptly engaged the services of a man familiar with certain properties that might interest me. 

Now it should be made clear that I am now and always have been a person who is ultra punctual. I have a deep seated phobia about being late for anything. I'd like to be late for my own funeral, but not much else. I was never late for school once. I've only been late for what I'll term work on two occasions and even then I was late of my own violation in that once I stopped my carriage to enter a burning building and wound up rescuing a child's pet dog. A fireman was already inside holding the girl herself when I arrived. 

The other time was simply because I allowed myself to be seduced by my wife. We were newly wed, but I confess to yielding to her temptations and was seven minutes late for a meeting. Neither missed appointment sat well with me, but I realized that I was after all, human and susceptible to human foibles as well as the next man. Nor did I ever feel that on those occasions I had done the wrong thing. I had simply used my time to do something more important at the time.

Other people often keep me waiting, for appointments, important interviews and dinner engagements. I detest them for it and manage to devise a means of punishing them for it. Not a severe punishment, but something that satisfies my need for recompense for the wasting of my time. Now with regard to traveling, one can expect the transportation to be tardy for a variety of reasons no matter how new the conveyance may be. For example, in Manchester if a train arrives within ten minutes of the time given on the timetable it is logged as being officially on schedule. That you miss a vital connection due to this is nothing to the railway staff or its management. One learns to expect such treatment and act accordingly. I have made it a rule of principal to add time to any trip I take to insure that I at least, arrive on time for my appointment.

We all know the frustration of Doctor's waiting rooms. I have been billing them for my time for some years now. Most ignore me, but two have, after apologizing to me, reduced their fees and it was not in fear of losing me as a patient, but that they agreed with me.

The one person who will agree with me on the precious value of time --- remember, we only have so many hours on this earth --- is one who is incarcerated in prison. For it is when one is bored or trapped that time leaps into one's consciousness. And even though I know well the value of time, I am guilty of wasting it more often than not and this troubles me greatly. We can do our bit; by being on time, and recognising that time is limited. In our group meetings, which are usually limited to a few hours at best, we should be punctual; we should keep our questions short and snappy, we should let others who haven't asked a question get a chance before we leap in again. Be considerate. No one wants to hear a continual one to one dialogue between you and the speaker. Give others their time too. You might have a lot of unanswered questions, but that's life. Religious people think they can afford to waste time. They believe in a Heaven and a few hours late won't matter much in an eternity. Yet their sermons are dull. One starts dreaming of being somewhere else while the pastor drones on and on. I admit to being amused by those Christians who are saved because they daren't do anything with their time; for fear of losing their piety and God's favour; and much of what they would do is forbidden to them anyway. The ultimate irony being that life can end unexpectedly and instantly. Suddenly there is no time left. So we must pay heed to it while we can for even this planet of ours will die one day as the Sun that feeds us life begins to fade. Of course, some things take time. You can't read War & Peace in a day. Some long term projects need time, may take years of preparation, and planning. But that is making good use of time. We should enrich our lives with great memories, and set the future up with many expectations, some of which will and some of which won't come to fruition. I tend to travel with one eye in a book and one eye staring out the train window. I don't like missing anything. Though I'm punctual, I like life to move around me slowly. You see more when you have time to admire the detail and craftsmanship. I hate people who rush through an art gallery in half an hour flat. Some things deserve more time and attention. Take the time to look more closely. I want cremating after death; so I don't have a gravestone. I don't want my life represented by a simple dash between my date of birth and my date of dying. I hope my life won't be seen as just a mad dash between those two events. We don't have long. This weekend is disappearing quickly. The past is behind us. The future is shrinking before us, so let's get on with it --- let's take our time. Now that I've wasted a considerable amount of time discussing time I should inform the reader of the reason for my drifting off the subject at hand, to wit: I was looking for a property and the aforementioned agent was late. Thirty minutes late to be precise. He had not been robbed at pistol point. He had not been run down by a carriage; no, he had gotten up late, an excuse that I refused to tolerate. However he was there, as was I and I would have been guilty of wasting even more time had I dismissed him then and there as I wanted to. So we set off in search of the ideal property and my future home. After first determining that the residence of the late Mr. Dorian Gray was not available to me, we set off in the afternoon to find the right place for me. The next place was nice enough on the outside, with a very pleasant garden, but the interior was . . . hideous, at least from my perspective and I demanded we leave at once. The following home was fine with me, save for the price. It was far more than I intended to pay. Far more, for I was willing enough to stretch my budget, but this asking price was absurd. I released the gentleman showing me the available flats to keep another appointment on Saville row. I needed to acquire some clothing more suitable to my new standing in society. I walked down the Row, stopping here to purchase a Victorian frock coat; and there to acquire several pair of fine trousers. Then only two doors down I managed to select a fine walking stick and a fashionable top hat. At the next shop I ordered seven shirts cut to my exact size and I tell you all of this came at affordable prices and with exceptional customer service. I completed my wardrobe by adding a cravat, pocket watch, and a pair of dress gloves to my purchases. After finishing my shopping I actually found myself whistling while walking down Saville. I could not have been more pleased with the knowledge and service found at each shop I went into. I vowed to go back more often, to revisit the shops I'd been to and to explore those I had not been to as yet. I was beguiled by the neighborhood. It was in a choice section of London; Burlington Gardens to be exact. And on the next block, which was actually the first one on Saville Row, I saw a small for sale sign in a window on the first floor of a handsome dwelling. It was a mansion in and among the finest tailors in the entire world. 

I could smell the very history of England in the air as I looked at the property. I considered the property a mansion. Though not lavish in any sense of the word, I thought it would prove exceedingly comfortable so far as I was concerned. Venturing into the Farnsworth Tailor shop next door, I inquired as to the owner and was told that a Mr. Gainsworthy was the owner and person to see if interested in acquiring the property. The gentleman was kind enough to provide Mr. Gainsworthy's address and I was pleased to see it was only two blocks south. After a short, but brisk walk in which I perfected the twirling of my walking stick, I came to the address I was seeking. Mr. Gainsworthy not only saw me, but offered tea, which I gladly accepted; and made me a price that I thought undervalued the property in question. But remembering that I had yet to set foot inside the house, I merely nodded, finished my tea and arranged to tour the home the following day.

I will omit needless details and sum up by saying I found the interior to be as resplendent as the exterior and made Mr. Gainsworthy an offer of 5000 pounds over what he was asking. I did this for two reasons. Firstly, I wanted the house and I wanted to possess it that day. Secondly, I was positive that he, an older gentleman, did not have the correct price set on the dwelling and not wanting to feel that I had taken advantage of the gentleman, gave him what I thought the property was worth. Needless to say, he accepted my offer and I took ownership of the property the following day after our attorney's finalized the paper work.

My choice of No. 7 Saville Row proved correct for I have remained here in comfort all these years save those few times that I was given to travel to the continent and beyond at the exhortations of my beloved wife, Aouda, of whom I'll have more to say later.. 

On October 17, 1857 I moved my meager possessions into Number 7, and spent the next three months furnishing the place. Annabelle Lee and her sister Katherine Ann were devastated by the news that I was leaving their mother's boarding house. But I cheered them up by having them accompany me and this with their mother's consent, mind you --- on my many forays seeking the right pieces of furniture to decorate the place. Mrs. Mooring's feelings on the matter were simply that it was an opportunity for her daughters to explore the various shops and learn how to procure furniture and accessories without costing her a sixpence. It also gave the sisters and I an excuse to spend much more time together.

Twas a fortnight before the Mooring sisters and I reconvened as it were, but twas a most interesting afternoon, P. T. Barnum might have tried to hire us for his great circus show if what we were doing were not considered indecent in the eyes of the Queen Mother herself and probably most of the British Empire as well. 

Of course, I made sure that in my parting from the Mooring's boarding house that I left on good terms. I apologized for what I called a hasty departure and insisted that Mrs. Mooring take an additional month's rent as a good faith gesture on my part. I also invited her and her daughters to visit my new residence, and as Mrs. Mooring was a woman of some curiosity, she readily accepted my offer. They came by the following morning and I played the gracious host, having no furniture to speak of made it relatively easy as I merely procured four wine glasses and several bottles of a decent vintage. 

Mrs. Mooring was quick to inform me that she would be delighted to lend her daughters to me to help guide me through what she termed "the maze" of shops that must be frequented in order to furnish a home as grand as mine. I did not tell her that I had engaged a person for that very purpose and that they were already acquiring furniture and accessories with which to adequately provide all the basic necessities for me.

Needless to say Mrs. Mooring sent her daughters over the following morning, dressed in their finest Sunday church clothes. The girls were highly aroused on arriving at my new residence; they were giddy, pinching each other and both managed to touch my prick on more than one occasion. I did not ask them if they had made a decision on the gamahuching suggested to them earlier. But I would soon learn they had taken to gamahuching one another like ducks to water.

First I plied them with a drink of rum. Annabelle Lee quickly finished it off and asked for another which I gladly provided. Katherine Ann was content to sip hers and as I recall, did not have another that day, but her sister had two more. 

The girls were giddy with anticipation and so I suggested we play a game. "Let us play a new game."

"Is it the gamahuching you'll be asking of us? Annabelle Lee asked as she gulped down her second rum.

"No, darling, no gamahuching . . ." I paused, "Is that all right with you?"

"Yes," they replied together, obviously relieved.

"Let's get undressed then so we can start off," said I.

We undressed, taking our time and hanging our clothing carefully on hangers and chairs so that on returning home the girls would be neat and not mussed up, for Mrs. Mooring would be sure to inspect them looking for signs of my having tampered with their virtue. We sat on hard wooden chairs in what would become my boudoir, but which for now contained an old, much used mattress upon which I intended to sleep provided it proved lice free. Lice or no, I could still fuck upon it and didn't bother to inform the girls of the possibility of lice being in the straw.

It was very evident that Katherine Ann was eager to have a fuck, for as soon as she viewed my erection which had sprung up and pointed at my belly-button, her nipples hardened into rock-like pebbles. Annabelle Lee must have felt hers swelling too, as she covered them up with her hands. I motioned for her to uncover them and saw that her nipples were indeed stiff, rust colored stems, nearly half an inch in length. I began to salivate just thinking of how they would taste in my mouth. These thoughts caused my prick to jerk and both girls giggled hysterically.

"Are you both comfortable?' I asked.

They nodded, each in turn.

"Very well then," I said, "This is how we shall play the first part of our game. If at any time you feel you don't want to proceed, please feel free to tell me and we'll call a halt and talk about it. Is that to your approval?"

Once again, both girls, apparently having lost their voices, nodded their agreement.

"Please close your eyes."

This they did, with Katherine Ann's fluttering open twice before remaining closed.

"Good, now please open your legs a bit, I mean just wiggle your rumps a little. I want to look upon your delightful cunts; for it has been a long time and I miss seeing that most delightful part of your lovely anatomies."

They did as requested. "That's it Katherine Ann, perfect. Ah, yes, you've got it too Annabelle Lee. Very good ladies," I said and noted they seemed pleased to have followed my instructions. 'If they continued to be this pliable,' I thought, 'then a good time will be had by all and very shortly too.'

"All right, then. The both of you are highly aroused. You've been thinking about having a good fuck for days on end and can't stand it a second longer, can you?"

Both sisters assured me they were looking forward to a splendid fuck.

"Now, Annabelle Lee, move your hands into that place between your parted thighs that is frantically calling for your attention. I can see that your cunt is crying out, pleading with you to touch it and stroke it as only you know how. Seek out the wetness there. I can smell the perfume of your own sweet aroma for it is already wafting up to me." 

She was already ahead of me as I spoke. "Separate those trembling lips and slowly insert a finger." Annabelle Lee already had her middle finger at her entrance.

"Send it inside . . . yes, that's the girl," I said and marveled at the control I seemed to have over her. 

I tried Katherine Ann next. "Katherine Ann," I said softly, "feel your lovely breasts."

Her hands immediately went to her chest and cupped them.

"Can you suck the nipples?" I asked, doubting that she could as they were not that great in size. But the younger sister surprised me with her dexterity. For although her breasts were not of a size normally allowing a woman to perform this act, Katherine Ann was quite able to do so without difficulty, for her neck was long and graceful and her tongue also proved agile and dexterous. She licked the right breast first and then lifting her left arm up to a height I could not believe possible, did the same to the left nipple, only this time she clamped her teeth around it and pulling her head back, stretched it out at least half an inch before releasing it and allowing it to snap back into its original shape.

I was stunned by her action, but managed to maintain my self control and spoke to her. "Very well done, my dear, I am impressed by your abilities. I wonder what other talent you possess." 

"Thank you sir," said she and repeated the trick once again.

Turning my attention to Annabelle Lee, I said, "Does the finger feel anything like my stiff prick?"

"Mmmm, yes, Mr. Fogg, "It feels . . ." she paused and I looked on as her hips moved slightly on the hard, wooden chair. Small, circular movements, as if she were moving to the rhythm of her fingers slow plunging in and out.

Annabelle Lee resumed speaking. ". . . much the same as your delicious cock does. I would love a taste of it right now," she said wistfully.

"Annabelle Lee, can you see what your sister is doing?" Katherine Ann was sucking on her left nipple.

"Yes."

"Can you do the same?"

"I have tried. We played a game of can you do this, 'I can,' I think it's called, and Katherine Ann can do it easily, but I fear I cannot, I'm sorry. Do you think the less of me for it?"

"No, not at all, we all have certain abilities, and we all have our shortcomings."

I continued, "I see that your hand is slick with the warm, wet juices that your finger has pumped from your hot, sweet cunt."


Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 03



"Mmmm yes," She murmured, frigging the finger more rapidly as she spoke.

"Why not bring the thumb and forefinger of your hand up until you reach your burning little clitoris?"

"Like so, Mr. Fogg?" Annabelle Lee's finger was deftly rubbing over her fully exposed clitoris. Her breathing had become decidedly labored as her hips continued their small circular movements upon the chair.

I turned back to her sister, saying, "I will provide you more instructions in just a minute Katherine Ann. But for now why not squeeze those delightful nipples until it becomes too painful to continue?"

She was grimacing with pain before I turned away to address her sister.

"Annabelle Lee, you can't wait a second longer, your little love button must be so hard by this time that it actually hurts, doesn't it?"

"It does, it does," she whined. Please sir, give me some cock?"

Ignoring her bequest, I turned back to Katherine Ann. "Do they hurt badly now?"

Tears fell from her eyes, rolling slowly down her rosy cheeks. "Oh, yes sir, they are quite sore, may I stop?"

"Of course you may, my sweet. Please rub them so that the nasty pain is relieved and fades away." Katherine Ann gave me a wane smile and did as I had suggested.

"Annabelle Lee, please take that small button between your slick thumb and forefinger and squeeze it . . . hard!"

Annabelle Lee squealed suddenly, as if some stranger had, at that very instant latched onto the trembling bud of her clitoris and squeezed it. I gasped in surprise when I saw a small gush of pussy juice emerge spontaneously from in between the parted lips of Annabelle Lee's sex. In reality, of course, Annabelle Lee had only rubbed her clitoris, not seized it at all.

"Frig yourself Annabelle Lee." I suggested quietly. She did so, sending the finger of one hand burrowing into her slit while the thumb of the other hand strummed repeatedly over her exposed clitoris.

I glanced over at Katherine Ann and found her emulating her sister. She was masturbating exactly the same way as her older sister.

A moment later, Annabelle Lee was going absolutely wild. Her arse was writhing round and round over the juice slicked seat of the wooden chair. Both sisters were gasping frantically as they approached their respective orgasms. Then for the first time I realized they were staring at each other! So a great deal of their stimulus stemmed from feeding off the other's arousal. I was fascinated by this activity and began to masturbate myself.

Then Katherine Ann cried out, plaintively, as if she were experiencing some kind of intense pain --- pumping her hips into her hand so hard that she was in danger of falling from the chair.

Annabelle Lee emitted a long moan and I noted that she was pummeling her cunt with her fist. She had two fingers deep inside her cunt and had stirred her juices to the point that they had turned to frothy foam. However, she was maintaining her balance on the chair and appeared in no danger of falling.

Suddenly Katherine Ann tottered on the chair and half-fell, half-sat on the floor, softly murmuring, "I'm going to . . . I'm going to . . ."

"JESUS!" Annabelle Lee whimpered incredulously, breaking the ascending rhythm that both had been enjoying only a second before. "I CANNOT BELIEVE . . .!

Both sisters came at precisely the same time! 

Annabelle Lee still frantically frigging her fingers between her legs was spewing a translucent fluid every which way as her fingers impeded its desired course, sending it onto her thighs and down to her arse as well as her feet and of course, the floor." 

Katherine Ann seemed confused with the strength of the orgasm ravaging her young body. Her body twisting and writhing on the floor as she struggled to hold back the incredible orgasm that was crashing over her like a tidal wave.

Annabelle Lee's breath was slow in coming and when it did it was with harsh, shocking gasps as she brought her furious frigging to a halt. Katherine Ann's confusion seemed more pronounced than it had been only seconds ago.

I caught Annabelle Lee's eye and shrugged.

She nodded dumbly in reply and carefully got off the chair and went to her sister and dropped to her knees before Katherine Ann's widely parted thighs. I could see the pink gash of her wet, pulsating sex open inches from her sister's face. 

"I love you!" Annabelle Lee sobbed and plunged her face between the parted thighs of a thoroughly confused Katherine Ann.

There was no resistance offered and Annabelle Lee quickly sent her tongue to lick the hard nub of Katherine Ann's tortured, trembling clit. 

Katherine Ann exploded! One second her hands were moving as if to cover her eyes as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Then she gurgled breathlessly for a moment -- then shrieked, as Annabelle Lee plied her tongue over and around her sisters clitoris summoning up yet another crashing orgasm that completely overwhelmed the younger sister, Annabelle Lee had to grab her bottom cheeks with both hands to keep Katherine Ann from leaping to very ceiling, as orgasmic explosion after explosion erupted in the young girl's belly, blinding her with the glare of the finest orgasm of Katherine Ann's young life. She could not see. She could not hear. She could not think. All she could do was roll with waves of unendurable pleasure that were coursing again and again throughout her uncontrollably bucking young body until she swooned, knocking her head on the floor as she passed out.

Well," said I to Annabelle Lee, "you've done it. You've gamahuched Katherine Ann. How was it?" Annabelle Lee's emerald eyes were open now, but apparently unseeing as they darted wildly, a vacant, beseeching look in them. This was I assumed, the price she was paying for taking her pleasure from her sister.

"What?" She asked dumbly as her black curls whipped about her delicate shoulders while her head tossed mindlessly from side to side. She remained at her sister's side waiting for her to revive. 

Katherine Ann came too a short time later. She sat slumped on the floor and the first thing she saw as her consciousness returned was Annabelle Lee. But I was ready too, and handed her a glass of water, which she greedily consumed, thanking me on finishing it.

"I thought you both did extremely well."

Katherine Ann blinked, confusedly, at me, looking for some type verification that what she had dreamt was a dream and had not actually happened.

"Especially you, Katherine Ann," said I.

She blushed as she recalled that final image before she had swooned. The image of her sister, Annabelle Lee, plunging her face into her juice filled pussy. Even now, Katherine Ann could swear she felt a tongue nudging against her still vibrating clitoris, drawing out thrill after thrill from her cunt.

She wiped her hand across her face as if to erase the image. Then with the same puzzled expression still locked on her face, she spoke for the first time since announcing that her orgasm was upon her.

"I . . . umm, what did I . . .?"

"You had a sensational climax," I offered. "It seemed you couldn't stop coming. Then you swooned from the almighty force of it all. It being more than a young girl such as you could stand." I told the truth, but left a few things out. I thought to let the sisters sort things out at their leisure.

"Yes, I did, didn't I? But what . . . was I dreaming or . . ." she looked at her sister.

Annabelle Lee looked down at her feet, unable to meet her sister's eyes.

Memories of herself, climaxing hotly from a seductive tune played by her sister's lascivious mouth upon her sex, swept through Katherine Ann's mind. Katherine Ann glanced toward her sister, who quickly looked away.

"Is it true then?" She asked.

It was obvious either of us could provide her the answer. I gave Annabelle Lee a stern look and shedding the first of many tears she made her reply to Katherine Ann.

"Tis true. I was so overcome with your beauty as you entered the rapture that . . . oh, Katherine Ann, you must believe me, I could not help myself. Your beauty, sister mine, a beauty that I'd never really seen before that moment, captivated me and it seemed I had no choice but to worship at your cunt."

Katherine Ann husked her sister's last few words. "You . . . had no choice but to worship at my cunt?"

Annabelle Lee, still crying, nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, tis true."

"You had not planned to do this, this thing as Mr. Fogg suggested earlier?"

"I don't know. I did not think of it. All I know is that suddenly I was unable to resist your charms and wanted nothing more than to kiss you there and help you reach the pinnacle of ardor. I promise you Katherine Ann, I will die before I ever do it again."

"I don't want you making a promise you don't intend to keep."

"But I swear on my soul I mean to keep this promise to you." The tears were streaming down Annabelle Lee's face and of her sincerity at this point there was no doubt.

Katherine Ann took a deep breath and said, "I will not hold you to that promise, Annabelle Lee. Nay, I cannot hold you to it. For I want to feel your divine mouth and soothing tongue upon my person again and again. And I shall do the same to you for as long and often as you might want me too."

Now Katherine Ann was also crying.

I reached out and brought the sisters together and they embraced and later shared a light kiss. The kiss soon heated up and before long the two girls were tonguing one another and it was Katherine Ann whose hand first went to the other's cunt to probe with an anxious finger. Annabelle Lee was quick to imitate her sister's move and in no time at all they were frigging each other to yet another series of orgasms.

As they lay there entwined and panting heavily from their exertions I held my prick in front of Katherine Ann and watched as her eyes grew huge in taking it in. I saw her blink in astonishment as Annabelle Lee reached in front of her face and took me in hand, bringing my manhood to her lips; and than opening her mouth she swallowed as much of my prick as was possible at the time.

"You greedy bitch!" cried Katherine Ann.

Taken aback, Annabelle Lee quickly removed me from her mouth and tendered my manhood to her sister. Katherine Ann happily gobbled my rod into her mouth, her tongue swirling round and round the cockhead. Then she gave me one long hard suck and handed me back to Annabelle Lee, saying with a smile, "I like this better than . . . you know."

Annabelle Lee sucked me for a moment or two, than removed me, but kept control of me as well and replied, "But you have tried this and liked it. How do you know that on trying the other you won't like it as well?"

Then she resumed sucking my prick with an energetic eagerness I had not thought possible. A split second later, Katherine Ann's right knee came up so that she was straddling her sister's left leg, then she adjusted her leg so that it was in a fixed position between her sisters thighs. Now Katherine Ann felt the slick wetness of Annabel Lee's juicy cunt and she slowly began to rub her thigh against the wet swollen lips.

Annabel Lee's tongue swirled round the head of my prick; and then she began to hum, adding an extremely pleasant sensation to those my prick and I were already enjoying.

"Oh! Oh!" Katherine Ann groaned in time with her rapidly accelerating hip-movement as the erotic actions of her thigh now rubbed directly against her sister's gaping sex, the folds having separated willingly so as to accommodate something within.

Taking me from her mouth, Annabelle Lee gave me a good squeeze and turned half way round to kiss Katherine Ann once more. As the kiss went on I heard Katherine Ann moan. I couldn't have been more pleased with the way things were progressing. The sisters obviously cared about each other and I had been the catalyst to bring it out into the open. Annabelle Lee broke the kiss by pulling Katherine Ann's hair to turn her face. Then she began kissing her way down her sister's body.

Katherine Ann looked lost for a moment and I moved nearer to her face and offered her my prick. With an appreciative smile she opened wide and took several inches into her mouth and throat. Annabelle Lee was paying homage to her sister's tiny breasts, caressing them in turn and after waiting patiently for some hidden sign from her sister, she went after the little nipples with a fervor that amazed me.

Katherine Ann was sucking on me almost as hard as her sister was on her nipples and kept up the sucking after working me part way out of her mouth so that now only the head remained inside and her tongue came into play, circling round the tip and bringing me untold pleasures one after the other. I was growing close and hadn't decided if I would come now or end her cocksucking to finish elsewhere. 

I had the decision made for me when Katherine Ann's teeth got rambunctious and scraped the tender underside of my prick. I moaned and carefully pried my meat from between her lips. She had a strange look on her face, something between an honest regret and yet a suggestion that she could care less as she was somewhere else. 

It took but one glance downward to determine what had caused both the expression and the scraping teeth. Annabelle Lee's face was directly between Katherine Ann's thighs. I could clearly hear the sound of her slurping and sucking on her sister's cunt.

Katherine Ann moaned, then twisted her body to the side, lifting her leg and thereby giving Annabelle Lee greater access to her slippery slit. I saw Annabelle Lee's mouth close over her sister's medium sized folds; she had already used her fingers to pry them apart. From Katherine Ann's reaction I knew her sister's tongue was far inside her cunt, licking and sucking passionately.

"I . . . I," Katherine Ann huffed, obviously filled with gratification at her sisters loving gamahuching. "I'm so dizzy! She huffed again and lay flat on her back. The only part of her anatomy now off the floor was her arse, for it was cupped in Annabelle Lee's hands so that she could keep her face burrowed in her sister's quim.

I could only watch as Katherine Ann, with nary a breath in her lungs, emitted a high pitched whistling shriek that I took for a climax hitting home. She was twisting, thrashing and humping her pelvis at her sister's mouth; her back arched involuntarily and thousands of deliciously tingly goose-humps erupted over the skin of her chest, stomach, arms and legs. Suddenly, and as quickly as it began, her orgasm vented itself and left leaving poor Katherine Ann a limp, nearly lifeless pile of feminine flesh.

"Come taste how sweet she is, my darling sister," Annabelle Lee gasped, beckoning me to her sister's loins. I knelt beside her and leaned in close. The pungent aroma assailed my nostrils. Not that I found it repugnant, on the contrary I thought it fruity and quickly began to lave my tongue into the juices as they oozed from out her slit. 

It was as Annabelle Lee said; sweet as syrup. My licking caused Katherine Ann to moan and plead that I desist for she cried, "I can stand no more. I shall die if this continues!"

Of course I halted and turned to Annabelle Lee. "Shall I gamahuch you, my sweet?"

"Why not a nice fuck?" said she.

"That we could, but I was thinking that perhaps I should give Katherine Ann the first fuck and while I do, perhaps she'll be inclined to gamahuch you in turn."

"You mean while your prick is in her hole she'd be gamahuching me?"

"Precisely, my dear," said I. 

"Oh, I'd never had thought of such a thing." She said and I could see she was pondering the possibilities.

I poured us some more drink and when Katherine Ann stirred offered her some as well, and she readily accepted and finished hers in two gulps, then asked for more.

After filling her glass again I inquired as to her well being.

"I feel extraordinarily good, Sir," said she. Tis a wondrous thing to have a mouth so deft as to provide such a . . . such an abundance of pleasure. It seemed that they . . . the pleasures, I mean --- came in waves, one right after the other, never ending it seemed until I fainted away. Yet still they came. That's called spending isn't it?"

"It is," said I, "spending. And you spent a great deal."

"This gamahuching . . . it's everything you said it would be and far more," Katherine Ann said still panting.

"When you felt like continuing I'd like to give you a nice fuck."

"Oh," she said, flustered. "I don't know about . . ."

"Not this moment, Katherine Ann. Wait a few minutes and then if you're up for it, we'll have at it, all right?"

"Maybe," she said, not wanting to commit to anything right then. Still, her eyes were fixed on my erection which was jerking in the air a few scant feet from her face.

"I'd let you have a suck on it," I said, "but fear that I'd spend immediately and I'd rather let it cool off a little before slipping it into your cunt. A cunt that's ready for a stiff prick right about now, I'd guess."

"You know, Mr. Fogg, I think your suggestion might be a good idea."

"Which suggestion was that, Katherine Ann?"

"A nice fuck. I think I'd really like one if you'd want to," she cast a look at her sister to make sure Annabelle Lee wasn't put out by her boldness.

"I think it's all right with Annabelle Lee, "I said.

Katherine Ann looked to her sister for guidance in the matter and Annabelle Lee readily agreed.

"So let's have at it, shall we?" Said I. "Come to the mattress and . . . let's see, why not get on hands and knees?"

"Not on me back?" Katherine Ann asked.

"I think not. Tis a different position and my prick will be touching different parts of your cunt this way."

"Really?" She said, "I thought a hole's a hole and a prick's a prick?"

"They are my dear, but different things happen when you use . . . um, different angles."

"Oh," said she, and as complacent as a lamb, got on all fours and turned to look at me as I spat on my prick to lubricate it although I doubted she needed any.

"Dear Lord above, she was tight. Not as tight perhaps as when I took her maidenhood, but still very snug, providing me with a heavenly feeling as my rod plunged in and out, until I was finally mostly in her.

"Mr. Fogg," Katherine Ann said between pants. "It is different! I can feel . . . OH MY GOD!"

I felt her shaking and quivering and knew what was about before the young thing I was poking did. Katherine Ann was thrilling to each and every thrust --- pushing her arse back into me with a force that almost dislodged my cock on a back stroke. Her hands were made into fists and clenched the pillow beneath her chin. Suddenly she was pounding the mattress with those same fists and I was relieved that they were not striking me, so forceful were they.

Unable to help myself, I sank the entire length of rigid prick into the very depths of Katherine Ann's sex. I know that I and Annabelle Lee heard the long, slow squish it made, but doubt Katherine Ann was capable of hearing anything at that moment.

As I learned later, the sight and sounds of our fucking was too much for Annabelle Lee to bear and recalling my earlier suggestion, she slithered her lower half under the kneeling Katherine Ann and presented her cunt for her sister's mouth.

Katherine Ann was confused at first. She was regaling in our fuck and probably close to spending again. I had not come and that meant our fuck would be going on for a time --- yet there directly in front of her was her sister's quim, begging to be licked and sucked as her sister had done to her only a short while before.

I discovered I was grunting louder with each successive thrust and the force of that pounding was making Katherine Ann's small breasts jiggle and bounce with a delightfully regular rhythm that I found adorable. Suddenly my rhythm faltered and I shivered, my eyes went wide, but saw nothing. Then I heard myself screaming a cry of pure, unendurable pleasure, as a mighty convulsion shook me like a tiger might shake a small animal caught in its jaws in the jungles of India. And with my shaft buried to its root in Katherine Ann's cunt, I spent!




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 03



Once! Twice! Thrice!

It was certainly evident that Katherine Ann was feeling it too, for it appeared the breath was knocked out of her at first and then she was writhing as her own body discharged a hot spurt of her fluids that all but soaked the flimsy mattress we were fucking on. 

I withdrew my prick and made to wipe it clean on a rag, watching as Katherine Ann enjoyed the last of her climactic convulsions and fell face first into the quivering little pink mouth of her sister's cunt.

It might have been as much as a minute went by, but perhaps it was not even that long before Katherine Ann roused herself and became fully aware of her whereabouts and her sisters quim against her cheek.

With a wanton cry of, "God help us all!" Katherine Ann began her assault on Annabelle Lee's cunt. Within seconds, Annabelle Lee's legs were draped over her sister's shoulders gripping her neck, her delighted squeals soon turned to whining cries of tormented passion as her sister's wanton tongue fired sparks of stabbing pleasure through her most eager young cunt.

The only sounds in the room were the fevered grunts emitted by Katherine Ann as she licked and sucked at her sister's cunt. I looked on as Katherine Ann applied her mouth and tongue to first one side of Annabelle Lee's cunt and then the other. The older sister's body shuddered then gave a series of short jerks of the hips as Katherine Ann moved her mouth up to her bulging clitoris.

Moaning, "Oh, Oh, Oh," constantly, Annabelle Lee suddenly trembled violently, and began to spend. Katherine Ann's mouth appeared to be sealed to her sister and I wondered how she was managing to breathe enough into her lungs to continue this gamahuching. The fact was, she could not --- and wrenched her mouth from her sister's loins revealing her delectable "O" of a young mouth, covered with the sticky juice that always comes into play when sucking on the female's peach-like cunt. After drawing in a lungful of air, Katherine Ann slammed her face back upon her sister's glorious cunt and renewed her tonguing and sucking.

Katherine Ann's agile young tongue sank searchingly into the frothy, juice laden slit as far as it could reach. 

Katherine Ann would later inform me that, "It seemed I could feel the muscles along that sweet, sweet channel contracting around me as if trying to make me one with her. But the slickness of her channel made gripping my tongue impossible. All that was left at that point was a sweet back and forth action with my tongue, followed by a sucking retreat as my tongue was forced to retract only to begin the cycle anew a moment later."

"Then," Katherine Ann continued, "I encountered a most unusual thing. It seemed that a series of flutterings began in Annabelle Lee's loins. Perhaps it started somewhere behind her clitoris, but I'm not sure. Suddenly there were small ripples of sensation everywhere, rolling up and down the length of her body. And then sensations of a full, unconstrained spending hit her with a force that caused her to begin weeping as if her whole world were ending. But it had to be the same joy that I experienced earlier."

What I, myself witnessed supports Katherine Ann's words. For there was little doubt that her gamahuching caused Annabelle Lee to go into a sequence of what can only be described as wild convulsions that shook her from head to toe.

It is also noteworthy to report that Katherine Ann continued her gamahuching throughout the entire time, as she endeavored to make her sister's release last as long as possible. In fact, they continued on until Katherine Ann's tongue tired with over use. Katherine Ann, groaned, exhausted with the effort and finally pulled her mouth from her sister's vulva; her pretty young face virtually covered with the forcefully expelled juices of her dear sister, Annabelle Lee.

In the final analysis, the timing was perfect, for Annabelle Lee would later relate that her lithe body had been exhausted with the copious amount of spending she had gone through; that had not her sister ended the gamahuching then and there, she would have been compelled to push her away, for the gamahuching, while so wonderful throughout had finally become almost painful in it's intensity.

Both girls lay crumpled on the mattress, gasping and panting in wonderment and bewilderment, for surly neither had ever experienced this much pleasure before. It was evident to me from the loving looks they gave one another that they would be sharing the gamahuching favors over and over again at home.

That was all for that day as I gave the girls an hour or more to recover their senses, make the necessary repairs to their attire and invent a plausible story with which to provide to their mother, Mrs. Mooring about our shopping.

They did not return the following day, but on the next they showed up at my door, full of vim and vigor. It wasn't two minutes after their arrival that we were all naked and cavorting upon the new bed which had arrived the afternoon before.

I shan't cover all the details, but will summarize a bit. The games began with the two sister's gamahuching each other. I learned that they had "practiced" at home. They lay head to toe and simply devours the other's cunt until both spent several times, or so it seemed. 

It appeared both had become adept at thrilling the other, as orgasm after orgasm lowed through each girl. In fact, I had to pry them apart and coax them into jointly sucking my prick. Admittedly, it did not take much coaxing.

Before spending myself, I arranged for Katherine Ann to squat over my face and lower her cunt to my mouth, from which point I set to gamahuching her to a great spend. Meanwhile, as instructed earlier, Annabelle Lee straddled my loins and like her sister, lowered herself until she was impaled on my prick, which she rode to a climax. Not having spent myself, I pushed them both off of me and tendered my prick to Katherine Ann's delectable mouth. I spent quite quickly with her loving mouth giving succor to my manhood.

Then I took both to a festive lunch where we ate drank and made merry only to return to my abode and essentially repeat what we had earlier.

The one salient point worth mentioning here is as the girls were embroiled in their gamahuching one another, I stood by waiting for some sign that Annabelle Lee (who happened to be the sister on top) was getting ready to spend. When that moment arrived, I wriggled my index finger (thoroughly wet in their juices) into Annabelle Lee's tight little puckered arse.

She let out a long shriek of mixed surprise and delight. Her body went in several directions at once. Katherine Ann wailed in dismay, for her sister's mouth no longer covered her mons. But it was no fault of Annabelle Lee to be sure, for she was spending violently and my finger could feel the pulsing of her heart as her arse clenched my finger so tightly I think I could not have plucked it out if my life were at stake.

What followed was this: Annabelle Lee continued to spend, convulsing wildly, screaming out gibberish, or at least words that neither Katherine Ann nor myself had ever heard before. Once assured that she was not in mortal peril, but merely spending abundantly, I provided Katherine Ann with her please by gamahuching her to several climaxes. 

I was still randy after that and after checking on Annabelle Lee who now lay sleeping peacefully, I had Katherine Ann lean over my new sofa and we christened it with a fine fuck. I had one foot on the top of the sofa as I slammed into Katherine Ann from the rear. Thusly, I managed to provide her with a series of long, deep thrusts that had her spending well before I came myself.

Once again I sent the girl's home happy and well fucked. What I did not know at the time is that it was to be our last rendezvous. Tis said by wise Scotsman Robert Burns than I that the best of plans of mice and men oft time go awry or something like that. 

So it was with Katherine Ann and Annabelle Lee Mooring. For in the three days between our next arranged rendezvous, and the girls wanting to try another prick on for size, made themselves available to a chimney sweep. Of course Mrs. Mooring came home to find the three of them rutting on the kitchen table and was so beset by what she saw that she forbade the girls to leave the house and warned each and every boarder that she would have the police on them if they tarried for even a moment with either daughter. In order to cover myself, (Annabelle Lee escaped her mother's sight long enough to send me a letter explaining what had happened.) I gave the messenger five pounds and swore him to secrecy. Then I burned the letter and made myself a promise that I would never seek either sister again.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 04



October 1857

Several months passed quickly and I had all but forgotten the Mooring sisters. Still I had not had any but the slightest intimacies with a female of any age since that last afternoon of carnal wantonness. I concerned myself with getting my home in order, going to Sotheby's on a weekly basis and picking up excellent pieces, both of art and furniture and appliances. Finally, with the house fully furnished and both a housekeeper and servant hired, I decided it was time to look into business matters and met with my solicitor and financial advisor, Mr. Prescott T. Wainwright. After careful consideration we agreed it would be best to divest the jewelry left to me by the late Dorian Gray and invest the proceeds with 33% going to Lloyds of London; 33% to the Royal Bank of England and use the remaining 33% to dabble in various investments in the shipping industry. The last being a much higher risk to my money than the former two, but with the risk there was also the reward and that promised to triple my investments if successful. Actually, over the next few years I break even in the shipping industry but managed to protect the remainder of my assets in the banking and insurance companies. However, I will have more to say on this later on.

At any rate, Wainwright and I decided to celebrate and went off to hail a Hackney cab. We were two neophytes in this regard, as I , while now an official resident of London, was not really acquainted with this great city, having spent most of my time after being discharged from the military in and around Oxford University, about an hour's train ride to London. Now you would do well to recall that about this time the hackney cabs were being replaced, albeit gradually, as a means of moving about this great city. 

I recall reading an article in the Chronicle of a traffic count conducted in two sites, Cheapside and London Bridge that showed a thousand vehicles an hour passing through these areas during the day. The only reason I mention this is that this amount of horse drawn traffic produced an incredible amount of manure which had to be removed from the streets. Thus there were intermittent delays on our supposedly short journey as crews shoveled the manure off the street and we waited impatiently for them to be done. 

It was one such delay that Mr. Wainwright spied a policeman and hailed him over to our cab. It seemed this was Wainwright's brother, an officer named Quigley, just coming off duty and going off on the town as it was Friday night. Not wanting to be rude, I invited him to join us and he proved to be a good companion and guide for the duration of the evening.

"Are you not familiar with London, Mr. Fogg?" He asked, having summed me up in his mind as an outsider. 

"I am not, I'm afraid, Officer Quigley.

"Well then, please permit me to inform you of a few things as we ride along."

"I would be predisposed to hear anything you have to say about this city, Office Quigley."

"Good, good," he said, rubbing his large hands together as though warming up to tell a long story.

"We're now passing what was once called Smithfield's Live Cattle Market. They moved out of the city to slaughterhouses in Islington two years ago. At its peak there might be six hundred newly slaughtered oxen hanging up, and seven hundred sheep."

"That is a considerable amount of meat, Officer Quigley," I said imagining in my mind how it must have looked.

"Aye," he said, "But the unforgettable memory . . . and I cannot get this out of my head, I'm reminded of it each time I pass by."

"And what might that be, Sir?" I inquired.

"The children . . . I have none myself, though God knows we keep trying, But the children of this neighborhood inured to sights of brutality from their birth, trotting along the alleys, mingled with troops of horribly busy pigs, up to their ankles in blood. Horrible sight, yes, but it did them some good I suppose, in that it made the young rascals a very hardy breed. 

"Up to their ankles, you say?" I asked, my mind reeling at the thought of running through ankle deep blood, 'Mud, yes, but blood?'

"That very same blood, Mr. Fogg, oh, I've seen it with my own eyes many times doing my duty. It flowed into the imperfect sewers of this woefully overgrown city; and with all the other rot going down there as well rising up at night as poisonous gas."

I interrupted him to say," Surely you jest, man. I mean poisonous gases? Here in London?"

"I do not jest, Mr. Fogg. There's little talk about it in Parliament or other governmental offices, but I've had to trot out here many a night and comfort the survivors, if any, of a family . . . usually the children who most readily absorb the noxious waste and die, choking in their vomit."

"Good God, man!" I said incredulous that such incidents were occurring in this city without my having heard a peep of it.

"That's not the end of it Mr. Fogg. For the filthy waste, once in our sewers, wends its way into the Thames and mixes with the very water that you and I drink." 

It was as if a bell were clanging in my head. For I had been disturbed about the outbreak of cholera as well as the Great Stink of 1858 -- a stink so blatantly foul coming out of the Thames that Parliament itself was compelled to recess.

"Has either of you gentlemen seen this evening's Times?" Officer Quigley asked.

We had not. He went on without waiting for a response from either of us. 

"Interesting article on the third page. The third page, mind you," he said with obvious distain. "A Doctor John Snow appears to have proven that all the victims in a Soho area cholera outbreak were drawing their water . . . Thames water, mind you . . . from the same Broad Street pump."

"Egad!" The word burst from Prescott T. Wainwright's lips, the first word or words he'd spoken since introducing his brother to me. "So there must be a direct link between the two!" He said, seemingly shocked.

"Has Parliament responded to this story as yet?" I inquired.

"I think not," Quigley answered quickly. Then followed with, "But I expect they shall." Quigley cleared his throat and spat out of the cab into the muddy street. "Probably appoint someone to study the matter further and when the evidence becomes irrefutable; they'll pass a law that will either clean the Thames or stop us from drinking it."

"Do you suppose they might build a canal and supply London with clean, fresh water from a more pristine part of England?" Wainwright asked, pondering aloud.

"And where might that place be?" Quigley asked with a sarcastic grin. "People throw their fecal matter and all sorts of waste in the rivers and streams all over the Empire. Perhaps there is an isolated town somewhere, but I hardly think they'd allow their water to be sent to London. Not without a merry fight."

I had to agree with him, and after a moment, Wainwright admitted as much himself. We were silent for the next few minutes and then I saw we were fast approaching several large, well lighted buildings off in the distance.

"Now," said Officer Quigley, "I would advise you to make the Casino your choice in the Holborn, afore you back home, sir; and then you may say you've seen the best of the bad places of London. The Casino is open till one o'clock to-night, I think, and we'll just be in time for the best dance."

Our cab dashed up Coventry Street, through Cranbourne Street, into Long Acre, and up Drury Lane, past the old theatre of that name, and in a few minutes we descended in the wide, open space of the Holborn, before the entrance of the Casino, the fashionable dance-house of London. 

The street was lined with cabs, and policemen were thick in the vicinity of the entrance, ordering the men and women just coming out to pass on, and keep the street clear, a duty which gained for them a great deal of abuse from the intoxicated women, who did not want to pass on by any means. 

We three entered the Casino through a gaudy, gilded vestibule and down a descent of four or five steps to a spacious marble floor, which was covered with dancers. The whole interior was gilded, gold leaf and white predominating above all other colors. 

The band, as at the other places of evil resort, was placed in the farthest end gallery, and was an excellent one. The leader wore white kids and the musicians white vests, and the crash of the instruments was almost deafening, filling the large space with a wild and not unpleasing harmony. Attendants in evening dress were on the floor, making up sets and soliciting the habitués of the place to dance with the female partners, which were easily found for them. 

A high balcony ran all round the hall, which was some 100 feet by 75 in dimension, and in the corners of the saloon, up and down stairs, were cafés and refreshment bars, which were crowded within customers. 

Officer Quigley nodded sagaciously to several other officers and constables; then announced, "The entrance to this place is only one shilling, and the class of visitors of a superior kind to those who go to any other dance-house in London."

I should mention if I have not already done so, that neither Wainwright nor I had ever been to the Casino, or any other establishment of its kind. And so we were somewhat taken aback by the gaudiness of it all.

The saloon was really a magnificent one, rich and tasteful in its decoration, and the women were well and neatly dressed, and very quiet and well-behaved in their manner. Every woman wore nice gloves, high-heeled boots, and all of them had the lace frill or ruff now prevalent in London around their necks. They also wore charms and lockets and gold watches, and every one was attended by a cavalier. The men were smoking cigars and flirting, and a number of foreigners were present and danced incessantly, just as they would at the Mabille or any Continental garden. 

In fact, I was to learn that this was the only place in London, with the exception of Cremorne Gardens, that in any way approached the mad gaiety of the Mabille, the wildest dance hall of all Paris. Still, there is a certain English decorum observed here, and any girl who would get drunk or lift her skirts too high would be expelled instantly by the master of ceremonies, assisted by the policemen who are to be found scattered all over the place. Some of the girls will go up and ask for partners to dance with them, and then, if the latter wish to give them liquor, well and good, but they will not solicit it, because these women affect the fashionable lady as much as their limited resources will allow.

Officer Quigley explained that the women were of the demi-monde persuasion; either the mistresses of men of leisure, or higher class prostitutes and some actresses. When the season is at its height a great number of men about town may be seen here, as spectators, who come from the clubs or the Houses of Parliament, bored by the ennui of the reading rooms at one place, or the prosy speeches of members of the other. 

I looked on wide-eyed as some of the men danced with cigars in their mouths, whirling around in such a wild manner as to cause collisions with the other couples. I witnessed two girls waltzing; and two men who had apparently sat too long at the dinner-table getting up together to dance a "stag dance." I was quick to learn this practice was frowned upon by the master of ceremonies, as the dancing of a pair of male bipeds was not calculated to help the business of the place, and it was instantly suppressed, amid cheers and laughter.

Some twenty minutes later, I made the acquaintance of a young lady named Dolly, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, with flaming red hair, a delicate complexion and unusually white teeth; wearing what I knew to be the colourful, gaudy dress of a prostitute. That she was a prostitute I had no doubt. All the women present were prostitutes. For the most part they were all pretty and expensively dressed, unaccompanied by the pallor of ill-health. However, Officer Quigley quietly informed us that their looks could be deceiving in that their very appearance was doubtless due to the artistic manner of the make-up by powder and cosmetics, on the employment of which extreme care is bestowed. 

*

I would soon learn that few of these women could write a decent letter, though some might be able to play a little on the piano, or to sing a simple song. 

Their behavior was usually quiet and very little solicitation was observable. It seemed the custom held that they maintain all the outward proprieties of demeanor and gesture; for should any woman misconduct herself, she would be pointed out to the door-keepers with instructions not to admit her again to the rooms. No punishment could be heavier, no sentence more rigorously carried out. 

Quigley laughed telling us how such a woman will attempt in vain by disguise to avoid recognition, or by bribes to soften the watchful janitor. Her efforts will be met with some such rebuke as this: 'It's no use trying it on, Miss Polly; the gov'nor says you are not to go in, and, of course, you can't!' Once shunned, her only chance of obtaining remission of the sentence is to induce some friend to plead with the proprietor on her behalf, who may, but does not always, readmit her after an exile of three months, and on her promising to behave herself in the strictest manner for the future.

As I chatted up Dolly, my first impression was that she was some gentlemen's mistress. But Dolly was reasonably honest and forthright, saying, "Oh, no, Mr. Fogg, oh, I may have a 'gentleman friend' or two I see on the regular, yer know, but what they gives me ain't that much. It helps 'o course, but I needs to meet nice gentlemen like yourself," and she managed to rub her hip against my thigh for emphasis, "to see me through, so's I eat proper, yer know?"

Since I had not had a good fuck with the Mooring sisters in a while, my prick was at full mast and she damn well knew of it, brushing against it from time to time and giving me this coquettish smile each and every time. Dolly spoke of many things, but always whether up front, or in the background, the subject of money was foremost the main topic.

I also knew that the gentleman, or gentlemen who paid Dolly on a regular basis, would not object if I were to occupy her of an evening. Further, the very fact of her spending this time with me meant her gentlemen were probably not in attendance that evening.

Dolly was not at all shy in requesting drinks and I had no reason to object as they were not all that expensive in the first place.

Having had several scotches myself, I tested Dolly by bluntly asking her how much she charged for her services.

She did not bat an eye, responding, "Just three sovereigns, Ducky, that's all. A bargain I am, you'll see," and promptly quaffed her 'phiz' and beckoned to the bartender for another. "There is one thing tho," she said, pursing her lips which appeared swollen as with desire, but was merely a device such women used to hold a man's attention. 

"What might that be?" I asked already grown heady with her closeness and perfume.

"I ain't leaving just yet. I want to dance some more, and drink some more, and laugh some more first."

I had to smile at her candor. "That's perfectly fine with me, but answer me this, will we be having a fine fuck later?"

Her responding laugh was shrill and loud, causing several heads to turn our way. I felt flustered and the fool for having asked the question.

But Dolly was apparently delighted with my question, and putting her mouth near my ear so that only I would hear her words, said, "I'll fuck yer brains out, Ducky. I'll lick your wee prick until it stands out like a ship's mast 'en then I'll take it in me hole and squeeze it 'til yer pop."

Thus she succeeded in heightening my ardor for her far beyond my wildest imaginings. Still I had the presence of mind to ask, "Which hole would that be, Dolly?"

Once again I had genuinely delighted her. She slapped my arm, so pleased was she with me. Again she whispered in my ear, "for you governor, any hole you want and we'll have at it twice for the same amount. I like you, Mr. Fogg. Really I do. You're a different breed you are." 

Dolly paused, and to my eyes at that moment seemed overly calculating. I would learn this was not the case, but that it was her appearance when given to thinking hard about something.

"'En maybe, if yer like me . . . we might have an arrangement of sorts, yer know, Ducksie?"

"Dolly, would it be presumptuous of me to ask you to refrain from calling me Ducky, or Ducksie? I am certainly not flattered to hear such an obnoxious name, or endearment if that is what it is -- tendered to me. Mr. Fogg, or in moments or ardor, perhaps my Christian name, Phileas would suffice. 

"Certainly, Phileas," she smiled gaily. "Phileas it is."

"Well then," said I, "shall we dance?"

And we danced, drank and made merry until closing time; which was midnight. And in all that time I saw neither hide nor hair of Officer Quigley or Mr. Wainwright. Both of whom I later learned had left with a pair of young ladies around ten o'clock.

At precisely ten minutes of twelve, the music struck up for the last gallop, and there was a rush for partners; the balconies, alcoves, luxurious seats and marble tables were suddenly deserted. I grabbed Dolly around the waist and joined in the wild hurly-burly confusion and uproar of men and women galloping and bounding and yelling to the right, and to the left. And as the last crash of the big drum beat on our ears, the passages and doorways were thronged with the dancers abandoning the Casino; every man crying for a cab to take himself and partner somewhere, perhaps they cared not where --- it was no matter; and in a matter of minutes as we waited for a cab or a carriage, the Casino's gaudy lights dimmed and we were suddenly clothed in darkness. 

As I looked about for a carriage to covey Dolly home with me, I saw others also making their leave, beginning their search for further dissipation elsewhere. There were loose persons of both sexes congregated on the street outside, and as we began our carriage ride to Saville Row, policemen busied themselves seeing the last of the women out of the premises and away from the doorway; and then began their patrols, which lasted until daybreak.

I looked from the carriage as we passed by divans and night houses on Haymarket and several adjoining streets. Dolly chatted casually even as my fevered hand massaged her cunt under the protection of her chemise, acting as if nothing untoward were occurring. Then I realized that for Dolly it was a normal occurrence and accepted as such. So I rubbed away and tried to listen to her running one-sided conversation.

"These places here," she pointed, "ain't nothin' but small, ill-aired rooms with liquor and such available and the ladies 'ave no rules against certain things like back at the Casino. Oh, there's plenty of good fucking goin' on in each of 'em, Duc . . ."  

Dolly caught herself, "I means Mr. Fogg." I said nothing, but gave her cunt a little squeeze.

"Oh, I like that," she said and giggled. "You've got a nice touch there Mr . . .do tell me yer given name again, sir?

"Phileas," I said.

"Phileas . . ." she repeated, drawing the name out longer then she should have, and I realized she was teasing me.

***

I had two fingers in her juicy cunt as the carriage arrived at Number 7 Saville Row. I truly believe that Dolly had come at least twice on the bumpy journey, for she had taken me in her mouth with a joyous propensity that had me close to spending . . . and I would have except that Dolly knew full well how close I was, and backed off sufficiently so that my erection gradually subsided a little. My prick was leaking an enormous amount of pre-spunk and Dolly matter-of-factly dabbed at it with her dainty pink tongue.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 04



We scampered up the steps to my home, and I threw open the door knowing my housekeeper would be retired and that this was my man servant's night off. He would undoubtedly be home with his wife.

I took Dolly into the den, poked at the fire although the housekeeper had left it in good repair. When it had roared back to life, I turned to Dolly and said, "Dolly, why not get comfortable and remove those clothes. We can frolic about in here a bit before retiring to my boudoir. 

"Are yer gonna show me your real poker then?" said she, demonstrating some of her coarse wit. I would discover that she was fond of all things bawdy, including her wit. But she was already pulling off her gown, and as I took my prick from out my trousers to show her my manhood, she licked her lips and smiled, then continued until she had stripped herself to her chemise. Then Dolly sat down in a chair to wait for me. I stepped out of my trousers, almost tore off my shirt and quickly removed my shoes and stockings, followed by peeling away my long underwear.

Her figure was magnificent, so beautiful in form, so smooth in skin. I stared at her until she became a little uncomfortable.

"Ah," said she reflectively, placing an arm over the top of the chair. "You don't like me; I'll just take a cab back to the Casino."

"They're closed," said I."

"No matter, someone will turn up on the way. They always do, yer know."

"What on earth makes you think I want you to leave?"

"Yer lookin' at me the way yer are," said Dolly.

"I apologize. I was merely feasting my eyes on your breasts they're so full and firm. I moved closer to her and suddenly her small pink nipples started to stiffen. 

Dolly followed my gaze and said, "So . . . you approve?"

It was then I realized Dolly had a low opinion of herself. Truly she was a gorgeous creature, red of hair, firm of bosom and as she daintily uncrossed her legs, her dense patch of flaming red pubic hair were revealed to me. I kept staring and she stood up, walked over to the fire that only served to enhance her fiery tresses --- with one leg slightly in front of the other in a model's pose, shoulders back and head up straight. I continued to stare, drinking in her beauty, amazed that I would find such a prize playing the role of a prostitute.

Dolly was becoming used to my greedy attentions, and loosened the band holding her tresses in place. She ran her fingers through her vividly red hair and shook it so that it fell down past her shoulders. Growing ever more confident, she met my eyes with her beauti¬ful green eyes. It occurred to me that we were both a tad rank from the dancing and carrying on within the Casino, and I recalled passing through several parts of the city that still reeled from the Great Stink and so I suggested that we might feel a little better if we both washed up.

She gave me a most curious look and nodded. I quickly prepared a pitcher, filled it with water and heated it over the fire. Then poured some into a basin and handed Dolly a wash cloth. As soon as Dolly finished, I picked up the cloth and washed myself.

We stood there then looking at one another, she waiting patiently for me to advance upon her. Slowly I placed my arms on her shoulders and pulled her close to me. Her nipples, stiffened beyond belief, scraped against my chest. 

I heard her breathing rapidly and thought fleetingly that it had a long way to go before matching my own. Then I kissed her. In the recesses of my beleaguered mind I recalled that prostitutes did not kiss the customer and wondered about her reaction to my faux pax. Nevertheless, Dolly did not pull away, but leaned into it, returning it, her lips soft and wanton, remarkably tender.

Another surprise awaited me, for as my hands and fingers gradually explored her supple body I heard quiet murmurings of contentment issuing forth from deep inside her. Maneuvering the two of us to the over stuffed sofa, I gently lay her down on her back and knelt beside her, never taking my hands from her body, caressing her breasts and nipples; stroking her flanks; finding her arse a silken masterpiece. And all the while Dolly made the same contented sound, only it began to grow in its intensity.

After a time she shifted and bade me lay down, which I hastily did; then she straddled me and leaning forward, slowly drew her nipples across my chest until I thought I'd spend then and there.

"I do so admire a man's hairy chest," said she. "For it allows me the pleasure of doing this!" She smiled like the Mona Lisa as she continued to move her pebbled nubs over my body, pausing each time out nipples made contact. And each time I felt an electric shock from the current she was generating with her movement.

"Do you like this?" she asked, knowing full well my answer.

"Yes," I managed to say, my voice husky and dry.

"I do too, Duc . . . I mean Phileas. I really do. It's kind of little shocks every now and then ain't it?"

"That it is, Dolly, my love . . ."

I didn't finish, for Dolly kissed me ever so softly and her tongue darted out, snake-like into my open mouth, for I was drawing in a breath that her kiss prevented from occurring and suddenly I was gasping for air. As soon as I replenished my air supply I returned the kiss, probably savagely, for a moment later Dolly pulled away, breathing hard and looking at me in a strange way.

She lithely moved off of me and kneeling beside me, took my prick in hand and began to work it back and forth. "Do yer like this?" she inquired as her pace increased.

"God, yes I like it!" I replied.

"And how 'bout this, huh?" she said, taking my balls in her free hand and after appearing to weigh them, started tickling them until I found it almost unbearable. Dolly used her right hand to stroke my prick which was about as hard as it would ever get.

Another drop appeared, glistening at the slit in my cockhead. My wanton redhead caught it on a finger and daintily licked it off, making sure that I witnessed the event. She smiled warmly at me and arching her eyebrows asked if I wanted to taste myself.

Greedily I nodded my head. 



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 05



Dolly, using her dainty left hand, gently stroked the length of my prick and on reaching it's zenith, spied a droplet of my seed appear at the tip. I pursed my lips and waited tensely to see what would transpire. I say this because women tend to react differently to the actions of a man's prick. While almost all but the most jaded are somewhat fascinated by this wondrous instrument, they each go about handling one differently.

That Dolly was no stranger to a man's pride and joy was evident from the manner in which she welded my bat at this moment. As I said, she spied a drop of moisture oozing from my cockhead and dipped her head down just a little so that her red tresses fell over my manhood. Then, turning her head slowly from side to side, she dragged her hair back and forth across my prick. This "hair bob" felt as if she were caressing my prick with a feather. It didn't take long for my prick to be buoyantly bobbing almost straight up, with much more precum oozing from its tip. 

My breathing started to catch again. Dolly then flipped her head back so the hair no longer blocked the view, and just stared at my prick for a least a full minute. The admiration in her eyes, however, seemed more than was required. Was she merely admiring it? Did she have an ulterior motive? I must admit I had not the faintest clue, but I was mesmerized by her actions, or lack of any action, waiting for whatever was to happen next. So transfixed was I that I had stopped caressing Dolly's luxurious form, a pleasure in and of itself. And so when Dolly took a quick lick or'e the head of my prick, I closed my eyes and gave myself up to her wanton, lascivious mouth. She repeated her action three or four times. 

I opened my eyes to watch, knowing it would add to the overall excitement. Her emerald green eyes seemed to be laughing at me. I was about to say something when Dolly ran her tongue the length of my prick, from my balls back up to the knobby top.

Once again I made to speak, but stopped as Dolly's mouth engulfed the entire knob of my prick, her tongue swirling around licking off the oozing precum that continued to seep out. I gasped aloud as Dolly commenced to take even more of me in and her tongue circled around the base of my knob and as I reveled in the sensations she was bringing about, I felt that strange urge issuing forth from my balls and I had to resist a strong urge to ram my shaft into the deepest recesses of Dolly's throat.

I had to do something other than remain passive as good as that felt. And so I urged my hips into action, thrusting forward in rhythm with Dolly's intake of my prick trying to wriggle ever deeper in her mouth.

Ah, but it seemed Dolly was a girl knew her business. She promptly placed her hand on my hip and held it in place and I did not fight it, but lay still once more. Dolly rewarded me quickly, increasing the pace of her bobbing, gradually accepting more of my member and causing me to groan with a lust I had not known before.

Mayhap my hips were stilled, but my hands were ever active, kneading her ample teats and yanking on her stiffened nipples, and Dolly could not suppress a loud moan of her own. 

Our eyes met, but only fleetingly, and I beheld a licentious mirth therein. Suddenly her eyes closed and Dolly's head began to move more rapidly up and down my shaft. I could not believe the amount of my length she was absorbing without choking, for she was taking in most of my manhood with each downward lunge of her neck. I do recall . . . nay, I shall never forget, that each time her head rose up she swirled her tongue round my knob-head before taking in some much needed air and plunging down upon me like a circus sword swallower. 

We both felt the increasing pulse within my prick. I tightened my buttocks wanting to make this delicious moment last as long as was possible. Dolly, obviously enjoying herself as well, slowed her bobbing and contented herself with a gentle sucking of just the knob and the ridge below it.

I was reading myself to come when Dolly rid herself of my prick, spitting it from her mouth and covered my eyes with her pendulous breasts. Before I could manage a faint protest, Dolly had gripped my prick in her hand and, mounting me, inserted it in her slit.

It can be believed; I truly thought this felt even better than her mouth had. Just as warm, perhaps warmer by a few degrees, but the snugness of her sheath around my cock was paradise itself, and I near swooned so blissful it was.

But Dolly was not being playful any longer. She was grinding her pubic bone into mine, and as she rose upward changing the angle of her descent, something I was to learn drove women wild as one's prick ravaged all sides of their cunnies, adding untold delight to the fucking.

I secured a nipple and started sucking on it, while Dolly bounced and jounced upon my rigid shaft, her face shiny with sweat from her exertions. As Dolly sank downward I felt the activation of her cunt muscles clutching, grabbing, and seizing my prick causing me to jut upward and into her farthest crannies. I glanced down and noted that my entire manhood had disappeared inside her. It was as wonderful a sight as I have ever beheld. 

It seemed the room was filled with the sound of fucking. My senses were reeling --- Dolly's thighs slapping against mine; the slobbering sucks of my lips on her teat; and our mutual moans extolling our passion for one another. 

Oh, the exquisiteness of it all!

Suddenly chaos reigned. Dolly let out an inarticulate scream followed by a series of what can only be spelled out as "Ugh's." 

Eyes shut tight, Dolly's head whipped from side to side while her flaming red mane flew across her shoulders and then over her face as she pounded up and down on my pole. Then, with a grimace that revealed most of her teeth, a series of convulsion-like tremors shook her entire being.

"~OH~ ~OH~ ~OH~" She cried out as a lament, for her orgasm was now ravaging her torso. 

I too, was close to spending. I thrust my whole body upward --- beginning with my toes, arching my pelvis as I attempted to send my prick into her womb. 

I had my arms around her, trying to comfort her as well as buy a better purchase for my prick when I exploded inside her. Wave after wave roared from my balls up the tubes of my prick and pumped a tremendous amount of seed into her quim, which quickly overflowed with our mutual juices. I never heard myself, but somehow I knew that I was screaming as loudly as is possible.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it ended. All was silent as we lay entwined, not daring to move, save the occasional pant from each of us in turn. After a time I opened my eyes and took us in; our bodies reeked of the commingling of sweat and juices --- revealed to me from the flickering logs in the fire.

I began to stroke her firm bottom and Dolly purred contentedly. After a time, my manhood stirred slightly and I moved my hand between her legs. Dolly let out a course laugh and opened then wide for me and at the same time took me in hand and masturbated me to full size. My hand urged her to shift so that she drew her legs up under her, thereby presenting her cunt to my waiting fingers which promptly pried open her slit and entered her.

She moaned gratuitously.

Her hand covered mine, and then led me to her sentinel.

"Just brush over it, my love," said she. "It does make me feel as I'm in heaven above when done just right."

I did as requested and elicited another fevered moan from her lips.

"Just so . . ." Dolly purred with satisfaction. "Just so . . ."

Dolly, while enjoying my fingers' pleasuring was not about to forget me. Her hand moved faster, jerking me up and down and it felt wonderfully good.

I made to kiss her and she was upon my mouth with a vengeance --- tongue swirling round my gums and teeth; pulling back --- surging forward as though we were dueling. I moaned and she bit my lower lip. I tasted blood. Dolly's tongue licked the cut and she let loose with that lewd, coarse laugh that made me want to fuck her until she begged for mercy.

But I soon realized that it was not me that was in control, but Dolly --- for she had no sooner left my lips than her dainty lips were on my prick --- using them to simulate her cunt. This time Dolly did it differently, concentrating her efforts on that part of my prick known as the Gates of Consciousness --- that area where the uncircumcised flesh meets around the base of the head of the prick and the foreskin hangs around the prick beneath the knob. I would soon learn this was truly a most erogenous zone.

Taking me from her mouth, she looked at it from close range and then said, "You're a lovely fellow. Tasty, in fact you're almost sweet as candy, you are."

Shaking it violently, Dolly cooed to it as I marveled at her words.

"I could break your neck I could," said she. "But then I'd have lost the thing most precious to me in me whole life. Aye you've a nice cock; a sweet cock; and a hard, hard cock it is too!"

She spat on it, then using her tongue to apply a slurping suction over the corona before stopping to inhale a lungful of oxygen. Then she rasped, "My, oh my, how I love this shaft!" 

And my heart soared, filled with expectant elation.

Dolly gave it another slurping lick and purred, "I adore zis preeek!" mimicking a French whore. I had to laugh at her antics which were not all that funny, but wildly erotic.

Sucking in her breath, Dolly looked me in the eye as she squeezed my prick tightly in her dainty fist. "I really and truly crave this prick of yours," then devoured some four inches swirling her tongue over and under before wickedly popping it from between her taut lips.

"YES! Sucking it sets me on fire! Can you feel my juices? Eh? Feel how slippery and slimy I am down there in my hole of holes?"

I was getting frantic with my need to ejaculate once more and I knew intuitively that Dolly knew exactly how I felt. Of course my fingers surged in and out of her sopping wet quim, for if anything she was urging me on in that direction.

"Yes, Phileas, oh yes! I'm going to devour your manhood. Does this frighten you?"

"No," I managed to rasp hoarsely.

"Good, for I won't hurt it. I love this big worm of yours . . ." She nibbled on my knob, then sent her tongue to delve into my little slit and came out with some ejaculate, whether twas new or old I knew not.

"Ahhh," Dolly sighed lewdly. "You taste so good. Unbelievably good . . ." and stroking my shaft rapidly for ten seconds or so, Dolly brought me to near spending, then with yet another vulgar snorting laugh, slid her hand to the root of my prick and pressing firmly caused my spend to back off.

I was amazed at this trickery and wanted to applaud her effort, but did not as she was already telling me how hard she was about to suck me. "Gonna draw every ounce of spunk from these jewels . . ." she said, as she delicately handled my testicles. "Oh yes," she smiled and smacked her lips, and said, "these lovely pearls of yours. I'm gonna suck until your sac's run dry; you won't get it up for a week when I'm finished with you, I swear it Duckie!" 

This last spat out with a vehement emphasis deriding my earlier complaint she desist from using the term as an endearment. I found that I loved her for being so rude, vulgar and nasty. God knows I wanted her to be as nasty as was possible.

Then her mouth was running up and down the side of my instrument, nibbling, kissing, fluttering and licking.

"There!" She said as though gloating, "I'm playing you like a harmonica, ain't I?"

All I could manage in return was to tease her clitoris and finger her quim, but I don't think she even felt me doing so at this point and so I halted my attentions and lay back to let Dolly do the work.

She wasted little time in finishing me off. Giving me a hard lick and deftly sending a thin finger up my arse, catching me totally unawares. She turned her finger just so and I was unable to prevent myself from coming. Jet after jet of spunk discharged from my cannon and into her mouth and then her face. She filled her lungs with air and took me back into her mouth, swallowing my stuff as fast as I let it fly. I couldn't lay still, I had to reciprocate and sent my fumbling fingers in search of her swampy quim and finding it, pumped two of them in and out of her --- then she quivered a bit and a moment later she was humping my hand and spending even faster than I --- flooding my hand and fingers with her syrup.

I think twas a minute or two elapsed before either of us spoke. Dolly did so first, lifting her head and gazing at my shriveled prick with wry amusement in her eye. Carefully she cleaned me off, using her tongue, then she rested her head on my belly and looked at me, seeking approval.

"Did yer like it?" She inquired, knowing the answer.

"Twas wonderful for me. I trust you fared as well as I," said I, as gallantly as possible.

I reached down and took her under her arms and pulled her up beside me. It was pleasing that she spooned her body to mine with her head on my shoulder. Dolly kissed me softly and I could taste my spunk on her lips and tongue. Her nipples, hardened again made small indentations as they swept over my chest. The kiss was a wonderful one, lasting forever, or so it seemed. 

We rested quietly for a time then I resumed stroking her body. I took the time to examine her form quite carefully and found that it was essentially perfect. It was not that I had many women to compare her with. A couple saucy slatterns back during the Crimean, and of course the Mooring sisters, both of whom were much smaller in the bosom and thinner thighed. 

In truth, Dolly was superior in most every manner, including good looks. All the sisters had over her was their innocence, and I had taken that away from them as quickly as possible hadn't I?

Rolling onto my side, I took up teasing the brownish circles upon her breasts. I smirked seeing the goose bumps rise thereon and flicked her stiffened nipple with a thumb. Glancing at her face I noted her eyes were closed, that she wore a soft smile on her face. It was my turn to ask Dolly what she had me earlier. 

"Do you like it?"

"Scrumptious!" she replied, her eyes still closed. Moving her left hand over, she felt for my manhood which was now in a semi-flaccid state. We caressed one another, making contented sounds until my prick was again fully erect.

I sighed and sought out her warm slit and finding it sent my middle finger inside. Dolly kept her left leg close to mine, but moved the other opening herself to my questing finger, moaning with sexual excitement at its touch. 

I shifted position until I was kneeling between her legs.

With her eyes still closed she seemed to sense what I was about and inquired, "Are yer up again?"

"Yes," I said tersely.

"God, I'll be washed away on this one," said she.

I smiled down at her and leaned forward. Her eyes opened and they were smiling back at me. With a regal motion, Dolly raised her hips and wrapped her beautiful legs round my waist. Using her right hand, she gently placed me at the mouth of her opening and I eased myself inside her, once again marveling at how tight she was. My eyes were riveted on her, monitoring her every expression; her every sound. My gradual penetration seemed to disappoint her.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"I'm fine. Are yer gonna fuck me or no?"

"I'm going to fuck you, yes," I replied mimicking her sentence structure.

"Then do so!" She huffed and humped her pelvis up to meet my casual thrust. Next Dolly surprised me by clamping her thighs tightly round my hips, drawing me deeper into her.

"That's better," she panted. A moment later, still panting dolly asked quietly, "Kin I try something?"

"Certainly," I replied. A second later, Dolly's legs were moving out from around my hips and straight up into the air from whence she kicked them several time and issued forth a shrill scream.

"Tis like the dancer's in Paris!" she chortled wickedly, and then spread herself open for my viewing enjoyment.

"You're lovely," I said, thinking she would appreciate the compliment. But that was not what Dolly had in mind. Oh, no. For Dolly, careful not to kick me in the head, swung her legs one last time and then settled them down upon my shoulders for a second, then loosely linked her ankles around my neck.

"Oh, but you'll go deep this way," she laughed until she snorted like a pig, then seemed to compose herself, waiting for me to continue with her.

Churning my hips I drove into her depths, thrusting once, twice, thrice before stopping to rest a moment.

"Woof," she huffed. "That was great! It feels like you're kicked against me stomach. But don't rush. Take long slow thrusts, you'll enjoy me so much more."

I followed her instructions to the letter, and indeed found I was enjoying it more. But apparently not half as much as Dolly was enjoying my prick, as I took all but the very tip out of her juicy quim, then slammed it in as far as it would go.

"Whoosh!"

Whoosh!"

Whoosh!"

It went, as her juicy cunny fairly gurgled with pleasure as I filled it with my pole. I kept this up for a time as it was as pleasant a pastime as I could conceive of and all the while Dolly was making these involuntary sounds from deep in her throat. Suddenly, her hips shook as she had a small orgasm. I stopped to wait for it to subside, but in a choked voice, Dolly suddenly urged me on.

"Fuck me hard . . . Fuck me hard, NOW!" she wailed.

I did. Increasing the tempo, then adding even more to it; after a time it seemed like I had been fucking away for hours. The sweat was rolling from my brow and into my eyes, causing me to squint those rare moments I dared open my eyes. Both our bodies were sleek with sweat and we slithered around on one another. I thought I might become disconnected from her, but Dolly wasn't about to allow that to happen.

I focused on several articles from that morning's Chronicle to keep from releasing to soon. I counted Dolly enjoying five orgasms as I pumped her; now alternating from fast to slower tempos. I was after all, not a machine that could pump frantically for an indeterminate time. Still, I had been fucking her steadily for a good while and finally felt the first vestiges of my own release approaching.

Knowing I would soon be finishing, I gave Dolly everything I had as we raced to the finale. Dolly spent again, that was six by my count, but who knew how accurate that was. Her head was flopping like that of a rag doll. Her muscles were taut with the strain of it all, and her movements were now totally involuntary. By this point, Dolly was part of me, her center impaled on my spear, and as another climax crashed into her, she screamed with the ecstasy of it all.

Grunting like a pig, I thrust into her with a speed that I had thought impossible of myself. My prick jounced against her cervix as my release began. Dolly, on the other hand shuddered and had a massive orgasm. She came with her pelvis moving by itself, taking me with her. I felt our combined fluids flowing around my prick and gushing out of her cunt, over my legs and onto the bed. Dolly shook violently, spasmed twice and lost conscious¬ness.

We sleep soundly the rest of the night. Dolly woke first and shook me awake as if to ask permission to still remain in my home. Perhaps she thought their was a Mrs. Fogg about to stir and cast her out naked into the street. I don't know, but I kissed her and pulled her close and any such fears were vaporized.

"Good morning, Dolly," said I.

"It was very nice last night, wasn't it?" she said as if seeking an affirmation of the previous night's delights. I said nothing, but gave her breast a light caress.

"I don't remember being that well fucked, I surely don't," said Dolly. "You were a marvel there, especially at the end. Though I can't recollect exactly when that was for some reason," she finished shyly.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 05



I made my decision then and there and must say I have never regretted it; not once. 

"Dolly," I said gravely, and had her undivided attention.

"I want you for my mistress. Mine and mine alone. I don't mean to keep you a prisoner here, not by any means. I merely want you to be my mistress, and not share you with another gentleman. I don't mind if you go off of an evening and get fucked by someone so long as you come back here to me afterward, and of course not become a favorite of such gentlemen as you've bedded with." I paused trying to recall exactly what I'd said, but could not. "Am I speaking clearly? Did you understand my words?"

"I did, sir very much so."

"May I have your answer?"

"Right this second, sir?"

"It would please me greatly to hear your answer this very moment, yes."

"Then me answer is, yes. Yes I would be pleased to be your mistress for as long as you'll have me, sir."

"Fine," said I. "There is one thing," said I leaving it hanging in the air between us.

"What might that be, Sir?"

"You are not to call me Ducks, or Duckie."

"Right you are gov'nor. I'm gonna call yer Phileas."



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 06



And so it came to be that Dolly moved into Number 7 Saville Row with me. Neither the housekeeper, nor the manservant raised an eyebrow over it for which I was exceedingly grateful.

Now I had done some introspective thinking around this time and concluded that I was not a very outgoing personage. I had few, if any friends. I had but few acquaintances; and worse I was perfectly comfortable with the situation. With Dolly as my daily and evening companion, my sex life was more than enjoyable. For she was a sexual acrobat, capable of performing the most salacious acts upon either of us; for example, one evening out of boredom she had me watch as she twisted her torso so that she was able to perform cunnilingus on herself. I had witnessed women lick and suck their breasts before, but this . . . this was a spectacular sight. Admittedly, I allowed myself to be goaded into trying to take my prick into my mouth, but could not manage to do so. Dolly informed me that it was possible, but one was required to be extremely flexible to accomplish the deed. 

Aside from our daily sexual excursions, I made a decision to teach Dolly a few things about the world of business. We began with my teaching her to make change for imaginary purchases, with my handing her a five pound note for an item said to cost 2 sovereigns. At first she was often quite wrong in making change and I realized she was guessing at the figure. But she caught on fast. From there, I taught her how to order product from large merchants and even manufacturers. The idea behind this instruction was so that some day in the future Dolly, with my backing, would open a business of her own. I had no idea what business it would be, but had under consideration dress shops, millinery shops, or other businesses that catered to women. This of course was not a unique concept on my part. Many men, on parting with their mistress, set them up in a business that allowed the woman to live well and prosper as she grew older. The mistresses were thusly able to find decent husbands and hold a respectable place in London's society.

I too, underwent a type of change during this same period, as I received a letter one day, from the father of a former classmate at Oxford full of jabber and balderdash, but for one item. There was a hidden question contained within the letter, or so I thought, that was a gentle query as to the possibility of my willingness to become a member of the House of Lords. I was flattered, of course but soon concluded it was my new found wealth that prompted the query. For I was no one of import; nor did I know anyone of import. What did I know of making law, or of ruling an Empire? However, I made it my business to visit Parliament and garner the vital functions of that institution the following day. 

It is very difficult to gain access to the building during the session of the House, as no one is admitted without a written order from a peer. I had taken precautions and obtained the name of the Earl of Jersey upon a bit of foolscap, and therefore walked boldly through scores of policemen and guardsmen into the presence of this body of hereditary law-makers. For it was guarded as if from an infuriated mob. I was pleased to find that the British building of the House of Lords has one of the finest interiors in Europe. I remember the impression it made upon me the first time I took my seat in its Gallery. I fancied myself gazing at a scene from the Arabian Nights. One thing I found most interesting was that in contrasting the House of Lords with the Senate of the United States was that in the Senate a man must be possessed of some sort of talent or he cannot secure an election to that place, while in England the peers are born to their position as law-makers. Of course they are as likely to be men of moderate abilities as common people, and generally speaking rather more so.

What interested me the most was the really talented men of the House of Lords - with very few exceptions - are plebeian; men who have been bribed over from the ranks of the people in the House of Commons by the offer of titles. Here lies a great secret in regard to English Reform. The nobility know exceedingly well when and how to bribe. Harry Brougham becomes Lord Brougham when his talents have become a terror to the aristocracy, and from that moment he is an aristocrat. Men of talent cannot withstand the temptations of office and titles, except in a few instances, among which Richard Cobden is an illustrious instance. Known as the great Corn-Law opposer, the triumph that he achieved over the Corn Law was a heavy blow against the aristocracy, and they felt it to be such. He is one of the noblest of men, and is very democratic in his opinions and sympathies. No other man in England is so popular with the masses. There is little doubt he would have been given a title for the asking, if there had been any hope of winning him to the side of the aristocracy. But that would not be happening. So it should come as no surprise that there are few really great men in the House of Lords; that single fact convinced me that I wanted no part of Parliament whatsoever, even if it meant passing on a title of importance in the United Kingdom.

My visit to Parliament had an unexpected reward. I returned home late, and found Dolly agitated and perplexed. After questioning her for some thirty minutes I learned that Dolly had feared I was out consorting with other prostitutes and felt that I would be bringing them home and casting her out into the street.

I am ashamed to admit that I did not diminish her fears, but maintained a close lip as to my whereabouts that evening. This produced surprising results from my charming mistress.

"Ave you ever put it up a woman's arse?" Dolly simpered as she tickled my ear.

"Is that a pleasant variation?" I asked her.

"Indeed it is gov'nor, indeed it is. But not every woman can do it, yer know. It takes a bit o' talent, oh yeah. A girl's got to know how to let that big eel of yours slid into her or else she suffers greatly. Yes indeed, she'll suffer greatly."

Feeling sufficiently flattered for one day, I readily succumbed to her wishes and said, "Let's wash off a bit first shall we?" I've been among some vermin this night and I don't want to pass their smells off onto you."

Dolly's eyes sparkled with relief and happiness at that comment and she raced off to procure a basin with warm water from the kettle over the fire. Soon thereafter, I took the lovely redheaded vixen in my arms and kissed her passionately. She smelled of soft soap and lavender as her tongue entered my mouth and her dainty hand went to my crotch and encouraged my prick to rise up like a cobra from a basket on a Calcutta street corner. 

I held her close so as to enhance the plush feel of her body and the rounded softness of her arse against me. Her hand continued its work on my shaft and when it was fully engorged Dolly dropped to her knees and unbuttoned my pants. Withdrawing my manhood, she gave it a hearty squeeze and lied, saying, "It is so huge; I'll never get it in me mouth."

In a husky voice, filled with lust and desire, I croaked, "I'll wager you cannot take it in that tiny orifice of a mouth my sweet."

"For 'ow much?" says she.

"Ten quid?" I offer.

"Yer on, duc . . . I mean gov'nor."

That said, her mouth promptly absorbed most of my knobby cockhead whilst stroking my shaft with her hand. I distinctly heard her purr like a kitten as she slathered her tongue over my prick, coating it with her saliva. 

"I don't want to spend this way," I told her.

"I know gov'nor, yer wants to empty it in me arse and that's just ducky with me," and then she cackled with lewd laughter. I assumed it was the use of the word ducky that caused it, but I never bothered to ask her about it as I was too horny and not of a mind to put off a rousing arse fuck.

With Dolly still holding tightly to my rock hard prick, I led her so that she was facing the foot of the bed.

"Bend over, Dolly, my love."

"Take the iron framework in your hands."

As Dolly gripped the antique iron in her fists, I spread her legs further apart. I saw that we did not line up properly. That is my prick and her arse were not properly aligned, and I pushed a stool over to her and had her stand on it.

"Perfect," I said, breathing heavily. "That's it, very good." 

I reached between her legs and dug in softly, spreading her flesh until her slit was clearly visible through her red bush. As I beheld her secret glory I was reminded that the gentlemen of the day often referred to the Ace of Spades not as the playing card, but as a reference to the triangular bush covering a black haired cunt. And so I began to think of Dolly as my own Ace of Hearts.

Unable to resist doing so, I reached out and pinched those fleshy folds, making Dolly cry out.

"Terribly sorry my love," I murmured, as I pulled them open, exposing her hot interior to my naked eye.

Dolly's tits were hanging a bit, but mostly pressing against the mattress, and her arse was wide and lush. After kissing each arse cheek, I sent one, then two fingers into her cunt. I had discovered she loved a good frigging as long as my thumb paid court to her clitoris. In return, she reached behind her, found my prick, and pulled on it until I was rock hard again.

Satisfied that I was ready for her, I gripped her arse, and hefted it up a bit so that her brown puckered orifice was directly aligned with my prick.

"Make it good and wet, now mind yer, good and wet, or it'll make your cock sorely," said she. And I listened to her advice, for I was the novice here and not she. I spat in my palm and rubbed the saliva over my shaft with care, then repeated the process as it was drying as fast as I applied it.

"Now you'll be putting a finger up there to open it some," Dolly said and I did so.

"Oh fuck, that feels good. Try a little more spittle in there, gov'nor." 

I spat several times ensuring I had plenty of lubrication and returned my finger to her arsehole. This time I felt with certainty a thick, strong muscular ring, which I presumed to be the anus itself. Once past this ring, I encountered what had to be the soft sides of her rectum. I quickly found that I had to keep my finger in this far or risk losing my lodging as her muscles would contract and expel my finger. At any rate, I pushed on and listened as Dolly grunted contentedly and wriggled her arse demonstrating her acceptance of my intrusion thus far.

I curled the finger and flicked it back and forth and she began to moan in matching rhythm to the flicks.

"You've done this before 'aven't you?" Dolly groaned as I flicked her once again.

"No," I replied honestly.

"You kin add more of 'em, yer want too," said she.

I pulled my finger out, spat on another finger and wormed that in as well. Then for some reason I pulled them out with another soft pop and commenced rubbing my fingertips over her tiny winking pucker.

"Put 'em back, please!" Dolly crowed.

"Don't you fancy this?" I asked.

"Tis nice, but I'd rather the fingers in there!" she all but gasped.

I complied, sending one slimy finger up into her until I felt her anal sphincter neatly sucking it in; felt it flex hard after the first knuckle slipped in; then I wiggled it in to the hilt.

"That's good . . . very good," she gasped and wriggled her arse. "Now another, add another . . . no, put two more in there, I can take 'em, don't worry none, love."

I added them as she requested, stretching her willing arse further and further until I had all three fingers well up her throbbing arsehole. 

"Oh, gov'nor," she sighed, obviously enjoying this as much as I. "You'll get a great ass fuck from me, I can tell it already. Now, I think we're ready. Get your prick ready and put it in me." That said, Dolly reached behind her and pulled her cheeks open to provide me with an even better target as I removed my shit speckled fingers and wiped them on the sheets.

I spat in my palm once more, lubed up my rod, and placed the knob at the middle of her anus. "On three," says she. 

"One -- two - THREE!"

We pushed together, me toward her and she back to me and I popped past her tight ring. Dolly having had God knows how many pricks up her rear before, opened immediately and I sank easily into her bowels.

Ever the strumpet, Dolly went to flattery, whether this was to make me spend quickly or not, I never learned, but her words certainly made me feel ten foot tall.

"Phileas," said she, one of the rare times she used my name sincerely, "Phileas, this feels so good. You've got a great cock yer know, and it fills my ass wonderfully." 

I accepted this as true, for I could feel her ass quivering around my prick.

Trying a little flattery of my own, I said, "You're so tight, Dolly. My prick just loves your little arse."

"You mean your prick loves my big arse. Gov'nor, I've got a nice big arse for fucking, don't I?"

I made not reply but kept humping her rump.

"Gov'nor?"

"Yes love?"

"Take hold of me hips."

I did so.

"Good, now push in really hard."

I did so.

"YES!" Dolly moaned, "YES!"

Backing almost all the way out, I suddenly slammed into her deepest parts and elicited a loud moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"YES, LOVE!"

"Oh, oh I loves me arse fucked hard like that. Do again, do again, Please sir, please!"

Her hands left her rear and returned to her cunt. One hand frigged away, the other teased her clit, and she moaned continuously.

"OH SIR!"

"What is it, Dolly, my love?"

"I'm havin' such a pleasurin', it's one little heavenly time after the next I tell yer, one after the next!"

I slowed my pace, easing out and hammering in and Dolly loved it, telling me whether true or not, "Tis the best arse fuckin' I've ever 'ad!"

A moment later she shivered again. The shivering I took for her having one of her little pleasures.

Then she hissed back to me, "gov'nor, take a hold of me nipples there and give 'em a good pull 'eh?'

Her hand was pounding at her cunt as I reached around and began milking her udders while she moaned even louder.

"OH, I'M GONNA CUM!" Dolly screamed and I increased my fucking, slamming my manhood in and out as fast and as hard as I could.

I began to spend in her and that triggered a monumental spend by Dolly, who was polishing her clit and had at least three fingers friggin her twat and I felt them pushing against my prick as it surged into her a most unusual sensation, especially as I was spending inside her rectum. Dolly clenched her muscles and milked me as I was milking her pendulous teats until I collapsed on top of her back, pushing her face first into the mattress.

We lay there soaking wet from our perspiration and juices.

"Almost broke me wrist fallin' on me like that," she said. But there was joy in the lilt of her tone.

"Terribly sorry about that," said I. And I meant it.

"Still and all," said Dolly, "Twas a great fuck wasn't it?'

"That is was, Dolly my little lamb."

"Your little buggered lamb, you mean, don't cha?'

"Buggered lamb is right."

"You really know how to fuck a ladies arse, Gov'nor."

"You happen to be an excellent instructor, Dolly," matching her compliment for compliment.

"Shall we wash ourselves off, I suspect I've a few pieces of shit on my prick," I said, knowing full well that it was dappled with her feces.

"No need for that, Gov'nor," she replied and took my flaccid prick in hand and brought me to her mouth. She gave me a good cleansing suck and by the time she'd finished swallowing the shit from my prick I was getting hard again.

"Another go at it, love?" Dolly husked, obviously still highly aroused.

"Why not?' I replied. Then lay on my back as Dolly took me back in her mouth, while I searched for, found her hips and pull her over on top of me, her facing my feet and I find myself seized with a sudden compulsion to reciprocate and sent my face surging into her arse, my tongue licking her rosebud, tasting her shit and discovering that I didn't mind it at all so totally engrossed was I in plundering her arse as she had my shit-flaked prick.

"Oh! What are yer doin' back there?"

"Shut up and suck!" I growled tersely.

"Oh, yes, but I must tell you I love it what yer doin' there."

"Do you now?"

"Yes, yes. Tis called 'licking the stamp.' "

I continued this for a time, enjoying the fulfillment I was bringing to Dolly. Then wearying of this technique, I stabbed my tongue into the still gaping hole of her arse. Then I renewed my licking, although now I was licking the inner portions of her arse that my tongue could reach.

Dolly went bonkers, shaking her lush arse to beat the band.

"Are you coming?" I asked, truly hoping she was for although finding it enjoyable I was quickly tiring of this and stopped to wipe the saliva off my chin.

"Jesus, yes!" she crowed. "Every couple seconds it seems. I've not stopped since the first of your lovely licks and I . . . . Ugh, ugh . . . Ahhhh!"

Sorry, love just 'ad me self another . . . you've found me secret spot back there. I can't help but spend each and every time you're blessed tongue wipes over it." 

"Well suck me too, at least some, or I'll grow soft on you," I warned her and she immediately took me between her lips and laved her tongue over my knobby tip.

I found her hips and pulled her snugly back on top of me, extended my tongue as far as it would go into her. Dolly moaned loudly; rocked her hips, and pressing her arse against my mouth while stroking my prick two or three times, bathed my cockhead with her tongue.

I eased off on my tonguing, sending two sturdy fingers in it's place, and she accepted this, continuing her feverous milking of my member with her lovely lips.

Pulling her arse up higher, to my eyebrows actually, I went after her clitoris with a tongue that had new found energies; pulling it between my lips and tapping at it with my tongue. Dolly shivered and I knew she'd had a mini spend once again.

She kept sucking on me, and I her through two more shivering times. Then I felt it was time to fuck her arse again and put a stop to all the cocksucking and cuntlicking.

As I positioned Dolly, she continued with a slow jacking of my prick.

Then before parting with it, she spat on it and rubbed the saliva into my flesh. I spit on her arsehole, dribbling a huge gob of expectorant directly on the target and pushed some in with a finger.

Dolly was giddy with anticipation, saying, "I just know I'm gonna pass out from this next spend. It's been some evening gov'nor, some evening." Then finished talking for a time, she swung a leg over me so that she was now facing me, and hefting herself up, she set my prick in her arse. My shaft easily spread her open and I looked on with extreme interest as Dolly slowly skewered her self upon my upright pole.

Finally, with my not having moved and inch as yet, Dolly's arse cheeks rested on my legs. Leaning forward she offered her lips to me and we kissed. As our tongues touched, Dolly slowly rocked her arse on my prick. Still kissing, I reached for her teats and gave them a good squeezing. Ending the kiss, I soon placed one in my hungry mouth and chewed on her bud as she moaned happily.

"Suck my tits. Bite my nipples. Oh, fuck, yeah! Bite them off!" She hollered, making such and outcry I hoped the servants would not enter the room to see if we needed assistance.

That sweet lithe Dolly was in control of this fine fucking there was little doubt. A moment or two later she picked up the pace, jouncing up and down as I bit one nipple and pinched the other.

She shook her fine red mane and told me to bite and squeeze, "Harder!" 

I complied and she rose and fell even faster, my prick was in danger of flopping from her fine arse and did so twice as I recollect. But both times Dolly quickly reinserted it and resumed her bouncing on me.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 06



Panting and moaning she doubled her efforts and I to this day find it incredible that she could manage this feat.

"Fuck! She screamed, and I knew what was next.

I was not wrong. "Fuck!" she screeched again, and then "I'm spending!" 

"OH LORD, I'M SPENDING!"

I wanted to join with her, but as I had only spent a few minutes earlier I was incapable of coming at this juncture. Hard as a rock I was, but no where ready to join my Dolly in spending. And so as she sank wearily down upon me for the last time and readied herself to roll off to enjoy the huge orgasm ravaging her person at this joyous moment, I centered my prick on her cunt and plunged it in to the hilt.

"OHMYGOD!" Dolly howled, and went over again.

"Want a good fucking, Dolly?" I asked, as I hammered my shaft into the swampy morass of her cunt.

"Come in me! Come in Me!" she wept, humping her tired hips up to meet my fully engorged prick as it surged into her. Her tongue lolled out, she was without breath and her muscles ablaze with an ache she could hardly bare with the stretching effort of twisting this way and that for me.

"God, oh God! I've never been fucked like this in me life!" Dolly cried; then bleating like a little lamb, she whimpered, "Fuck me! Give it to me! Oh hump my cunt! Hump it!"

Now it was I responding to her urgent cries, pumping away and quickly sapping the remainder of my energies; then I was coming, releasing a torrent of ejaculate against her cervix; and as I continued my relentless fucking, found that I was forcing my sperm and her juices from her cunt with each successive thrust. When I finally collapsed upon her, we were covered with my spunk and Dolly's juices and we lay there wallowing in them and glorying in our mutual releases.

"Phileas . . ." Dolly murmured after some minutes had elapsed. I was flicking her left nipple, a nipple that was surly sore from my earlier biting and twisting and squeezing.

"Phileas . . ." she repeated, "that's so nice . . . would you might if I jabbered away at you for a time?"

"No, go right ahead and jabber," said I.

"I kin still feel yer in me arse. Oh, yeah. How nice yer stretched me back there. 'o course yer stretched me cunt too. And twas nice as well, but nothing can ever top that ass fuck, nothin' kin top that." 

She was quiet for a minute and then said, "I had me a lot of cum's from it. You'd never believe how many. I lost count myself. Teaser's they were mostly, but every now and then a big one hit. That's when I was shiverin' and the like. Oh the burning pleasure of it; the dull sweet pain is lingerin' still."

I kissed her tenderly then and she responded, but more passively than I would have thought under the circumstances. Then it occurred to me that Dolly was really knocked out from her pleasures. And I soon left her as I had to piss, and on returning found her softly snoring away, a beatific smile on her face such as I'd never seen there before.

'Perhaps,' I thought, 'I'd outdone myself.' Then I too was out to the world, but spooned Dolly to me for the rest of the night and into the early morning light.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 07



I am not about to give an opinion as to the propriety or impropriety of capital punishment. On this point good men have differed, and will differ, I dare say, for some time to come. What I wish to impress upon the reader is the horrible nature and atrocious effect of a public execution.

Dolly and I were passing by Newgate a few weeks later. Twas a Sunday and outside the formidable prison a considerable crowd was gathering. There were respectable men with their wives and children staring at its dreary stone walls. We also saw several ragged boys and girls romping and laughing in the streets. That the neighbouring public-houses were filled with a tipsy crowd was no surprise, save for the early hour, and here and there a few barriers had been erected, and workmen were engaged in putting up more. 

"I wonder what's going on." I said to Dolly. 

My young mistress caught me off guard by supplying the answer. "It appears to be a hanging, or at least the crowd seems to be expecting one," she opined.

She had to be correct, for why else would such preparations be made?

"I've never been to a hanging," I told Dolly. At which she expressed the greatest surprise. "Yer haven't? Oh, yer must see one. This one." That said, she left off holding my arm and scampered away and into a near by public house. A minute later she came skipping out, a huge grin on her angelic face.

"A hangin' it tis!" She yelped gaily. "We must attend, we must!"

And so I resolved for once to see the tragedy performed. Neither Dolly nor I knew anything of the man to be hanged, save he'd led an outlaw's life and was to die as outlaws often do.

We returned later that evening. The public-houses had been closed, decent people had gone home to bed; but already the crowd had become denser; already had the thief and the bully from all the slums and stews of the metropolis been collected together. There is generally something fine, and genial, and hearty about an English mob. On a normal night one might take a lady from one end of London to the other, and she would not have heard an objectionable word, or been inconvenienced in the least; but the mob of which I now write seemed utterly repulsive and reprobate; all its sympathies seemed perverted. It is a hard world this, I know, and it has but little mercy for the erring and the unfortunate; but that they should regard it with such evil eyes was what I was something I did not expect.

It really made one's blood run cold to hear the mob around me talk. The man to be hung had rushed into a jeweler's shop as it was being closed, beaten the shop man, who tried to defend his master's property, with a life-preserver, and then left him for dead. 

It appeared the crowd evidently admired him rather than not. "He was starvin' "one of them informed me. "The bloody Government "dodged him, and if he steals it is only what he must do, and if murder follows tis not his fault and the bloody Government is unjust in hanging him for it." 

It occurred to me that these men had been gathering for hours to watch the event and how were they to pass their time if they did not talk? And who was there to lift up his voice on behalf of law and order? For that matter who would have listened? I say this because in looking around I saw not men of honesty and virtue, for those men have long been abed. 

I wondered about the strange and mysterious interest with which death clothes everything it touches. Could it be that looking at a man so soon to have done with life we fancy we can better pry into the great secret? Do we think that seeing him struggle we shall die more manfully ourselves; or is it merely the vague interest with which we regard any one about to leave this life and the secrets of which he can never return to tell? 

My thoughts were suddenly shattered as Dolly was violently knocked into me and I caught her before she fell to the ground. A fight had broken out! And twas between two women! Some of what follows I pieced together later, but I add it now for purposes of clarity. 

That bundle of rags, with matted hair covering all the face so that you cannot clearly see a feature, is the Clare Market Pet, and she had just encountered Slashing Sal, her mortal enemy for years. Both women were very tipsy, very dirty, and very red. Shrieking and cursing, the Clare Market Pet rushed on Slashing Sal, who was by no means loath for the encounter. A ring was formed, men and boys hallooed and encouraged the women, and the battle raged furiously; though both women are far too drunk to do each other any serious harm. At length the Clare Market Pet is vanquished and order, such as it is, is restored.

"Well, that was a bit of action," a breathless Dolly opined.

"That it was I agreed, and noticed that Dolly and I had been surrounded by a group of youthful costermongers and their wives, who have come here for a lark, just as they frequent the penny gaff, or crowd the gallery in the Victoria.

"Please give me a penny," says a girl of about fourteen, and I find myself in handing the young heathen a penny after getting her to agree not to tell any of the others I'd done so. Dolly and I move on through the crowd, closer to the buildings and again, I find a female standing by my side. She is horridly dirty, she stinks of gin and her face is that of the confirmed sot --- of one who has given up home and husband for the accursed drink. She looks very piteously in my face and says, "And so they are going to hang the poor man," she exclaims; "they have no mercy on him." 

"You forget," I replied, "the poor man whom he murdered, and on whom he had no mercy." 

"No, I don't," she exclaimed with tipsy gravity; "he had no right to kill the man, and ought to be punished; but ain't we all morally bad?" 

But here the conversation ended, for maudlin and stinking with gin the woman sank down on a doorstep, overcome by either serious feelings for the man in question or a victim of the gin. 

Ah, those doorsteps --- tonight the police don't bid the habitués move on. What a rabble have collected on them. Ragged boys, who, perhaps, have nowhere else to sleep, wild-looking women unbonnetted and shoeless, with red, uncombed hair, faces very much marked with the small pox, only seen on such occasions as these, with old men for whom home has no charm, and life no luster crouching on them. And girls, though young in years, whose rouged cheeks and shabby finery tell to what wretchedness and degradation they have already come. Some of them sleeping on this fairly cold evening, happier now than they can be in their waking hours.

My eyes lifted up from the sordid wretches before me and noted the windows above all lighted up and filled with gay company. Two beautiful young women have just stepped out of the brougham, and are now gazing from a first-floor on the wild human sea beneath, will probably sit playing cards and drinking champagne whiling away the hours until the poor man is to be hung, then these same girls, all sensibility and tears, will sit with their opera glasses during the fearful agony, as if merely Grisi acted or Mario sang.

"Katie! Laura!" I heard Dolly shout. I followed her eyes and saw Dolly was yelling to garner the attention of the two girls in the window.

It was Laura I later learned who spied Dolly first. "Dolly! She shouted gleefully.

"Look, there's Dolly down there by the doorstep! Old acquaintances I was to learn. And we were soon weaving our way through and over the masses sprawled on the doorstep and up the stairs to join her former girlfriends (at least that is what I prefer to call them.) 

Katie was the mistress, for the evening at least, of a Frenchman named Charles. Laura had been invited to join them to watch the hanging. Charles was a gentleman of means much as I myself. That is he was not born to money, but came upon it early in life. He never made mention of how he acquired his wealth and neither did I.

Dolly and I joined them in several glasses of champagne, and I was pleased to see the Frenchman's hands roaming freely over both young ladies bodies as we passed the time. Dolly ignored the Frenchman's fondling of her friends and chatted away; catching up on all the gossip she'd missed while staying with me. To be sure both her friends gave me the once over too, and I appear to have passed such test as they used to measure my standard --- and Dolly's.

We watched the workmen putting up the last barriers, the Frenchman discreetly raising Laura's dress and rubbing her quim with a hand at first and then humping her clothed rear with his prick. Since no one objected, I ignored it too, and thusly avoided a possible confrontation with this Charles of Paris.

As the clock stuck three, the crowd, more eager than ever, has planted itself by the Old Bailey. The yard was thrown open, and three strong horses, such as you usually see in brewers' drays, drag what seems to be an immense clumsy black box. They stopped at the door of Newgate nearest to St Sepulcher's. 

Several women, including Katie shrieked as the black box rumbled over the stones, and I shuddered, for instinctively I knew it was the gallows. By the dim gas-light I saw workmen first fix securely a stout timber --- then another --- and then a beam across from which hangs a chain --- and now the crowd becomes denser. 

There are but the five of us, excluding the barmaid looking on from the window. Katie tells us she has seen every hanging for the last five years and boasted that she had witnessed one man hung at Newgate, and took a cab and got to Horsemonger Lane in time to see another. The Frenchman told her that such was a rare treat indeed and one of which she should be justly proud.

"I am indeed, sir," said she and leaned far over to provide him with an ample view of her generous bosom. 

Dolly took a moment to whisper in my ear that, "Hangings make a girl want to fuck like mad. I don't know the why of it, it just happens."

I took that as a hint of better things to come for later that evening, for altogether there was somewhat too much mirth in the house, though we could not have had a better place had we paid £5 for it. The women were exuberant and full of fun. It is true, as the girls say to each other, "they don't hang a man every day," but the gaiety is discordant. 

Over the way, the man awaiting the noose is just waking up from his troubled sleep. A thin wisp of smoke goes up from the dark dreary building opposite. Are they boiling him his last cup of tea? 

"Look," shouts Charles, "See, there is a light in the press-room! Ah, what are they doing there?" I make no comment, for none is required of me.

St Sepulcher's strikes six. We have been waiting for this all night and admittedly Dolly and I are half drunk with champagne. The others are worse then we, but not to the point of being in danger of passing out.

We watch silently, holding our collected breaths as the door at the foot of the scaffold opens, and very stealthily, and so as to be seen by none but such as are high up like ourselves, a man throws sawdust on the scaffold, and disappears again. A few minutes later we see him with a chain or rope. All this while the hydra-headed mob beneath us amuses itself in various ways: Singing songs, chiefly preferring those with a chorus; hooting dogs; and tossing small boys about on its top. 

As we look from the window, we see the mob below and before us. Far as the eye can reach towards Ludgate-hill oil one side, and Giltspur-street on the other, it is one mass of human heads. The very air is tainted with their odor --- and we can't help but smell it where we are. Katie, Laura and Charles are in excellent spirits; as are Dolly and myself. They inform us that they have not seen so many people at an execution for some years.

It was a long, wearisome night for us and I wondered what it must have been like for the man to be hanged, for it just now eight and the roar of the crowd is so great that we cannot catch the sound of the neighbouring chimes; but we do see signs that the end is approaching. The police have filled up the intervening space between the scaffold and the crowd. A bell tinkles dismally, horridly. We look beyond the scaffold down into the open doorway, and there they are, ascending the stairs, first the chaplain, then the criminal, a man named Marley and then Jack Ketch. 

Marley walks steadily, with pale face and eyes cast down, and places himself immediately under the rope. He trembles slightly as his legs are being fastened; his hands had already been pinioned behind. A nightcap is drawn over his face, the rope adjusted round his neck, and then Jack Ketch hastens down the ladder, while the chaplain, reads the burial service then steps back.

Strangely enough the crowd is suddenly somber and quiet.

With no warning, down goes the drop --- a woman or two shriek and there is a slight convulsive movement of the body, and what was a minute back a living man is now a dishonoured corpse. 

There he dangles in the cold north wind for an hour. We cannot get away, as the crowd is determined to see the last of it, and will not move. It stops to hoot Jack Ketch, as he comes to cut Marley down at nine o'clock. Till then, there he hangs, a tall, well-made man, with fine dark whiskers, in his very prime, heedless of the sixty thousand glaring eyes all round, with hands clasped as if supplicating that divine mercy which all born of woman need, and which may God grant us in our dying hour. Finally the crowd hastens away to its business or its pleasure; and when a short time after we pass by the very spot where that hideous throng had stood, blaspheming in the very presence of death, butchers' and carriers' carts had filled up the vacant space, and the past night seemed a ghastly dream.

Dolly asked me if her friends might join us for breakfast at our home and I readily agreed, sensing a new wave of carnal delight in the offing. My intuition had never been more accurate. 

We took two carriages back to my home. Dolly ever the wanton bitch, pulled off her bloomers and then removed my prick from its confines, freeing it and fisting it with her hand and then her mouth. When she was satisfied I was as ready as I ever would be, she straddled me and I was giddily impaled in her slushy cunt.

I had both of her tits out and was going from one to the next, biting and sucking as she humped up and down upon my throbbing shaft. We kissed, her mouth moved against mine, her tongue alive and shameless, moving, touching, attacking my mouth and then retreating as my tongue followed. Dolly began moaning as never before grinding her pelvis against mine and shimmying her arse from side to side to make sure my prick was touching all side of her quim. As she rose up and down her breathing rate increased, then she stuffed her fist in her mouth in time to muffle her orgasmic scream and thank God the driver didn't hear her, although I'm fairly certain he knew what we were about in back of him. Dolly kept humping even as her delightful climax began to fade and so brought me to my spend . . . and as I washed the walls of her quim with my spunk, Dolly came again. 

Sweating profusely, we separated and put ourselves to rights and within three minutes the carriage pulled up to Number 7 Saville Row.

A minute later the carriage with Laura, Katie and the Frenchman pulled up. I waited for them to disembark, and opened the front door. I noticed that Katie's bodice was awry, and that Laura's dress was askew and the Frenchman's trousers stained by what I had to assume was his precum or spunk.

My housekeeper was about, and I told her to prepare a large repast, not only breakfast, but a sumptuous lunch as well. In short order we sat to a hearty breakfast and I excused myself to inspect the kitchen and found the housekeeper was setting out roast fowl and joint of mutton, plum pudding and boiled beef. I told her that after she had finished that she could take the remainder of the day off.

I next located my manservant and gave him the day as well. Then wine goblet in hand, I returned to the dining room and joined the others, eating and drinking our way through the huge meal. 

I should add that drinking was ubiquitous in London in those days; everyone seemed to have a drink in their hand. This partly reflects the fact that alcohol was safer to drink than the water; then too, life was hard, and many drank to forget their troubles.

With the housekeeper and manservant gone, we began to get somewhat frolicsome, kissing the ladies and fondling them as well. Katie's breast popped out to much laughter all around, and to my surprise she decided to leave it out.

"And why not?" said she, "it's as pretty as any in the room is it not?"

When no one disagreed with Katie, I suggested she reveal both of them for us to judge which was the nicer.

"Yer really think one's prettier than the other?" she asked seriously.

"It is possible, Charles, the Frenchman, said, "For I have often found one to be plumper, or fuller, or bigger, or smaller than the other. It is not that they are not both beautiful, but it is possible that one is indeed nicer than the other."

To my great surprise, I found the other women nodding their heads in agreement to Charles's statement.

Katie promptly plucked the other teat out and we each in turn gave them a close inspection. Charles was the last to examine them. I had taken the liberty of squeezing each in turn, and pronounced then equally beautiful, which garnered me a kiss from the delighted Katie.

Dolly ran her fingers around her areoles, while Laura lightly pinched each nipple. As Charles took his turn, Katie's nipples had stiffened considerably, and I was surprised to see him reach into a pocket and extract some type of clamps, which he quickly placed on each nipple.

Katie howled with some distress. "That hurts!" 

"Damn it man," said I, "just what the blazes are you doing?" For I had never heard of such a thing, but a quick look at Dolly and I knew she had.

"Rest assured my dear fellow," the Frenchman said calmly, "pain and pleasure go hand in hand. Katie my dear, tell us, does it still hurt?"

Sniffling, Katie wiped away a tear and said, "No, that's strange tisn't it?"

"Did it hurt early on?" I inquired.

"Oh most assuredly, it pained awful," said Katie who was now gingerly touching her reddened nipples, a curious expression on her face.

"Laura," said the Frenchman, "please give each of Katie's tits a suck will you dear?"

"Sure," said Laura, and she went quickly to her friend, bent her head, and sucked each clamped teat in turn. 

I couldn't believe my ears, for Katie moaned with passion, and grabbed Laura's head, running her fingers through her hair as the girl nursed away on her.

"Dolly, would you like to try?" asked the Frenchman.

"Which?" Dolly asked, "A suck to her tits, or a taste of the clamps on me own tits?"

He smiled knowingly, and I had to adjust my prick in my trousers, for it was sticking out prominently at this point. 

"Whichever your little heart desires my dear Dolly."

"I'll take the clamps for a bit, said she, stunning me with her acceptance of this mild torture.

The Frenchman removed the clamps from Katie, and she promptly began rubbing her left nipple while Laura did the same to her right. Stepping close to Dolly he said, "Would you be kind enough to expose those twin charms of yours to me, or us for that matter?"

All eyes were on my Dolly as she lowered her bodice and revealed her milk-white globes. He took his time fastening each clamp to her nipples, and I distinctly saw Dolly biting her lip in obvious pain as the second clamp snapped into place.

"While we're about it," the Frenchman continued, shall I help you out of this gown?"

Dolly, unable to speak from the discomfort of the clamps (which the Frenchman had tightened somewhat) could but nod her acquiescence, and Charles very smoothly managed her out of her gown. Since Dolly had removed her bloomers for me in the carriage and not bothered to replace them on her person afterward, she was naked to us. The Frenchman stepped back to admire Dolly's lithesome form.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 07



"C'est formidable!" He said, a smile appearing on his face for the first time in my memory.

"Dolly," he continued, "c'est magnifique!" and turning to me, he added, "Her cunt is like a burning bush! I almost fear to put my cock in it." He burst into uncontrollable laughter. I glanced at Dolly and was stunned to see her laughing along with the Frenchman; her pain gone; her arousal clear from her flushed countenance.

"S'il vous plaît, monsieur!" and then he went on, switching to English. "See the pearl about to drop from her fiery furnace!"

I did see it, for Dolly was rubbing her thighs together, and had been doing it ever since the second clamp went on.

"Oh, the ladies," he said to me. "Viva la difference!'

I could but nod my agreement.

"Hokay, Dolly, let me relieve your titties of their irksome burden," he said reaching out and plucking them off. Laura was quick to aid Dolly in rubbing the feeling back into her bright red nubs.

"I think we should begin," said Charles, and turning to face me he asked, "Do you agree, monsieur?"

"I do indeed. I expect you have a plan of proper seduction?"

"Yes, yes I do. Ladies! Ladies!" he called out to get their attention. "Come close, in a circle, S'il vous plait. Yes, yes, just like so." 

The three women were in a circle. We two were not, but I let Charles take the lead, for I knew he wanted Dolly and would allow me to have both Laura and Katie for myself. Not a bad bargain in that Dolly would be staying long after the others had left.

"Now ladies we begin our games. Are we ready?"

Dolly spoke up. "Not quite. For I'm starkers 'en Katie's still got some clothes on, 'en Laura's still full-dressed."

"Let's remedy that shall we?" said I, stepping to the fore.

Charles assisted Katie from her remaining garments leaving but her stockings remaining, and I took, with Dolly's assistance, Laura's clothing off, save her black stockings, duplicating Charles, for it left her looking even more exotic than without them.

Charles and I then disrobed; leaving only our stockings on; for the floor, even with a roaring fire, was cold to the soles of our feet.

The Frenchman held his manhood in his left hand and shook it several times. This seemed to get the blood flowing into it as it then grew to a disproportionate size. I found myself incredulous at its length and had to ask, "How . . . how big is that thing?"

"N'est-ce pas? Sorry, Fogg old chap, I'll stick to English. How big is it you ask? Well, I should say it's in excess of eleven inches, not quite a foot long, although I do wish it were thicker rather than so lengthy."

I replied in French, ""C'est formidable, in any event! I feel inadequate being in the same room as you." Of course in my embarrassment, my manhood had melted away to nothing.

"But," the Frenchman said, we are both men here and have fucked enough women to know how to satisfy them, 'eh?"

I nodded ruefully.

Then d'accord! Let's get to fucking. 'Eh, don't worry about that. It may be on the wane now, but in a minute it will rise like Lazarus from the grave to fill each of the juicy cunt's in this room. I know, for I too shall fill each delicious cunt in the room as well!"

"Ladies," he went on, for the girls were still where he'd ordered them, "lean forward and give each other a nice kiss, 'eh?"

Laura stuck her chin out; lips puckered and met those of Katie. A moment later, Dolly's lips were puckered as well, meeting both Laura's and Katie's in turn.

"Ladies!" the Frenchman called out in exasperation. "I said kiss each other . . . the French way, 'eh!"

All three women giggled, but soon enough their tongues were going in one mouth and then the other, and I was reminded of hummingbirds, wings moving with incredible speed, yet hovering in one place as they tongued out the nectar of the flower before them. And so it was with the ladies, first Dolly's tongue flew into Laura's open mouth and a split second later, it was Laura's, flicking against Katie's. Then I saw Katie's hand cup Dolly's mons, causing Dolly to shiver; and how well I knew what that was a sign of. Dolly reached out with her right hand and brushed lightly over Laura's breasts; and Laura sent a finger into Katie's quim. Still the kissing and tonguing continued getting even better as the girls became more adapt at the game. In another minute all three were fingering each other. That is, Katie was frigging Dolly, and Dolly frigging Laura and Laura frigging Katie. But after a minute of this they changed partners, somehow reaching an accord, but never quite stopping the frantic flickering of the tongues until Charles called a halt to their game.

"C'est magnifique! But let us move on, for we men need to become involved, 'eh?"

"Oh, yes, Charles and we want you too . . . become involved," Laura said staring intently at his weapon and it was indeed a weapon.

"Dolly would you be kind enough to join me by the bed?" She ran to his side, and stood waiting, her eyes downcast but riveted on his manhood as hungrily as Laura's had been a moment ago.

"Now Laura and Katie, may I suggest you two share the divan with Mr. Fogg here?"

So it was a two for one trade. I didn't mind a bit. I was hardly tired of Dolly, but the sight of two new females jiggling flesh had restored my erection to its fullest and while no where close to the Frenchman's eleven inches I guessed my own to be at least a seven, not overly large, but not nearly as small as others I'd seen in the army.

Taking Katie in my arms, I drew her close and kissed her. Her tongue glided into my mouth and I savored its taste which was of course, commingled with that of Dolly and Laura. Then I did the same with Laura. Now Laura had such soft cushiony lips that I pulled away in alarm. But her doe-like eyes beckoned me back and this time my lips fastened on to hers and I did not what to end the kiss. Perhaps I wouldn't have had not Katie taken my member into her mouth and begun to suck me off.

Finally and with the utmost regret, I tore my lips from Laura's.

"You kiss very well," Laura sighed, and I knew she meant it, for while prostitutes can lie with the best, they are also known far and wide for their unblemished candor and honesty. Of course they'll steal your purse in a second given a chance, but not when they are known to you. At such times they can be trusted.

I left their seduction to them and Katie lay down on the divan on her back. Laura, giggling, climbed over her, facing her feet. Katie immediately placed her hands on Laura's rump and pulled her cunt down to meet her mouth and tongue. 

'So,' I thought, 'they'll be gamahuching one another while I'm to watch. Why I'll be harder than an iron piling.'

But such was hardly the case, for Laura gestured me over to stand between, well actually kneel between Katie's stretched out feet, and took my prick into her mouth, giving it several long, hard sucks and a good licking before deserting it to dive face down into Katie's quim. She did the same to Katie who promptly began to squirm and jerk her hips upward to meet Laura's fastidious tongue. Then she returned to my prick, this time taking slightly longer in her suck. I leaned forward, bracing myself by placing my right hand on her arse. And when Laura returned to gamahuching Katie, I teased her arsehole with my index finger and watched as she wriggled her arse in rhythm to my wandering finger. 

Meanwhile Katie was sucking and licking up a storm in Laura's quim. For Laura, although holding me fixed firmly between her lips, issued forth a loud moan and then gave a shiver of delight. A moment later, I was forgotten as she placed her mouth on Katie's cunt and sealed her face to it, sucking and licking furiously until she succeeded in making Katie shiver for twice the time she had. During this so called lull of mine, I glanced over at the bed and saw Dolly on her knees sucking but half of the Frenchman's appendage down her throat. That she had that much of him down there was to her credit. She was also paying proper homage to his gonads, which to me seemed appropriately proportionate to his long member.

My attentions returned to the two women beneath me. Laura was now teasing Katie's clitoris, which had emerged from its hiding place. I had heard this delicate part of a woman's gentilalia referred to as the man in the rowboat; and could attest to the fact that in some cases this was a very apt description. 

Laura took me in hand and guided me to Katie's cunt. She then proceeded to rub my cockhead over Katie's well gnawed folds while flicking her tongue across her friend little man in the boat. Katie was damn close to spending and we all knew it. 

"Now's the time, Mr. Fogg," Laura hissed and I shoved my member into Katie's quim. 

I was stunned as it surged in to the very base of my prick! I left it there for a moment, reveling in the sensation of Katie's muscles squeezing me and then very slowly I pulled all but the head of my prick from her dark haired abyss. I waited while Laura took her clitoris between her teeth and lightly nibbled, driving poor Katie wild with lust and made a mental note to try that very thing on Dolly at the first opportunity. 

They say that timing is everything. I agree, for as Laura left off her nibbling of Katie's clit, I sent my prick surging into that seemingly bottomless coral chasm and felt Katie start to clutch at me again, but suddenly she was not, for she was spending hard!

"Ugh!" she gasped and her whole body heaved upward. Laura lost her balance and began to topple off of Katie and onto the floor. I saved her from falling completely off by grabbing her arm and slowing her fall enough that she caught onto the divan and lowered herself to the floor without suffering any further discomfort. This took but a second and then having righted myself I repositioned my prick in Katie's cunt and continued my fuck. Katie was going wild as she spent several times before I pulled my member from her juicy quim and quickly forced Laura to her hands and knees next to the divan. I had at her as a dog might his bitch. Laura not to be outdone guided Katie wavering legs and all to her mouth and both frigged and gamahuched her as Katie wobbled in front of her.

I managed to last until Laura gave a good shiver then spent inside her. I plopped down on the divan and looked on with lusty interest as Katie licked my spunk from Laura's quim, bringing Laura to a joyful climax in the process.

I remember that dolly was still occupied with Charles and glanced over in their direction. 

Sure enough, Doll had her mouth full of the Frenchman's lengthy appendage, but was still laving him faithfully with her enormously talented tongue. 

Then the Frenchman's buttocks clenched and I knew he was about to spend as well.

Dolly closed her eyes as the first jet scorched the roof of her mouth.

Charles actually beat his chest like an ape at the zoo, proclaiming that his, "Warm gruel" was cascading down her throat.

Even before the Frenchman had finished with Dolly I was on my feet, pouring some Claret for everyone. I handed the first glass to Dolly for I thought she might need it the most and she gratefully accepted it, giving me a certain look, warning me off from calling the Frenchman out. I imagine she felt I might actually fight a duel with him over her and in that she was vastly mistaken, for I although I liked her, Dolly was still a whore in my eyes and always would be. 

The Frenchman surprised me with his prowess in recovering his erection. And he showed his French heritage by preening as he slowly walked around the bedroom, stroking himself for the benefit of the ladies and perhaps for my benefit as well. He was a strange fellow, this Frenchman; and I wondered more than once if he was one who enjoyed being buggered as well as buggering someone else, be it male or female. 

I sat back on the divan, sipping my wine with Laura and Katie on either side of me while the Frenchman rummaged through his coat for something or other. Dolly sat on the edge of the bed waiting patiently for him to return to her.

I can tell from her facial expression the wine and previous drink have combined to relax her. Dolly's hands are at her sides; her body is straight, very good posture and I'm surprised that I've never noticed that about her before. Of course her rust colored bush calls attention to it as might a beacon out at sea. One cannot look her way without one's eye falling upon that not quite auburn tinged thatch and wonder what it might taste like on parting that glorious hair covering it.

I let my mind rove and imagine how Dolly might feel this close to this man with the formidable penis. Would she melt from the heat of his gaze as he looks down upon her rust colored pubis?

But then Charles chose that moment to speak and we all of us listened eagerly to his every word, for there was no doubt that this man was a sexual artist and was about to entertain each and every one in the room, especially Dolly.

"Spread your legs for me, please, Dolly."

She moved her feet apart wordlessly, exposing her quim and I can see clearly how full her labia is, hanging loosely yet puffed up as if with air, yet I know full well, tis engorged with her lusty blood.

"Turn around Dolly," Charles says in a matter-of-fact tone and she readily complies, pushing her body from the bed and taking a step forward, then turning around so that her arse is presented for his viewing enjoyment.

I can tell that she is fighting the urge to turn around and look at him; at his throbbing prick; at us, watching her totally enthralled with this coming spectacle. For Linda was whispering in my ear that when Charles wanted to he could bring a woman to bear as his slave from that day on.

"Are you his slave?' I asked, very interested in her answer.

"No, but Katie is. I'm Katie's friend and she asked me along today. But I swear, if he wanted me I'd become his slave too."

"I want you to turn complexly around," Charles told Dolly, and she did, slowly, inch by inch she turned a complete 180 degrees until her arse was facing the Frenchmen once more, then she stopped and stood rock still.

"You have a lovely ass, Dolly," he uttered the words softly as a tender caress and I saw Dolly tremble.

"Thank you kind sir,' said she.

"You are more than welcome."

He allowed a minute to pass before speaking again, by this time, Katie had my manhood in her hand and was stroking me firmly, intent on getting me ready for another fuck. I tried to ignore her, concentrating my efforts on Dolly and the Frenchman.

"Lie back down on the bed," he told Dolly. When she had done so, he added, "try getting on your side, yes that's perfect. I believe everyone can see you now."

Dolly had a somewhat puzzled expression on her face and I'm sure that the girls and I did as well, but we were not looking at one another. We were all concentrating on Dolly and the Frenchman. 

"Hook this leg . . ." he touched her left calve, "over, like so . . ."

"Good, now reach behind you and stick your middle finger up your arse."

There wasn't the slightest hesitation on her part, Dolly inserted the finger and ground it in.

"The last knuckle, please." He requested of her and she did as asked. The finger was clearly lodged in her anus right up to the knuckle of her fist.

I glanced over at Laura, she had begun to frig herself, with two fingers already plunging in and out; it was obvious she planned on using more before finishing off. Let me not omit Katie who was also busying herself by increasing both her tight grip on me and the pace of her strokes. Everyone was sexually active save Charles himself who looked as if he was orchestrating us all.

Charles moved closer to Dolly. Pull it out and then push it back . . . you know fuck yourself with the finger."

With a almost inaudible moan, Dolly began moving the finger as directed by the Frenchman.

Another minute passed. Dolly's moans grew louder. Not really loud, but enough that everyone could hear her and felt some emotion, I'm sure it varied with each one of us, but it struck a chord in us in one way or another.

"I have something for you," the Frenchman said, leaning close to Dolly's ear. Her finger moved faster and she started to grunt rather than moan.

From his coat pocket, hanging on one of the bedposts, he produced a small slender box and tendered it to Dolly.

She left the finger in her anus and using the hand that had been supporting her reached out for the box. This caused her face to fall forward and down into the pillow.

I heard a muffled "thank you, Charles," from her lips which were obviously in the deepest recesses of that pillow.

"Open it Dolly," he said calmly. "You may remove the finger to do so."

The finger came out and there was no popping sound as it did. She opened the present carefully, lifted the top slowly as if wanting to maintain the suspense of his surprise.

"Stop!" Charles said and although his voice was normal, it seemed that he had shouted as loud as possible. Dolly dropped the box, horrified that she'd done something wrong.

"I beg your pardon, my sweet, sweet Dolly. I meant not to frighten you," he looked up at us, "nor any of you. I meant but to ask you to do something for me before you open the present. I am remiss in that I should have asked this of you earlier, but so enthralled was I with your magnificent arse that I simply forget. Do you forgive me, Dolly?"

"Of course I forgive you, Charles. What is it that you would ask of me? Just say the word and I shall happily do your bidding."

"it is not a great thing I ask, but only that you put a corset on for me . . . for us, that we may view you in a most erotic sense before moving on."

"A corset?"

"Yes, you do have one or two, do you not?"

"Yes, of course, may I fetch them? I'll show them to you. I have three. Whichever you prefer I shall gladly put on my person."

"Please . . ." Charles said and shooed her in the direction of her wardrobe closet. A moment later, Dolly returned with three corsets. One black, it was this one that I preferred on her. One emerald green; this one certainly complimented her gorgeous red hair; and one in a vivid red. 

I knew Dolly well enough to know that she sensed Charles wanted to see her in each of them and slyly she held the Red corset in front of her, allowing just enough pubic hair to show as a direct contrast to the corset.

"Do you prefer this one?" she asked. 

"Put it on for me." He replied.

Next to me Laura moaned quietly and drew a frown from the Frenchman. I looked at her and saw her entire hand inside her quim. I had never seen this feat performed before and was somewhat taken aback. 

And while Dolly struggled into the corset, Laura turned beet red and began to breathe in a halting manner.

The Frenchman took note and spoke to her. "Laura, you may spend now. Spend as loudly as you want and then remain quiet until I say otherwise."

It was amazing. For Laura did just that. She spent and spent and moaned and groaned, until with a final quiver she yanked her fist from her cunt with a resounding pop that released a tidal wave of her juices upon her legs and the floor. Then she collapsed lying backward on the divan.

"Katie, please be good enough to clean up after her, would you? That's a good girl."

Katie scrambled into the kitchen found a towel and did as the Frenchman had asked.

Meanwhile, Dolly had donned a pair of white stockings and then loosely laced her red corset and wriggled into it. It was molded to her body and I had to admit I'd never seen her quite this way. She was unbelievably beautiful.

The Frenchman rewarded her with a generous smile. She held it in place as he moved round her body, gathering her red hair and draping over her left shoulder. Charles set to tightening the laces, forcing Dolly to draw in her tummy and hold her breath. It is evident from her delighted expression that the discomfort of the corset is nothing compared to the praise the Frenchman is whispering into her ear. When he finished tightening the laces he guides Dolly over to the mirror and they looked into it together. 




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 07



I of course have the reverse view, but I know the frontal view is special to Dolly, for her cunt is prominent, almost jutting out wantonly as a result of the manner in which the corset has sucked in her stomach. She has at this point, virtually no waist at all. The transformation is utterly amazing. Her breasts seem larger than life, perhaps two sizes bigger than normal and normal for Dolly is ample indeed.

The Frenchman now began his conquest of Dolly's soul. Unfortunately I realized this too late to intervene, for I have accepted his offering of Laura and Katie in return for his being able to sample Dolly as he chooses. His hands moved over her, pressing over the tight stays of her tummy; down the inner sides of her legs. That he wants her and she wants him is irrefutable.

Their desire for one another permeates the room. Neither Laura or Katie is paying me any heed, their attention is riveted on the couple not ten feet from us getting ready to copulate, or otherwise on my bed.

"Dolly," he says in a voice gone husky with lust, "please bend over on the bed."

She does, presenting what I must consider the perfect arse for our consideration. The Frenchman smacked that perfect specimen, hard --- once, twice, thrice.

Dolly merely groaned quietly at the first one and held herself in check with the next two blows. The Frenchman followed this by rubbing her arse cheek with a slow circular motion before turning his hand so the edge of it now touched the surface of her flaming flesh. Then catching Dolly completely by surprise, he moved the edge of the hand down between her legs, splitting her engorged labia and bringing forth a loud guttural sigh from Dolly. 

That her cunt was wet was not in question, for rivulets of her bodies fluid flowed freely down her legs following his touching her there.

I am not sure, but suspect Dolly has tried to bring her clitoris into contact with his hand, but failed to do so, for Charles was quick to remove the hand almost as soon as it had inflamed her slit, thereby denying her the satisfaction she so eagerly sought.

"Are you finding this a pleasant pastime?" He asked, and not waiting for a reply, sent his hand, or rather two stiff fingers into her cunt.

"Ooooooh!" Dolly moaned as he rubbed away at the inside of her cuntal walls. Then just as Dolly seemed to get ready for a mini spend, he withdrew the fingers and brought them to his nose, and sniffed them admiringly. Then the Frenchman leaned in to her and pinched her labia, causing Dolly to cry out in both pain and pleasure. 

I glanced at the others and saw Laura frigging herself relentlessly, and I suspect, spending copiously while doing so. 

The Frenchman, using his thumbs, had Dolly's cunt open wide and asked "What's the biggest cock you've ever had, Dolly?"

Dolly hesitated before answering. "In my mouth, I dare say yours. In me cunt . . . it will be yours as soon as you deign to favor me with it. But as you've asked me to name the largest thus far, I'd venture to say there was a fellow who had about nine inches."

"And toys Dolly? What's the largest thing you've taken in your quim?" 

As he asked the question, his finger slid into her, frigging her slowly, teasingly, and she rushed her answer, hoping he'll do more.

"Not to big a one, sir. It may have been but five inches, but it curved and touched me spot just so. But twas not mine. I found it in this woman's drawer. I was workin' for her at the time. . ."

"Well I'm about to introduce you to a bigger one, Dolly. I make no apology, but will tell you in advance that it will stretch you. Oh, yes it will indeed stretch you. No more than my own prick will when inserted I reckon, but tis not my prick you'll be feeling at first. Speak now if you don't want to be stretched my beautiful Dolly."

I found myself leaning forward, intent on the Frenchman's every word, every action; and waited too for her answer, although in my heart I knew what it would be.

"Stretch me if you will, sir. I'm prepared to suffer great pain at your hands if necessary. For I expect untold pleasures as well. Is this not the case?'

"You are correct in your assessment of what is to come, Dolly, quite correct, now lay back down please."

The Frenchman produced a large ivory phallus, easily twelve inches in length, but not to thick except for a ridge about three inches from its base which swelled the instrument out as if a donut was placed about the shaft. Dolly lay back as ordered, her legs spread-eagled, and the soles of her feet flat on the bed. 

"Laura," he said, and she sprang to her feet. "Fetch me some butter, quickly, please."

She ran to the kitchen and found some butter on the table and brought it to him. The Frenchman promptly slathered a goodly amount of butter over the ivory phallus, favoring the head more than the shaft, but applying a generous amount there as well. Then he dropped a large dollop of the butter directly upon Dolly's cunt. "Be a good girl and rub that in for me will you, Dolly?" He asked in a kind voice.

Of course Dolly did as requested, covering her hands with the greasy butter in the process. What surprised me was that as she was doing as he asked, he moved his hands to her still tender arse and gave both cheeks a vicious squeeze that caused Dolly to cry out in pain.

Spreading her legs even wider, and causing her great discomfort Charles positioned the huge phallus at her entrance and pushed it in.

I watched as Dolly's body attempted to accept this intrusion, but she was too small, to tight and I grimaced as I somehow suffered along with her as the ivory phallus ripped into her.

But she managed to take some seven inches before encountering any difficulty whatsoever. The Frenchman paused to admire his work.

"Are you comfortable Dolly?"

"No," says she with a plaintive tone in her voice. "I'm not at all comfortable, me legs ache 'en me quim's on fire, let's get on with it. I know yer will anyway.'

"How right you are, my beauty," Charles replied, and shoved the instrument in another inch and a half.

Dolly moaned, but this time I sensed more pleasure in it than pain. That there was pain, there was little doubt, for he was stretching her cunt as he had promised. I could see that plain enough.

She moaned again, but this time I saw her make a slight adjustment, rolling her hip a tad and it seemed to ease the entry of the phallus a good deal. I expect that her own lubrication was taking hold as well and so while the phallus undoubtedly hurt, it was less that before and there was the pleasurable aspect to contend with as well.

The next I obtained from Dolly herself later that evening when the others had left.

"It seemed," she said at that time, "that the first part of 'im was well into me and the worst of the stretching was finished. Ha! A woman givin' birth must feel near the same, what with the contractions and all, but as soon as I made myself adjust to the bloody prick he was shovlin' into me, the thick, really thick lower part got into me hole."

"I remember that vividly," I told her.

"Yeah . . ." she took a deep breath and continued. "Well, it touched me lips and pushed them aside, working at the wetness' beneath. I'm gasping as it begins to really stretch me, yer know? Like havin' twins it was. Maybe triplets; I ain't lookin' forward to having babies right now I'll tell yer. Maybe next week, or next month I'll consider havin' one but by God not anytime soon, I tell yer."

"The funny thing was the angle he was usin' only sent it deeper and the pain, oh, yeah, the pain . . . well it hurt sure as hell ain't frozen, but there was a wondrous feelin' there too. About that time I wriggled me arse, and as it went in quick I sucked in me breath and couldn't breathe again for quite a while. Still, the damn thing popped into me quim. I mean the thickest part! Suddenly I'm as stuffed as a Christmas turkey at Buckingham Palace."

"Jesus, Phileas, 'hit musta been a foot inside me. I thought it was coming out me throat. I did! If I shifted the wrong way it hurt like . . . well I can't tell yer how bad it hurt. Blinding pain it was. But turn the right way and it was pure heaven. So I stayed still until I figured out which way I need to turn to get the good feelin'. I wanted to feel my belly to see just how far it was up me hole."

"Did you spend many times?" I inquired.

"Funny you should ask me that. Yes, I spent a few times with that log up me twat. But not the really good ones. They was little teasin' kinds. Nice enough I expect, but after takin' that bloody phallus in me I expected something better, yer know?"

"Tell me how it was when he put his own prick in you?"

"Now that was interestin' very interestin'." She licked her lips and seemed lost in thought. 

I ran a finger over her slit and she shuddered, but pushed my hand away. "Not now, I'm sore there and yer damn well know it. Yer should 'ave fucked the girls while they was here."

In fact I had. I had fucked both Laura and Katie twice during the evening as the Frenchman had said I would. Still I was aroused again, but knew Dolly was indeed tender of the cunt, for the moment anyway.

"I was spendin' from that damn ivory toy 'o his, pleasant enough it was, when he sets himself up in front of me."

"Yes," I tell her, "I could see that, but couldn't tell exactly what he was up to."

"He was up to me cunt, that's what he was up too and yer know it." Dolly waited a moment and calmed down. She knew I was right in that I could not see what actually transpired. Truth be told, Katie had mounted me and was fucking me like a dog in heat. I lost track of what happened to Dolly at that juncture, and was relying on her to fill in the missing details.

"The Frenchman wanted me arse and took it, he did with that monstrous long prick of 'is."

"Oh he went about it fair enough. You know I've had a few cocks back there. You for one, but this were different, really different. He used a finger first and I admit that helped considerable. In fact, it was down right pleasurable. 'O course I was spending from the thing 'e 'ad up my twat and all, but he did take care with me arse, he did."

"In fact, I was moanin' with how good it felt -- his finger up me arse and all, 'cause he was squeezin' against that ivory prick up front, yer know?"

I nodded, knowingly.

Finally he eases the finger out and begins working the 'ead of his cock in. Oh, Lord how he spit me back there too. But I will admit it wasn't as bad as I thought twoud be. 'O course once he slipped past me tightest part it was easy. Easy on both of us, for I have to admit he was working hard too."

Dolly took on a reflective expression, then added, "Course it wasn't hurtin' him none."

It wasn't long until it was rubbing me deliciously. Wonderful it was and I wanted more of him up there. Then he's got hold of me shoulders, pullin' me back, crushing me quim with that fuckin' phallus of his. It's still stretchin' me, can you believe it? But it don't hurt no more, not a whit. My arse is tight around his cock; the thin walls separating him from his toy were being tormented wonderfully. My hard little clittie was grinding away against the unevenness of the shaft pumping in and out of me. I spent, but it was only a teaser, yer know? Then I'm completely impaled on the two pricks, one real, one ivory, but it didn't seem to matter any longer, they was both doing wonderful work in me holes."

"I still don't know how the devil he managed to pump both of them in me for so long."

I did not tell Dolly then, that it was her hand shoving the ivory phallus into her quim by this point. The Frenchman was overly occupied with getting most of his prick into her arse.

"Twas a dull, sweet pain, it twas. And it's still lingerin' back there. I move this way and it's as if he's still fucking away back there."

"And your cunt?" I ask gently.

"A different story, me boy!" says she and then she laughed. "You'll not be getting any for a day or two, I'm tellin' yer now, so get ready for abstaining some."

Dolly went on with her story. "I'd reached the point where I couldn't move any longer. I was spendin' frequently by this time. Nothin' major, mind yer, but pleasant enough, especially considering how rough it had been on me poor cunt and all."

"All of a sudden, he's gaspin' in me ear that he's going to come!'

He starts slapping me poor old arse. 'En with the other 'and he's pullin' me hair. It seems he wants to look in me eyes as he violates me arse. I musta looked a pretty sight. Mind yer, I know I looked good in that bloody corset and all, but by this time me bloody tongue must have been lollin' out, with me not knowing any longer where in the hell I am. Still I want him to spend inside me arse. I get some special pleasure from that yer know. I can't wait to feel his hot, wet seed spillin' into me."

"Blimey, I'm fuckin' stuffed with both them pricks in me 'en I know he's spending in me 'cause I kin feel his hardness jerking away in me arse. Then I feel that special heat as he covers the walls of me arse. Wonderful! I spend and spend big! Oh, twas worth every second of the pain and discomfort that spend was.

"En when he pulls out of me arse, the other plops out of me twat and I'm about as empty feelin' as I ever want to be. Horrible empty it was. Until he rubbed his real prick over me lips and I took him in me mouth, not minding the flakes of shit that covered it cause they was mine anyway. If it'd been up your arse I would have objected strongly, I would. But this was different and I delighted in sucking him off. Oh, in case your worried 'bout it, I've rinsed me mouth out. Not with that piss yer call water, but with that good red claret and then some 'o that fine whiskey. Spat it all out then had a good belt of the whiskey again. Kiss me it yer want. I'm safe enough," she said with a coy smile.

I did kiss her, sending my tongue swarming into her mouth, licking her teeth and gums thoroughly enough to convince her that I wasn't afraid of kissing her after what she'd done.

"Anyway, Dolly continues, "he mouth-fucked me slowly, taking the time to press the head of his cock against the back of my throat so I gagged, but not enough so's I choked. Then he pulled out, slapped my lightly on me nose and kissed me, kind of like the way you just did. But I'll tell yer, yours was better."

"Do you recall him asking about your arse, Dolly?" I asked.

"I do. "'ow's your arse Dolly, says he. 'En I say, "Sore, really sore, 'en so's me cunt too. Everything I own is sore. But still I feel wonderful, thank you very much!"

"Did yer know I spent again when he put 'is hand on me arse and rubbed it nice like?"

"Well I did. 'En I came again when he says so soft as only I can hear, "God Almighty, you've got a great ass Dolly," 'en sent two of his fingers right back up there."

"Say, gov'nor," Dolly lisped sexily, could yer do a girl a favor and slip a couple fingers up there right now?"

I was only to happy to do that and more for her.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 08



Many months passed after that night of nights. Dolly left my bed to embark upon the dress-making business that I prepared her for; enlightening her with a certain amount of business acumen and of course, sufficient capital to allow her to run the business without financial worry for some two years. Of course if this proved insufficient, I would gladly provide additional funds, for Dolly had been a superb companion --- but like a bird whose broken wing has healed, she was ready to be set free.

I was keeping more and more to myself, seldom leaving Number 7 Saville Row to walk or ride through the streets of London, much less travel further about. My housekeeper and manservant had both become bold enough to chastise me several times about it and feeling guilty, I permitted them to do so. But still I persisted in sitting in my library reading book after book after book, exploring a wide variety of subject matter, among them, William Harvey's "De Motu Cordis," explaining the miracle of the circulation of the blood; Galileo Galilei's "Dialogo," proving that the earth orbits around the sun and not vice versa; and of course, Isaac Newton's "Mathematical Principals of Natural Philosophy," propounding the law of gravitation. Through these and others, I became quite knowledgeable about the world and how it worked. 

And so, I ventured out one Sunday afternoon to listen to a presentation to the Linnean Society that concerned a chap named Charles Darwin. I had been reading somewhat extensively on the resemblance or relationships between the several species, as for example, the lion and the tiger, and wondered why it was held that each species was created separately. Of course had I mentioned this aloud I would have been categorized as a pagan. 

Thus the presentation served two purposes: One it had whetted my appetite for further knowledge on the subject and two, it was an opportunity to get out of the house after having confined myself to it as if a prisoner under sentence.

I shall attempt to explain what transpired both before, during and after the presentation at the Linnean Society as best I can and hope that I do not bore the reader to distraction in the process. By now the name Charles Darwin should mean something to the reader and going on that assumption I shall relate what was happening in July of 1958 and its aftermath. I should add that although I tried on several occasions, much to my regret, I never did meet Mr. Darwin face to face. It appears that Darwin was galvanized into publishing his views of "natural selection" as it were, after receiving a fateful letter from one Alfred Russel Wallace on June 18, 1858 which resulted in the presentation to The Linnean Society and eventual publication in November of 1859. 

That publication, "On the Origin of Species" changed the general thinking of man about the world more than any other book --- at any rate since the time when Newton propounded the theory of gravitation. 

A bit of background might be necessary here: In the summer of 1831 Darwin was invited to join HMS Beagle as a naturalist while she was on a tour of duty surveying the southern coasts of South America. When he went on board the Beagle, Darwin fully accepted the hypothesis of the separate creation of each individual species. But the visit to the Galapagos Islands off the coast of Ecuador changed his mind and that of most of the civilized world forever. There he discovered a number of special kinds of tortoises, lizards and birds that were not found anywhere else, and yet they all resembled in a general way corresponding species found on the mainland of America, and were not in the least like species found on similar volcanic islands off the coast of Africa. How could this be if each species was independently created?

It seemed to Darwin that at some time in the remote past, chance had brought the animals to the islands, and that they changed there forms while isolated there. In fact, he convinced himself an evolution of species had occurred, though as yet he had no idea how it had come about. On his return to England he set out to demonstrate that continuous small steps of change could be found in the evolution of any organ of any animal or plant. It was a gigantic task for a single contrary example, if indisputable, would kill the entire theory. (The two paragraphs above have been compiled from material found in the Preface to "On the Origin of the Species," written by Charles G. Darwin for Heritage Press, 1963)

When, in 1858, Alfred Russel Wallace sent in his essay on the same problem, it was Joseph Hooker who arranged with Charles Lyell that their friend should not be pre-empted, and that Darwin's and Wallace's papers be presented together to the Linnean Society." (Richard Drayton, 2000, Nature's Government: Science, Imperial Britain, and the 'Improvement' of the World, (New Haven: Yale University Press) page 179.

As it happened, neither Wallace nor Darwin was present at the meeting. Wallace was still in Malaysia and Charles Darwin was in the village of Down, where Emma and Charles Darwin's child (Charles Waring) had just died from scarlet fever. These joint papers were presented on their behalf by Sir Charles Lyell and Sir Joseph Hooker and actually read by the Secretary to the assembled society. Of this 1858 presentation Sir Gavin De Beer has written the following: "On 1 July 1858 Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace made the first public statement of their theory of evolution by natural selection before the Linnean Society of London, and their papers were published on 20 August of the same year. The eighteen pages which they covered were among the most pregnant ever printed, and deserve to rank with those of Isaac Newton, since they provide for the realm of living beings the first general principle capable of universal application." (Gavin De Beer, 1958, Evolution by Natural Selection: Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace (Cambridge University Press) 

What is especially noteworthy about this presentation at which I found myself so thrilled to be attending was that it would ultimately become one of the most illuminating discoveries of our time. Yet I am compelled to point out that although we now view Darwin and his collective theories as pure genius, perhaps no more unsuccessful scientific meeting was ever held, for the President of the Society would ultimately report that "no particularly important papers had been read" that entire year! (Amabel Williams-Ellis, 1966, Darwin's Moon: A Biography of Alfred Russel Wallace (London and Glasgow: Blackie), pages 143-145.)

As is probably well-known, Darwin did not "defend" himself in public and when "Origin" became a best seller; (the first edition of 1250 copies sold out on the day of publication.) Furthermore, every edition of "Origin" published in Charles R. Darwin's lifetime is different! He re-wrote every-single-one! 

As I left the meeting certain euphoria came over me and I hailed a cab, asking that he take me to Regents Park that I might walk amongst nature while pondering the amazing information I had just heard presented.

I had been strolling along the various paths afforded by Regent's Park which contains many fine avenues of trees, is much frequented, especially of a Sunday afternoon. I had just left the famous Flower Walk and was still savoring the fine floral displays of the season when I came upon another couple several yards in front of me. On closer inspection it appeared the female was but a young girl, and the male, a well-dressed adult of perhaps forty years of age. They were hugging and the girl's excitement was quite evident. I was careful to make not a sound and watched thinking how nice it was that a father should take time to escort his daughter on a pleasant walk in the park. When to my surprise, the girl turned, closed her eyes and presented her lips for a kiss.

I stood stock still, hardly breathing and watched the scene play out before my eyes. The girl was babbling about "how mature people get out and commune with nature," which was fine with me until she suddenly began to disrobe. She took off every stitch of clothing and placed each item carefully in a small satchel she had been carrying. 

I fought to catch my breath, for her young beauty had certainly taken my breath away. This nymph was truly a Greek goddess. The male spent a minute or so protesting her sudden nudity, and paled when she sought to help him in removing his own garments. But she kept at it, and soon she was unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his shoulders. They she went after his trousers, releasing his belt, and allowing the trouser to fall to his feet.

He was looking around in fear of being caught in a most compromising position. I held my place, hopeful that the shrubbery I stood behind would hide me from his searching eyes. Evidently it did, and he went on disrobing until he was naked as a jaybird.

When I thought it safe to do so, I returned to my voyeurism, examining the girl's simply divine ass just as she gasped with admiration at the gentleman's prick, which had grown erect and bobbed about as he tried to figure how to extricate himself from this dilemma.

"I ain't never seen one like that!" She said with honest, yet lustful conviction.

I wanted to rush over to them and show her mine, for it was a bit larger than her gentleman's to be perfectly honest, but kept mum and watched with great trepidation.

"I seen me brothar's and me fathar's 'o course, but not like this one. Closest to this one would be a black stallion me fathar brought home from Ireland two, three year ago. Do yet mind if I touch 'er?"

He answered her in a voice edged with raw fear and desire. "Go on, if you like."

She reached down with both hands and did far more than touch it as she cradled it in the palms of her hands and then she kissed it, saying, "No one ever let me touch their before."

Gathering his senses somewhat, he led her into the thicker underbrush, perhaps some 50 or sixty fee away, and then she turned and reached down once more, taking his sturdy appendage into her left hand. 

They tried a kiss, twas no father-daughter kiss to be sure as it evolved into a passionate French tonguing type kiss. To me it appeared the young nymph did not understand why the gentleman's tongue had darted out to lick the young thing's lips until she opened her mouth to invite his tongue inside. 

I held back from touching myself although I knew it would not require much in the way of stimulation to bring my own prick to expend it's seed as he explained to the lass that, "This is how mothers and fathers kiss." 

"Really?" she replied, and with a delightful shriek that caused me to ejaculate in my trousers, she went after his tongue, sucking it voraciously into her own mouth. It must have been an impulse, although I cannot conceive of not doing the same myself, but he reached down and cupped her naked buttocks in the palms of his hands; rubbing his stiffened prick against her bare pussy mound and tummy button. The young girl tore her mouth from his and shimmied down his body until she came face to face with his rigid member; and taking it in both hands began to vigorously stroke him. 

Within a minute they were writhing and twisting on the ground in front of me, his face in her crotch and his member in her mouth. It would seem the girl was born to the deed, as she used a varied technique; licking wantonly at the base of his corona, that most delightful of all part of a man's glands. Wherever she acquired the knowledge to do this, I'll never know. Later he told me she confessed it was all "instinctive," but still I must doubt her words, for she was too well practiced. Something she learned at home I suspect, but never shared with the gentleman. That he was well aware of her virginity was also clear, for as they changed positions, he began to rub his manhood between her creamy inner thighs, but never penetrated her even though it was obvious the girl wanted him inside her. Then it was too late, for he spent --- sending long spurts out to bathe her tummy and the top of her hairless mons.

They lay there on the grass, sated for the moment while he massaged the sticky sperm into her stomach and inner thighs and she moaned contentedly next to him. That done, they kissed, sharing tongue; sharing spittle; sharing the very air they breathed, as lovers are wont to do the world over.

They dozed off and my legs began to ache from standing in one place for so long a time. And all that time I searched my mind for the best way to announce my presence, making them aware of my knowledge of their activities without doing irreparable harm to the girl.

I made my presence known, saying: "An interesting performance to say the least, sir, I saw it all, thank you."

"Blast you!" the gentleman cried out, and raised his cane as if to strike me down, but I easily parried the blow with my own walking stick. He quickly realized that he was at a distinct disadvantage physically and decided on diplomacy as the more favorable course of action. It was while he was trying to convince me that I had not witnessed his coupling with the young lass that I recognized him as being Sir Alexander Baring, the financier, from a sketch I'd seen in a recent copy of the Times. 

"Mr. Baring, isn't it?" I said, deliberately omitting his title. I saw him turn beet red at the slight. Obviously I held an even greater advantage over him on having this knowledge. "And you sir, are?"

"Phileas Fogg, at your service, sir."

"Do I know you?"

"I think not. I am a fairly private man, not given to the social circles of London or any other city for that matter."

"And as a private person, may I assume that you keep matters to yourself?"

"That would be a fair assumption, Sir, at least under normal circumstances."

What is it you want, Mr. Fogg?" Sir Baring said, coming straight to the point.

"I can think of nothing you might offer me that I would remain silent on such a despicable act as that which I have just witnessed. Seducing a child--- indeed --- a man of your means. Should I speak out on this matter it would mean your ruin, of that, sir, I promise you."

"She's not a child at all!" he exclaimed loudly, and then realizing where he was, he lowered his voice.

I permitted Baring to see me eyeing the girl, who stood stoically, ignoring her nudity while watching us.

"You say she's not a child? You... young lady... how old are you?"

"I dunno, sir. I ain't been told." That said, she placed her thumb in her mouth and sucked it in a childish manner.

"The girl is slow-witted. She must be nineteen or twenty by now," Sir Baring said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "She's the caretaker's daughter. Surely there must be something?" Sir Baring said, his flushed countenance gone pale. When I failed to reply, Sir Baring stared at me for a full minute. Then still glaring into my eyes, he said, "Mr. Fogg, perhaps you would be willing to join me for dinner this evening. That is if you have no other prior obligations. I should like to discuss this matter a little more thoroughly and in . . . more private quarters."

I glanced at the young girl and noted she was idly plucking flowers making a little bouquet of them. She was apparently none the worse from her experience, if indeed she had experienced anything new minutes earlier. 

Turning back to Mr. Baring, I replied, "I should be delighted, Sir Baring," I restored his title as a matter of course, "Where and when, sir?"

Baring gave me his address, asking that I be there the following evening. I accepted his card and spun on my heel and left them there; the girl still naked as the jaybird sitting and singing on a limb just above them.

***** Sir Baring and his wife, Abigail Courtney, welcomed me Sunday evening. For the occasion, I played the role of a business associate. During a most pleasant dinner a fierce storm arrived with its lightning providing more light than the many candles and gas lanterns could offer. 

Evidently something of great import to Baring had surfaced, but he kept it from me throughout the evening, instead he along with Mrs. Baring insisted that I remain as their guest rather than chance traveling home on such a stormy night. I accepted the offer, and having done so, realized it would be the first night away from Number 7 Saville Row in over a year.

Over a brandy by the fire, Sir Baring informed me the young girl with him in the park was Glenda, and she was indeed eighteen and more often than not served as a playmate for Baring's youngest daughter, Rhonda.

"How," I asked, "did you come to be on such intimate terms with her?"

He barked a laugh of smugness and replied, "Easier than one would think, my good fellow. My wife was bathing her as is our custom around six every Friday evening, when she suddenly smelled something burning in the kitchen. Of course, the caretaker was out at the market picking up the provisions Mrs. Baring had ordered earlier in the day. I was called upon to help with Glenda's bath and did so. In the process of drying her, my hand was caressing most of her hidden parts, especially her pristine cunt."

I swallowed most of my brandy, hoping he wouldn't notice my own erection. Oh, Baring had one, a large one, if I must say so; he was relishing the retelling of his sordid seduction.

I rubbed between her legs most thoroughly, and evoked a very pleasant squeal from her lips. "Did I tickle you?" I asked.

"Yes, but twas a good tickle, sir. Could yer do it again?"

Well I did it several times; the last two without the drying cloth, only my bare hand. And to make a long story short, she agreed to accompany me on a walk in the park the following day. It was to be our secret.

When we reached a thicket with a small path leading into it, I told her that this was my favorite spot, for no one could tell I was in there when I sat quietly. She was most anxious to see if it was true, and we went in and sat, or rather, she sat and I knelt. We watched several passers-by take no notice of us before I made my next move.

"Oh," I said, with some alarm.

"Wha tis it?" Glenda in her innocence inquired.

"I must pee. My bladder is full and I must go.

There is a loo just down the road at the Inn at the edge of the park."

Realizing that to venture that far meant we would not be returning to the secret place, Glenda thought quickly and said, "But Sir, might not you relieve yer self over there? No one can see, and we wouldn't be leaving our secret place?"

"I could, but I dare not, not in front of you my child."

"I won't peek, I promise," said she.

Sir Baring gave me an evil grin and said, "I knew she'd look. Most young girls possess a natural curiosity toward the male penis and will go to extraordinary lengths to see one. I took a leisurely piss, and made certain she got a gander at my shaft. After I finished, I pretended I didn't know she'd looked on, and asked her if she had any game we might play while in our hiding place."

"We could play show me yours and I'll show yer mine," she offered. 

"How do you play that game?" I asked.

She giggled in her sudden superiority. "Like this," said she, and hoisting her skirt, revealed her bloomers to my eyes.

"And what shall I do?"

Her bluntness was astonishing. "Yer kin take it out again."

"Take what out, Glenda?" I said feigning ignorance.

"Yer Willy, 'o course. Show me yer Willy 'en I'll show yer me puss."

"I don't know. You go first. Yes, you go first Glenda."

"All right, then," she said, and hauled down her bloomers, and stood there in all her glory.

Things progressed rapidly thereafter and soon I was gamahuching her and fingering her. Of course with one so young I only had a small part of my finger in there, but it was pure heaven, pure heaven," Baring sighed, reliving the memory.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 08



I dared to break the pregnant pause following his sigh. "How did Glenda come to suck you?"

"It occurred the very same day. After I finished licking her to a very pleasant climax she reciprocated, licking and sucking as best she could. I merely warned her about the use of her teeth on me and she picked up on everything else."

"Fascinating," was my one and only comment. We had another brandy, and were joined by his lovely wife, Abigail Courtney Baring, whose quick, furtive glances at my crotch told me that very possibly Sir Baring had been neglecting her of late. I filed the thought away as a possible means of bestowing an appropriate punishment upon him in the near future; for both Glenda and his threat to bring me to financial ruin. But yet the man had great power . . . dare I provoke him further?

I decided to extract my revenge in a Machiavellian manner; and exercise political expediency above morality. I would accept everything he offered me. In return I would seduce his wife and perhaps introduce her to Dolly and some of her friends for an evening's entertainment.

I accepted a cigar and when it was finished, we made ready to retire for the evening. 

***** The following day Sir Baring left early to attend a meeting at his bank. Following breakfast, Mrs. Baring inquired if I like to ride and I replied that I would love to accompany her.

It was a beautiful day for horseback riding. The crisp clean air was even quite warm in the summer sun that shone a clear blue sky. The birds were singing and even the squirrels were chirping happily. The world was wonderful in its peacefulness.

We rode our horses, my young reddish brown gelding and her black satin mare, up and down the gently rolling hills, climbing deeper into the forest. 

"We own all this land," Mrs. Baring said, and when I nodded in agreement, it was the last we communicated for a while. We rode on each with our own thoughts. I can only remark on my own, which were concentrated on coveting her youthful body.

We passed by small ponds occasionally, not really lakes, most heavily bordered by thick woods. Finally we came to a lake with a beautiful grassy meadow on the side of a small hill overlooking the lake. There was a delightful sandy beach at the end of the meadow area and in the open; the sun warmed us up considerably. We sat down on a spread blanket by the beach, and I uncorked the wine and we enjoyed a light lunch of cheese and wine while the hobbled horses munched contentedly nearby.

There were a few small puffy clouds beginning to fill the sky, like drifting cotton balls. We engaged in a brief fun-filled conversation triggered by our looking up at them and trying to associate each cloud with something --- a dog or horse or something. It was relaxing, enjoyable and sometimes funny. Then Mrs. Baring surprised me by lying her head on my stomach like it was a pillow, with her blonde hair splayed across me, catching the midday sun.

"He doesn't love me," she said matter-of-factly, after she'd settled herself.

"You know this for a fact?" I asked.

"He's ignored me for months."

"That's not possible," I said as though sloughing the matter aside, but I took a lock of her fair hair between my fingers and curled it around them.

"No, Mr. Fogg, it's quite true. I've broached the matter to him and he just evades giving me a proper answer. He is much keener of mind than I and can easily distract me or dissuade me. In fact, he has done so many times on other matters and I usually let the matter pass. But this time I cannot. I fear it is me."

She sat up and turned to face me. "Am I not fair to look upon?" she asked, beseeching me for the right answer.

I knew it must have hurt her deeply to have to ask such a question.

"Abigail," I said, using her first name for the very first time, "You are beautiful beyond words. Were you not spoken for, and the mother of two beautiful daughters, I'd ask for your hand myself."

My words served to melt any resistance that might have been in place, and she Moved swiftly into my arms as my mouth covered hers with a thousand kisses.

"Let's get out of these clothes and get more comfortable," I suggested when our lips finally parted.

Abigail favored me with a wide smile. "Comfort has nothing to do with what you want, Mr. Fogg."

"True enough, Abigail, true enough," I said, returning the smile with one of my own. "I might add that comfort is the furthest thing in my mind at the moment, so let's hurry about it, shall we?"

With that we set to undressing ourselves in record time. (I wonder about that expression. Has anyone ever timed it, and if so, under what conditions? But I digress.)

We lay down again and I kissed her again, moving my hand slowly over each of her lovely breasts. We began to kiss other parts of each other. Until I found myself tonguing her navel and realized that she was absently toying with my pubic hairs.

I looked back at her and Abigail's eyes met mine. Would you like me to lick you down here?" I inquired gently.

"I think it would thrill me no end," she replied.

"May I play with you as well?" She asked.

"Of course, my love, of course."

With as tender a touch as I'd ever felt before, she set to fondling my scrotum and testicles. Drawing circles around each rounded sac with the softest of fingertips, barely applying any pressure whatsoever. Occasionally she would lightly stroke my cock between her thumb and forefinger, but it seemed more absent-mindedly than conscientiously sexual. With an involuntarily certitude my cock began to respond and Abigail watched it intently as it grew. 

My foreskin stretched back to reveal the mushroom shaped crown with a drop of precum clinging to the tip of it. Abigail stuck out her tongue and licked off the moist droplet. The sensation of her velvety tongue on my cockhead sent chills down my spine and my cock quickly stretched to its full length, pulling back the foreskin fully as it did so. 

Abigail continued to run her fingers lightly up and down my cock, tracing the veins that stood out visibly now. I shivered as she traced the vein in my ball-sack then continued up the underside of my cock following the vein along my fleshy tube. Her gentle hand closed around my prick and squeezed.

"Do you like that?" She asked, knowing I did.

"Yes," I croaked. 

"Shall I stroke you?"

"Please," I croaked once again and vowed to make her do the same when I started on her.

She smiled up at me, "I just like to watch your pretty thing grow. What do you call it?"

"It's my prick," I said softly.

"I call mine, my friend," she volunteered. I had never heard a cunt called that before and told her so.

"I could call it my cunt, or twat, or quim, or pussy. But they all sound somewhat offensive to me, and I really love my friend. So why insult it, especially when it can make me feel so effusively wonderful . . ."

And she moaned, for I had run my fingers over her inner lips, savoring the moistness found there, but carefully avoiding any form of penetration, for that would come in time. I kissed her kneecap and ran my hand over her calves marveling at their beauty.

That's nice," she sighed, and opening her mouth as wide as possible, took my member into her mouth and used her tongue to excite me even more. The mere sight of her sweet lips encased about my now unbending prick was pure beauty.

I was compelled to return the favor and maneuvered myself around and ducked my head twixt her dimpled thighs and let my tongue drag its way along the entire length of her inner lips to her arsehole and circled that several times until her muffled cries of erotic delight had subsided.

Using my fingers, I spread her folds apart and licked voraciously thereon, eliciting further muffled cries, more like screams this time and the sucking upon my prick increased tenfold.

Backing away from her gorgeous cunt, I took a moment to study it. Her lips, both inner and outer, were swollen, thick with her excitement. I utilized my thumbs and brought forth her clitoris from its hidden oasis, licking it lightly and this time Abigail shucked my prick from her mouth to cry out, "YES! THERE, THAT'S THE SPOT!"

I licked over her tiny nub several times, but knew that repeated licks would impart some discomfort and did not wish that at all. And so I took her outer lips between my teeth and chewed on them several times. She began to writhe, rolling her hips, arching her back so as to better present her cunt to me. I sent my tongue into her, tongue-fucking her for as long as I could maintain it, which was not that long at all.

Then I returned to her clitoris and sucked it into my mouth. Abigail shuddered twice and lay still.

"Are you quite all right?" I asked with concern, for this was most unusual to me.

"Yes," she answered. "I almost . . ."

"Almost what?"

"I almost reached that elusive . . . moment."

'My God,' I thought, 'this lovely woman has never orgasmed!'

I set to work to bring that most cherished moment about, resuming my oral ministrations, sending a finger into her opening and frigging her slowly at first, teasing her more than anything else.

"Spread your legs for me," I said, and cursed the fact that my voice cracked, making me sound like a young boy about his business for perhaps the very first time. 

She laid back, her legs spread, her feet resting on their heels.

This time my fingers weren't teasing. One, then another, entered her, pushing deeply inside. At first I moved slowly, all the way out until just the bare tips of my fingers remained in her, then deeply in until I could go no further. Then I stopped and began kissing her again. Abigail's tongue was in my mouth as my fingers moved about in her cunt. 

I could tell she was moving toward her release, for she pulled her mouth from mine and groaned. "What are you doing?" 

"I'm finger fucking you my dear. Do you like it?"

"Like it," she hissed through tightly clenched teeth, "I love it!"

At that I began moving both my fingers and my tongue, playing inside her in two places. 

"I'm going to make you come," I whispered to her. "Should I keep finger fucking you? Should I go on your clitoris? Do you want me to go hard or soft?"

"You . . . ask so many damn questions," she rasped, so low I hardly heard her speaking.

I went with the fingers and I went hard. I felt the first shudder and licked her clitoris. There was a violent thrust of her pelvis along with a loud moan and another shudder and she began to cry as her orgasm arrived. It seemed to last quite a while, then it occurred to me that this being her first, it might take some getting used to and I began to caress her flanks and felt another shudder.

A moment or so later, she was kissing me, wet, sloppy kisses that I shall always cherish, for they were the most sincere and honest kisses I have ever received.

"Would you like to fuck now, or shall we wait a little longer?" I asked.

"I can't explain just how wonderful I feel. Of course, let's fuck as you put it. Can you manage it, or shall I place it in there for you?"

Her remarks were most unusual, at least as far as I was concerned and later on I realized that Sir Baring had had his wife insert him into her opening each and every time they co-joined. 

Now there was a clue as to his preference for young girls!

I had Abigail kneel on her knees and elbows so that I could enter her doggy style, a position I knew would be highly sensitive for both of us. 

As I got down on my knees behind her I could see her swollen pussy lips protruding from between her spread legs and it was a beautiful sight. Leaning forward I gave it one more salacious lick and then put my prick at her opening and shoved inward.

My cock slid into her effortlessly and I soon buried myself inside her. I did not ignore her pendulous teats which were there for the shaking. I milked them all the while I thrust in and out of her. Abigail had several more orgasms as we fucked, but I did not halt my thrusting to let her savor them. And to some extent I regret it, but I felt it was my turn and so I chose to ignore her cries of lusty abandon as wave after wave swept over her.

It was not long before I came, and came hard! As my seed rushed out to coat her cunt we both gasped in ecstasy. We remained locked together as we slid down onto the blanket, exhausted, limbs entwined and fully sated.

We talked about it of course and many other things before Abigail gasped and cried out, "Phileas, look at the time!"

Hurriedly we gathered everything up, saddled the horses and returned to the Barings mansion. Fortunately, we had not been missed at all. Sir Baring would be another hour before arriving, and the girls who were preparing to leave to stay the night with their cousin thought nothing amiss, as their mother often went off on horseback rides, both along and with the occasional guest, of which I was one.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 09



That evening, following supper, Baring revealed his ulterior motive. 

The man was a complete cad. It goes without saying that he had a fixation on seducing young girls, but he now correctly assumed that I had one as well. 

"Mr. Fogg," said he, "let us get down to brass tacks, shall we?"

"You have my undivided attention, sir," I said looking him in the eye.

"You are aware that I have a . . . shall we say, propensity for young women. The younger the better, but not so young as you might imagine. No, no. I mean . . . well Glenda is about as young as I personally would care to venture. I know of some gentlemen who would prefer them much younger."

"Then why not visit the Casino to sate those desires?" I inquired innocently.

Baring cleared his throat and said, "Because of the blasted disease they carry! I cannot in good conscience risk bringing it home with me. So the...girls I use are from my laborers, and..." he left the sentence hanging there.

"Perhaps the daughters of your friends and associates as well?" I said finishing his sentence for him.

"Blast you Fogg!" Sir Baring spat, erupting into a wrathful anger I was seeing for the first time. The incident in the park paled to this rage before me.

"Sir Baring," I said hoping to calm him down, "you were speaking of young women. I did not utter those words to incite your temper; it was only an innocent inquiry." 

Of course I was lying, for having bedded his wife Abigail, I now had an idea of where we were going.

"I have daughters of my own, you know."

'So this is where he's leading me, but why?' I thought and shivered as something dreadful occurred to me.

"It is indeed unfortunate that they did not dine with us this evening, but they are spending the night at their cousin's. However, if you should care to meet them they will be home tomorrow, before noon."

I interrupted him. "Sir Baring, I'm not a man to mince words and neither are you. Am I to believe that when you say 'I have daughters of my own,' you mean it literally as well as figuratively?"

Sir Baring flushed, and would not meet my eye as he spoke, "I do, sir, I certainly do. I'll give you 1,000 pounds to seduce the oldest. But not only seduce her, sir. I want you to prepare her so that she'll accept my own advances when you depart."

"But why me? It would appear that you've managed Glenda's seduction easily enough."

He waved my objection away. "Nonsense! It's not at all the same, Mr. Fogg. Glenda's father and brother have been after her for ages now."

"May I assume that they have yet to catch her?"

"Yes, you may. But that is my doing. I have managed to contain their advances and will continue to do so."

"Until such time as you're finished with her; as might well be the case should I seduce your own daughter and prepare her to accept your advances. Would that be a fair assumption, Mr. Baring?"

Sir Baring coughed to clear the phlegm in his throat, then took his time lighting a cigar, obviously buying time to formulate his reply.

"Not at all, for I have a hearty sex drive, Mr. Fogg. As my dear wife would tell you were we living in a society that permitted such conversations between the sexes of non-married men and women."

The cad! Using his lovely wife Abigail to complete his charade, but I knew better, for his wife had told me only that afternoon of his lack of ardor these past few months.

"Well, Mr. Baring, answer me this, they're your own daughters, why not take them yourself?"

"I cannot, Mr. Fogg, for I have taken a solemn oath against taking a virgin ever again in this lifetime. You saw for yourself that I did not take the sweet Glenda's cunt, did you not?"

"I don't quite understand your meaning, sir. I did see you offer your prick to her mouth and your tongue to her twat. Would you care to elaborate further?"

"Yes, yes of course." He shook his head and pointed at me, "I can see that I must. You see, Mr. Fogg, I belong to...well let us say, a secret society; and that society requires that its members swear upon pain of death that they never take a virgin. Yes, a member can do as I have, but actual penetration is forbidden. I cannot disclose the name of the society, and would not have told you this much, but for the fact that you already know too much about me. That being the case, I selected you...decided to use you...yes, use you toward this end. That of course, would involve the seduction of my two daughters. Not at the same time mind you, oh, no. I should think some months might pass before moving on to my youngest, yes, some months should pass."

"You sir, are a complete cad!" I said enraged at the effrontery of the man. A man knighted by the Queen and held in such esteem by all of Britain. "I absolutely refuse this sordid offer!"

Baring doubled the offer and I refused a second time.

"Fogg," he said, "don't fool with me. I'm a man of means and have the capability to destroy you in an instant."

"And I you, sir," I spat back, enraged at his deportment. 

Sir Baring seemed to withdraw into himself for a moment, and then having collected his thoughts smiled evilly at me and said very slowly, "No...you...can't. You may think you can, but I have already taken steps to discredit anything you may say or do regarding my arrangement with Glenda."

I believed him. He was that powerful. Further, it would be a simple thing to deny his offering his virginal daughters to me. It would be my word against his and I knew well who would be believed. 

We sat there in silence for twenty minutes. Sir Baring threw his cigar into the fire and lit another, filling the room with blue smoke while my brain churned.

It occurred to me that I was not in the least averse to seducing his daughters. In fact, there were several ways I could turn it to my advantage. Further it afforded me the opportunity to hurt Baring without him ever being the wiser. I was faced with two sensitive opinions with regard to my own personal code of conduct. First, I was already guilty of adultery with this man's wife. There was no question of my taking her away from him. His wealth took care of that, for he was one of the richest men in the world and that made him a very powerful man. But I could help her to hate him. Second, to seduce his daughters would demean me in my own eyes and the means of atoning for this premeditated sin would indeed be difficult; it might also sever forever my relationship with Abigail. It would if I were found out and worse, if discovered I would be cast into prison, perhaps hung while a crowd hooted and cursed me, my name forever dishonored. Obviously this required more thought.

I was still thinking on my predicament when Sir Baring sweetened his offer. "Fogg, here is my final offer." 

Mrs. Abigail Courtney Baring walked into the den at that moment, and to my amazement, Baring kept right on with his offer, "2,000 pounds and my backing for any club membership you entertain, now or In the future, and the promise of an occasional piece of timely financial advice."

Abigail smiled lovingly at me, and from long habit nodded, as if to persuade me to accept his offer. I grew confused for I did not realize at the moment Abigail knew nothing of his actual offer, and was so stunned at her participation in their daughter's seduction that I didn't hesitate, but accepted the offer.

"Done!" said Sir Baring, and he grabbed my hand and shook it thoroughly. Abigail positively beamed, thinking her wonderful husband had made yet another major business deal and that it involved me. To her that meant more opportunities for us to be together.

"There is one condition, however," I said.

"And that is?" Sir Baring asked.

"There is a certain risk in accepting your proposal, sir. I would ask that you give me your word in front of your delightful spouse, that to the best of your ability no harm shall befall me in the event my undertaking becomes public."

Sir Baring smiled cunningly and nodded. "Well said, Mr. Fogg, well said. I most heartily agree to your condition."

"When shall I begin?" I inquired, in a dry voice that did little to belittle my sudden fear. 

"The sooner the better," he replied. "Would today... right now...be too soon?"

I knew he said this to throw his wife off track, and we haggled further, eventually settling on the following day.

I retired to my room soon after saying I was tired. I wanted to be fresh the following day with Mrs. Baring thinking I was staying to see her again under the pretext of helping with Nicole's piano playing. Her teacher had complained that while the girl had a talent for the instrument, she lacked the desire to strive as hard as one must to become a competent musician.

*****

Armed with the knowledge that the Barings slept in separate bedrooms, at one in the morning I slipped into Abigail's bedroom.

She was sound asleep when I slipped in beside her. I grew erect from her warmth and when her arse pressed against my prick I almost spent then and there.

Reaching under her nightgown, I began to lightly rub my hand between her legs. I may have caught Abigail in the midst of a dream, for a smile crossed her face and she moaned pleasurably. I spent some time kissing her face and throat, causing a shiver or two of sleep filled delight and when she turned to her side, she provided me with still greater access to her quim and I added another finger.

To state that Abigail was wet would be a major understatement. I extracted my fingers some moments later and crawled face down under the covers until my face was inches from her cunt. I licked her several times, carefully noting her reaction as I savored her sweet taste.

"Phileas?" She murmured and I was glad that Sir Baring had forsworn her bed these past few months in favor of younger girls.

"Yes, Abigail, it is me, Phileas;" I groaned from under the covers and confused her, for she closed her thighs and thus deprived me of partaking of her sweet, scented juices.

"Be quiet my love. I've managed to join you in the bed, and if you like, we can make love for the rest of the night."

He eyes opened wide. "Tis really you!" she said, "I'm not dreaming!"

I kissed her cunt and rejoiced in feeling her shiver.

"Oh, Phileas! Pray tell me that I'm not dreaming!"

"Abigail, my love, you dream not, I am beside you, here, feel my manhood. See how stiff and hard it is for you."

"Oh, Phileas!" 

We kissed and each of us had ample time to demonstrate their ardor for the other.

"I must pay homage to your other lips, my sweet. Do spread them apart for me," I beseeched her; and she complied. In a moment my serpentine tongue was laving her inner folds and she squirmed uneasily in front of me, clenching the bedclothes in her fists and moaning with passionate pleasure.

"I shall soon spend, my dearest Phileas!" She called out in the softest voice as I tongue-fucked her; curling my tongue and jabbing it repeatedly into her creamy quim.

"I want you inside me, sooo bad!" She groaned and this time I feared she might have woken her dastardly husband. But I would learn that he slept the sleep of a child, oblivious to any noises around him. The real danger would be that either of their daughters might awaken, but that would not be this night, for they were at their cousin's for the evening.

Giving her one last ferocious suck, I grabbed my prick and rubbed it at her entrance, which magically opened for me.

"I will be very gentle with you, my love," I assured her and heard her laughed scoffingly at me.

"You couldn't hurt me, Phileas; you wouldn't hurt me if you could. I can tell that about you."

Never had I felt more the cad. Still, as her thighs parted, I entered her and accepted the embrace to which Abigail so invitingly offered me as I slid easily inside her. After a few cursory strokes, I adjusted my position and raised her legs to perch upon my shoulders, for I wanted Abigail to feel my entire length inside her quim. I cannot describe the exquisite feelings I felt as I slid back and forth within her fleshy folds --- so warm, so wet --- I wanted this fuck to last forever.

At it turned out, we nearly did. It happened that I was in possession of one of those erections that went on and on without spending. And so we fucked for considerably longer than either of us expected; the result being that Abigail came, by her own count, fourteen times before I did, with her nails raking my back I continued pumping until with a long gasp, my load came gushing up from my balls and flooded her insides.

We lay still for a time. At least I lay still; Abigail kept shuddering every minute or so, calling it the aftermath tremors, as one might following an earthquake. The sheets were soaked with our combined sweat, but she assured me that only the servant would notice and had already prepared a lie for her.

"I feel complete, Phileas. For the first time, other than giving birth, I know what it is to feel like a total woman. Pray tell me, what are we to do?"

"I honestly don't know, my love. But I shall remain here, teaching Nicole to play the piano, but Lord knows I don't know that much myself."

Belatedly, I realized my grievous mistake.

"You don't play?"

"Yes, of course I play. But to ask me to over-ride her piano teacher . . . that's more than we should be doing. I rather think," I said thinking fast, "that I can probably convey a sense of confidence in her that will allow her to discern the importance of the instruction she is already receiving, and thereby benefit her playing."

"Yes, I see." Abigail said, and sighed. "You are such a comfort to this poor mother."

We kissed and then collapsed to lay quietly side-by-side for a while not saying a word.

*****

The following morning I had breakfast with the Barings. The daughters had not come home as yet and Sir Baring had business at his bank.

"Will you be staying the day?" He inquired of me.

"I think I should. I shall meet your daughter Nicole at least briefly and then depart. But I shall return on the morrow to begin Nicole's instruction."

"Very good," Sir Baring said, and wiped his mouth and beard with a full-sized napkin. He stood up and using his hand signaled me to remain seated. "Enjoy your breakfast, Mr. Fogg. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow." 

His stableman had brought the carriage to the front door and Sir Baring, regally climbed in with the stableman's assistance. The carriage pulled away leaving a cloud of dust in its trail.

Abigail and I looked at one another surreptitiously. 

She stood up and bade me sit, saying, "I need to wash off. Please join me in my boudoir in a few minutes. We have at least two or three hours before my daughters arrive.

I ventured into her bedroom as Abigail was sitting down in her tub. She looked up at me and smiled as she squirmed around to find a comfortable seat in the warm, scented water.

Taking a sponge, I lathered it with Yardley Lavender soap and commenced to bathe her. I was careful in washing her face and neck and she raised her arms enabling me to get both sides and under her arms where a small amount of fair hair clung to her armpits.

The smile never left her lips as I gently moved her long tresses from one side to the other to keep dry as I rinsed off her shoulders and then her back.

I felt her relaxing as my hands soaped her breasts, having left the sponge to float alone in the soapy waters below. Abigail's head tilted back as I plied each nipple until they stood out like proud strawberry sentinels. Oh, how I wanted to nurse on them, but some inner instinct told me to wait and I did.

I used the sponge to rub over her quim and I heard her audible gasp as I circled it over her clitoris one or twice. Then I released the sponge once more and raised her lovely bottom an inch or two, washed her arse. Abigail was groaning louder as my finger tickled the rusty spider, puckered back there. I quickly glanced at her face and saw her eyes closed tightly; and when my finger pressed on her anal opening she gasped and spoke for the first time since I came into the boudoir.

"Do it!" She hissed. "It's an incredibly nasty idea. Do it!"

I sent my finger into her arsehole and Abigail was sufficiently relaxed as to accept my finger, welcoming it as a matter-of-fact.

"Will you fuck me there later?" she asked her voice hoarse and ragged with lust.

"If you so desire, my love," I answered.

In an even more ragged tone she replied, "I DO WANT YOU THERE, I AM VIRGIN BACK THERE!"

I frigged her arse gently for a minute longer and then extracted it, examined it and found it quit clean. That being the case, I moved to her front and leaning close to her face, stuck the finger in my mouth and sucked upon it for several seconds. All the while my eyes were intent on her reaction; and when I took the arse-frigging finger from my mouth, Abigail snatched it in her hand and quickly brought it to her own mouth and sucked it vigorously while frigging herself so hard half the bath water spilled out onto the floor.

She stopped sucking the moment she spent from her fingering.

"Now I must say that was a most erotic performance, my dear Abigail," I said quietly and calmly.

"No," she answered. "What you did to me was erotic. I spent the second your finger entered me. I spent again on placing it in your mouth and of course I brought myself off yet again with it in my own mouth! Will you please, please kiss me this moment?"

I did, but it was short for I had a great need to fuck her as soon as was possible.

I retrieved her hair brush and knelt beside the tub and brushed her long hair until she took the brush from me, laughing delightedly at my attempt to restore her hair to its proper composure and with a few simple strokes Abigail managed what I could not. But I did not care a whit about that for she stood up and made to climb out of the tub. "Let's not rush," she said and I sat down and looked on as she stood in front of the floor length mirror looking at her naked body and dusted herself with talcum powder. She watched my reflection in the mirror as I disrobed behind her; giving her hair one hundred strokes, then placing the comb down in its setting and dusted her face with some rose powder; then dabbed a little rouge onto her lips. 

She turned to me and smiled lewdly, picked up a decanter and sprayed a little lavender water between her breasts; then sprayed once more, this time between her thighs and into her pubic hair. "And how do you feel now?" I asked shaking my sizable member in her direction. Abigail's eyes flitted to it and she licked her swollen lips. 

"Oh, everything feels so good." she whispered softly, then cupped her breasts in offering. I approached her and she was cupping my balls before I had at those still stiffened strawberry nipples.

"They have a heavenly scent," I murmured as I moved from left to right.

"It's only Lavender," she purred as I nipped at her tender bud.

"Will you do it?" she inquired.

"You refer to my plundering your lovely arse?"

"I refer to that, exactly, kind sir. I have waited a long time for this moment. A moment when I might relinquish that which my husband desires so much that he has tried countless time to possess."

I found myself tremendously excited, and drew hard on the nipple within my mouth, causing Abigail to gasp and search for my prick and give it a hard squeeze.

"Will it hurt?" she asked simply.

"I expect it will to some degree, but I shall be careful and move slowly. That plus ample lubrication, some butter, perhaps and some of my spit should do it."

My hand slipped down between her legs and I fingered her quim, causing her to bite her lower lip.

"God that's good!" She exclaimed, and I went after her teats with a vengeance, licking and sucking those strawberry tips until half her breasts turned red and she asked that I stop, for they were tender to the touch to begin with and she could bear no bruises that might arouse Sir Baring's suspicion.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 09



Puzzled at this I asked, "I thought he did not share your bed these last few months?"

"In truth he has not," Abigail replied, "but when he'll look for his pleasure, no one knows. I must be presentable should that time come, and my breasts are now sore and I know that any more of you're loving will bruise them for certain."

Reluctantly, I accepted her logic. Nodding my acceptance I moved down her stomach, planting kisses everywhere as she shrieked delightedly. I raised her legs once again and beheld her coral treasure, coated already with her succulent juices. Parting her folds with my fingers, I permitted my tongue to slither between them and heard Abigail gasp.

My tongue worked its way in and then out, licking every spot and crevice it came upon and Abigail continued gasping until I coaxed her clitoris from its hiding place. With the first touch of my tongue upon it, Abigail screamed loudly and spent, sending a copious torrent of her fluid into my face and mouth.

She shuddered through that climax for several minutes and when she had calmed down again, I renewed my effort to bring her off yet again.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" She moaned.

After a time I rose my head up from between her thighs and asked if she were all right.

"I'm as fine as a woman can be thank you, Phileas, my love."

And a moment later --- "Phileas?"

"Yes?"

"I can't feel my legs."

"Perhaps you've spent too many times, my dearest." "I...I don't know. I feel most wonderful, but am concerned about not feeling..."

I drew her clit between my teeth and nipped it. "LORD GOD ALMIGHTY!" Abigail screamed and heaved her body sharply to my left.

"Swing your lovely legs for me Abigail!" I urged. She did so and both of us laughed with the relief we felt that no paralysis had set hold of her.

"Now that that's past, turn round and raise your arse for me like a good girl."

Abigail quickly shifted around for me and I gave her cunt a good lick and then set my concentration upon her delicious looking arse. I manhandled her cheeks a bit, giving them several sound smacks to invigorate them, then kissed her arse.

This apparently thrilled her no end.

"That's sooo nice. Might I ask that you repeat it?"

I kissed and then licked her arse this time allowing my tongue to circle her anus and titillate her even further. Seeing Abigail's finger drift between her legs, I decided to proceed and spat squarely upon her puckered star, hitting my target dead center. 

Rubbing my prick against her cunt caused it to open sufficiently for me to sink it in and out a few times; causing Abigail to groan anxiously. Knowing I needed to act quickly and not just for Abigail's sake, but for my own as well, I took deliberate aim and placed the tip of my prick on her puckered star and pushed.

"OUCH!"

"I'm so sorry, but it won't hurt to badly, love. Please bear with me."

"The last time I had to 'bear' with things, Rhonda was born," she said and I saw an expectant grimace on her face. Abigail went on, "What about the butter?"

I spat on my prick head again and said, "There's really no need. You're wet enough; it's just that you're a little tight. Do you recall losing your virginity?"

"Of course I do," she replied indignantly.

"Did it hurt?"

"Like the dickens!"

"But soon after?"

"It was like night and day, pure bliss it was..."

And while Abigail was recalling that earlier moment of pleasure, I cupped a breast in each hand, caressing them. Moaning softly, Abigail urged me to, "Use both hands on this one and then the other!"

Following instructions, I kneaded both breasts, no longer concerned about leaving bruises on them. Alexander Baring be damned, I no longer cared. Eventually I ended up with the nipple of each breast between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. Gently pinching each nipple, I listening to Abigail's breathing grow heavier and heavier. In time, I released them and kissed the hollow of her throat then the tops of her shoulders. My thumb brushed over her outer folds and I returned to give suck to her right nipple --- lashing it with my tongue as her moans grew louder.

Abigail moved her hips revealing an anxiety to bring me to touch her even more; but I was satisfied for the moment with merely teasing her; bringing her to a level of desire she had never dreamed of. When Abigail began rubbing her wet pussy against me, it conjured thoughts so wicked I had to moan myself. 

Yet she continued to moan and grind her cunt into my thigh, and then sighed. "Phileas!"

"Yes, my love?"

"It's the strangest thing..."

"What is it?" I asked suddenly alarmed. Had her legs become paralyzed again?

"It's... a feeling...a very strange feeling. Almost as if I'm spending, but that's not it. I have this warmth, you know? And it's radiating outward from my center to all the parts of my body." 

Her nails dug into my chest and she intensified her grinding.

I used my whole hand to caress the lightly furred mound between her legs, causing her body to jerk as though yanked by a puppeteer's strings. My finger traced over her clitoris, visible now to the naked eye, and Abigail shuddered. That brought a smile to my lips and I quickly moved the hand to her rear and lightly circled her puckered star.

"Ohhhh, Phileas!"

We kissed, lovingly, tenderly and lingered until I knew I had to move on --- to her fragrant quim. I centered my tongue on her slit; pulled her arse cheeks tight against my face and gave her cunt a long, lascivious lick. I chewed softly on her outer folds and when satisfied they had had their turn, moved to the inner lips, the minor labia if my Latin is correct.

Abigail grabbed the nape of my neck and thrust it forward, plastering my face into her sex. My tongue licked just inside her opening; my thumb strummed her clit and she threw back her head and came. 

I waited until Abigail stopped convulsing. Then took her face between my hands and kissed her with feeling. Just simple, loving kisses; not making use of my tongue until she responded feveredly and parted my lips with her tongue.

I was amazed at my control in not having fucked her all this time and wishing to prolong this love making as long as was possible, I wet my left thumb and placed it into her slit, prying it open, rubbing it up, rubbing it down, rubbing it in and out; all the while listening with unadulterated joy to her moans of stark pleasure.

Once again I held the thumb to her mouth and Abigail greedily sucked it in. A moment later, I plucked it out and returned it to her center. She hissed with pleasure and then hissing myself, I covered her mouth with my own. We moaned into one another's mouths. Our tongues dueled and when I thought the moment right, I rammed the thumb all the way into her quim!

Abigail's mouth flew open and she let out a sensual moan --- a moan quickly smothered by my mouth fastening upon hers once more as she began to hump my thumb. Our faces parted and the expression on her face told me she loved my little ploy.

"YES!" Abigail grunted, and set her cunt to squirming against the thumb; her arse also began rotating as she was no longer capable of remaining still in any body part. I pulled the thumb out and she went slack, crying out at the loss. I rolled the thumb over her clit before centering it once more and she tensed with anticipation. This time I brought two fingers into play, exploring the inner depths of her cunt as she moaned; almost purring with satisfaction. Testing her endurance, I added the thumb to my fingers and brought on a violent shudder; that might even have been a small orgasm. I worked my fingers and thumb back and forth, varying the thrusting. First slow; then when Abigail adjusted to it -- and her cunt expanded to accept my fingers -- I increased the speed causing greater agitation and turmoil then before. I continued this for some minutes and I am sure that Abigail climaxed several times during this period.

Yanking my hand out of her hole, I began to slap and rub her arse; making certain to leave large amounts of her bodily juices on her pink puckered starfish. Then with my thumb back in her cunt I sent two fingers into her arse.

Abigail grunted quietly, and then said, "DO IT!"

The fingers entered to the first knuckle. I pulled them back.

"GO ON...DO IT!" 

She groaned, and pushed her arse back at my fingers. I spit directly on her arsehole and bent the fingers slightly, then moved them around and back and forth hopefully loosening her arsehole for my prick.

I kissed her lower back, licked along her spine and the distinct variety of her moans told me she loved it. I bit her left cheek, leaving a bright red impression; ran my tongue over the opposite cheek and then down through the crack of her arse. When she moaned again, I returned to sucking her cunt --- always adding my salvia and Abigail's juice's to the crack of her arse, watching the combination pool at her puckered opening, with some starting to seep into the slight opening in her arse.

Instinctively I began to smack each arse cheek --- not hard, but enough to sting and leave a red mark. This too, brought on a new series of even louder moans and I knew Abigail was deeply lost within her pleasure. Abruptly ending the smacking, I send one finger deeply into her anus and met no resistance.

I rubbed the head of my prick over her face and Abigail went to great extremes in attempting to capture it in her mouth; but I didn't allow her do so. Instead, I spit on the tip of my prick and pressed it against the pink star of her rectum.

"At last!" she gasped; and as my prick forcibly hewed its way into her for about an inch, I heard her take another, even sharper intake of air.

Abigail quickly adjusted her hips to accommodate me and helped me gain another inch. This caused her cheeks to quiver delighting me no end. 

Grunting with effort, I worked my prick in; pushing and shoving --- stretching it, stretching it and then stretching it some more until I heard that distinctive 'POP' signaling that I had driven past the tight ring at her entrance. 

Abigail's entire body shook. Her head thrashed one way, then another. Her moans grew louder and I stuck the edge of the pillow in her mouth to muffle them, lest someone on hearing her cries burst in and catch us rutting. 

My prick slipped out of her arse and we both moaned at the sudden loss. I repositioned the head of my slickened penis; put some weight behind next thrust and after a moment the head of my dick not only popped abruptly inside, but with only one more thrust I was in to the hilt.

Abigail woofed like a dog at this, and I knew I was home free to fuck that sweet arse of hers for another hour or more if I wished. Holding herself rigidly on all fours and panting softly, she stared down between her legs watching my member sliding in and out. I placed my hands on each side of her hips and begin pistoning in and out of her, causing her to issue forth a series of muffled moans of which I understood only, "Please," and "Oh my God!"

I kept this up for as long as I could, ramming in and out, glorying in the feel of her tight anal walls grasping at me; clutching at me to no avail. It's my guess that about three minutes passed before I began to tire and ground to a halt. Then Abigail picked up the pace, moving her rump back and forth, fucking me now, fucking herself on my pole firmly lodged within her arse; milking it, squeezing it; clenching and then releasing me only to repeat the process.

I well knew we were both about to explode. Having rested for a minute, I now resumed fucking her and we formed a steady rhythm. My balls were smacking against her rump and I knew I was completely filling her. Suddenly, Abigail tore the pillow from between her teeth and gasped, "Lord, Lord! I can actually feel you growing even bigger inside me. Does that mean you're about...?"

"To spend? Oh, yes!" I groaned, and sent a torrent of ejaculate into her arse.

The combined force of Abigail's pushing and my thrusting, forced the ejaculate from her arse and all over the lower portions of our bodies. Of course we paid no heed to this at the time, for Abigail was spending and spending and spending until she flopped limply to the mattress, dead to the world.

I kissed her deeply and Abigail was half in this world and half out of it. Finally she recovered and enveloped my body with hot, wet kisses; even to the point of turning me onto my stomach so that she could lick and kiss my arse.

With great regret, I finally rose, gave her one last lingering kiss and left her to return to my own room where I finished dressing and awaited the arrival of the Baring Girls.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 10



On arriving the following day, I was greeted by Abigail Courtney Baring who provided me with a tour of their sumptuous home and grounds as a pretext in meeting her eldest daughter, Nicole. We found her in the music room. It was a high-ceilinged room containing a grand piano and decorated with wall paintings of satyrs and nymphs romping through a garden, very much like the one around the house, and accompanied by fawns playing pan pipes. The windows, which the paintings surrounded, looked out on the garden, giving the appearance that these wood creatures were actually in the Baring's garden. 

Nicole was practicing and I noted that her left hand, the chord hand, was flawless. She made the structure of the music so clear I thought it Frantz Joseph Liszt himself practicing. 

"Ah, Nicole, please excuse us," Mrs. Baring said blithely, "But do let me introduce Mr. Phileas Fogg, a friend of Father's. 

Nicole stopped playing and rose up to greet me by offering her hand. As customary, I took her hand and pressed a light kiss an inch above the knuckles. The 18 year old flushed at this, and not wishing to cause her any embarrassment, I quickly released her hand. Mrs. Baring made an excuse and left us alone.

Nicole was pleased to learn that I too played the piano, and we set out to try our hands at a four-handed piece by Chopin. It went rather well, and our relationship was off to a good start.

I expect that Nicole suspected that I had an ulterior motive for being there with her. However, she readily accepted the excuse that I was a guest for the next few days and that it was her duty to entertain me while her parents were not available. The day passed uneventfully and once again that evening I hastened to Abigail's bed.

Abigail was waiting for me, sprawled across her bed, totally nude, her yellow gown carelessly discarded on the floor. I leaned over her breasts that glowed golden in the faint light given off by the bedside candle and kissed her. Abigail's lips parted, and I ran the tip of my tongue against her lips. When my tongue brushed against her sparkling white teeth she shuddered and opened her mouth, permitting me inside. Abigail began breathing through her nose as I filled her mouth with my love muscle, then lifted an arm, placing it around my neck, drawing me closer to her.

Presently we were delighting one another in the sucking of tongues. I added to the foreplay by rubbing the back of her head as lovingly as was possible. She then moaned for the first time that evening and for some reason I pulled away from the kiss. Abigail would have none of it, and after taking a deep breath, pulled my mouth back upon hers. Her mouth was open wide and she promptly thrust her serpentine tongue into my mouth. Her eagerness and zest almost brought me off then and there.

We continued kissing like young lovers for another ten minutes before I moved to her neck evoking a purr from her throat like that from a kitten just finishing off a saucer of milk. Thence to her ear and additional licks produced a similar response. I wondered briefly how my dearest Abigail would react were I to really pay homage to her exceptional body; and so after one last kiss in which we swiped our wet tongues over one another's, she capturing some of my saliva and toying with it, make it seem like a long, drawn out string, before sucking the entire strand into her mouth, swallowing it while she giggled in amusement at my consternation.

I quickly repaid her by lifting her right foot to my mouth and sucking each toe in turn while my hand ran up and down her shapely legs with a light touch. She liked that. She really liked that. Her moans increased and I had to hush her twice for fear she might wake someone else in the house.

Her husband had certainly never thought to pleasure her this way. And so I took my time and Abigail moaned that I was the best lover in the world. Remarkable words to hear from a beautiful woman, believe me.

"Phileas?" I couldn't believe how tiny her voice sounded to my ear.

"Yes, my love?"

"I should tell you that I . . . I am most tender back there."

"Your arse?"

"Yes. I'd rather you not go there this evening. Anything else is possible, but . . . it is so tender . . ."

"Your wish is my command my dearest," I told her and meant it. I felt the complete cad for having taken her arse and causing her so much discomfort.

"Phileas, tis not the fact we did it there. I truly loved it and do so want to repeat it as often as possible. But just that right now tis awfully hurtful back there."

"I understand, and thank you for allowing me that privilege dearest Abigail."

"Please, do continue what you were about. I truly adore the touch of your hands . . . and of course your lovely mouth."

Never one to disappoint a lady, I returned to her calves and licked upward and thence along her sensitive inner thigh, making sure to bypass her vulva.

She was panting with excitement and moaned quietly as I kissed and licked my way over her lower abdomen, teasing her by nuzzling my nose in her patch of soft pubic hair before descending back down her left leg to her other five toes. 

When my hand ran up her leg to the crease between her thigh and her vulva she began to writhe under my touch. She commenced moaning and never stopped as I nibbled my way back up her legs, edging past her now juice leaking pussy, up over her navel, past her magnificent teats, up her neck and to her lips. 

She kissed me back with a fury that I had never before encountered in a woman, driving her tongue deep into my mouth. I forced myself to remain somewhat passive, allowing Abigail to take charge and contented myself mauling the firm globes of her lovely teats while she tongue-fucked my mouth.

When Abigail ended the kiss with a huge gasp for air, I managed to give her departing tongue a farewell flick with my own, then moved to her jawbone, kissing and sucking my way until I was nibbling at her fleshy earlobe.

Abigail was gasping for breath. Her hand had drifted downward and was rubbing frantically at her cunt.

I found myself admitting that taking one's time in a seduction had certain advantages that I had not anticipated. Foremost being that I now had a woman that I cared about going crazy with lust from my adroit touches and kisses alone; for I had yet to kiss or touch her cunt or teats.

Moving my lips from the nape of the throbbing veins of her neck to the puffy, rich chocolate brown areole of her right breast, elicited as provocative a moan as I'd ever heard. I had to wonder if she had spent then and there.

I took one and then the other sensitive nipples between my teeth and worried them.

Her legs scissored around my thigh and she commenced humping me as would a dog; moaning all the while.

Her nipples seemed to sparkle with sheer carnal electricity as I suckled and chewed upon them. This night it seemed my timing was in tune with the exact needs of Abigail's body. Just when her nipples became too sensitive for any additional oral play, I abandoned them to kiss my way down her belly to the prize waiting between her legs. 

As my tongue crept toward her dark vulva, she found her voice.

"Fuuuuuck ME!" she moaned. Only it wasn't her normal voice, but I attributed it to the throbbing carnal desire within her blood stream.

Anyway, my mouth complied; teasing her sopping, steamy slit as she wantonly bucked her hips into my face. I sensed rather than actually felt the wave of salacious sensations rippling throughout her body as my tongue parted her folds and licked at the silky moisture of her intensely heated entryway.

Abigail came.

And came.

And came.

I placed my lips upon her clit and she came again.

As my tongue swirled around and over her swollen clit, I tried to envision the pure pleasure my talented tongue was sending to her fevered brain. For there was no question but that my beloved Abigail was floundering in a vortex of sexual delirium, the jolts merging as climatic wave after wave crashed over her, sweeping her away in total orgasmic bliss.

It was with some reluctance that I withdrew my juice soaked face from the delightful folds of her cunt and gazed upon her face. Her eyes were closed and the look on her face told me I had brought her to a place of enormous satisfaction. I would wait almost ten minutes before Abigail returned to Earth and opened her eyes to look upon me.

She smiled lovingly at me and reached out to touch my face with a loving caress.

"That was exquisitely lovely," she whispered. "I must have spent a thousand times or more." Then she giggled as would a little girl who had been ordered to remain silent at Sunday Mass.

"But, Phileas . . ." she stammered. "You, you haven't . . ."

I silenced her by placing a finger on her lips.

"My turn will come, will it not?"

"Oh, most assuredly, my love; as soon as you want. I'm more than ready. You can even return to my arse should you desire it. The pain seems to have vanished."

In this I knew she was not being truthful, but merely wished to please me in any way possible. And so, gently grasping her legs, I lifted, then pushed them forward until her feet were behind her head, raising both her cunt and arse off the mattress. I gazed down at the pinkish orifice hiding between her folds, then holding my prick in my right hand, slowly sank into her until my balls were resting against her arsehole. 

"My God!" Abigail grunted. "Are you . . .?"

"I am, all the way. Uncanny isn't it? I mean, right off like that?"

"It's never happened before,' she said, then giggled again.

"Perhaps I hastened in the opening of your flowery cunt with my tonguing."

"I'm sure that must be the reason. It was certainly . . . titillating, and that's putting it mildly."

"How many times did you spend? Do you recall? I asked, feeling my prick throbbing within her.

"I really don't. But, twas a great number of times, you know. I kept swooning only to revive to find I was about to spend again and then I'd swoon again. This happened several times. Phileas, I am most confused, for a woman simply isn't used to pleasures such as these."

"Why wouldn't this woman," I flicked a nipple with my thumb, "this especially beautiful woman, have not experienced so many orgasms before?"

"I cannot say, unless my husband is the cause."

"Is he, pardon my French, too fast in his spending?"

"I am forced to admit . . . mind you only because of your sensual abilities do I say this, but yes, he is on me and off me in three minutes. I sometimes think of myself as an egg when he enters me. Three minutes and he's done. Not me. The other day while we were riding was the first time I actually . . . I actually felt the true pleasures of making love."

I kissed her and she kissed me back, then I lay upon her, fully immersed in her cunt while our tongues dueled a delicious duel and only when were thusly sated did I begin to fuck my Abigail with gusto. 

She was, without a doubt, the best, most responsive fuck out of all the women I had bedded thus far. I went slowly at first, relishing the sensation of her tight sheath pressing upon my prick. Gradually I picked up the tempo and deep fucking her, slammed my prick in as far as it would go and then withdrew until only the very tip remained inside her. Indeed, I flopped out of her several times during this stage, eliciting gruff moans of distress from my beloved's lips each time it occurred.

Abigail was spending profusely once again, moaning out, "Oh, sweet fucking mercy!"

"Yes, Phileas, my love, OH, YES!" 

We rolled over, still joined in coitus. Presently she was astride my lap, grinding her cunt and clit into my pubic mound. A minute went by and with a rising moan in her throat, Abigail's intensity increased ten-fold as she rose and fell upon my turgid shaft. The only audible sounds being her constant moaning and the squish-squish-squish from the generous amounts of lubrication issuing forth from her cunt due to my prick's driving it out of her.

Her body began to tremble, rippling with the first stages of a massive climax. Gasping for air, I thought at first Abigail was making little squeaking noises, but only after concentrating harder did I realize the sounds were coming from my throat and not hers.

I looked up at her face and found it twisted in pleasure. Her voice was ragged, hoarse, cracked, and her moans came in choking, broken gasps and whimpering, sobbing moans. 

I rolled her over once more so that I was on top and pumped furiously into her clasping, clutching furnace of a cunt. Her body heaved and writhed in return. I continued the pace, not knowing I had long ago passed my limits of endurance and that I was now plunging greedily into her flesh using nothing more than sustained willpower.

Abigail shocked me back to reality by sputtering out a litany of gutter-like obscenities. The combination of hearing this filth pouring forth from her innocent mouth and the spasmodic squeezing of her velvety, slick cunt on my member caused me to spend in a most prodigious manner.

After emptying my balls deep within her cunt I collapsed upon her. Abigail was all over me then, covering my face and chest with wet kisses. It wasn't long before I felt the warm wetness of her mouth closing over my flaccid prick and sucking, licking and nibbling away at me, devouring any remaining semen; fondling my testicles as if that would encourage my wilted prick to spring back to life. 

And in less than five minutes it did. My prick ballooned swiftly in her mouth. Soon we were once again enjoying the pleasures of an unhurried fuck which began with my gamahuching Abigail using both tongue and fingers. I brought her rather quickly to the edge of another orgasm but just as quickly ceased my lovemaking to pay attention to her wondrous breasts.

I had to ignore her ardent pleas to continue with my licking her twat, and stalled her by telling Abigail it was now her turn to suck me.

"Go on! Suck my cock!" I whispered in her ear. The bedclothes now lay in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. Should anyone open the door to her bedroom there would be no alternative but to admit to our committing adultery; a punishable offense for each of us, if it were to become public.

My words served to inflame her even more and she motioned for me to rise and I left the bed and stood at its side. Abigail dropped to her knees beside me and took my prick into her hot, wet mouth.

"Yummy," she moaned, her doe eyes looking up at me as she squeezed my prick in her fist, jerking it up and down.

"It's so hot. It's so hard," she groaned and licked the underside of my shaft with long, languorous swipes of her tongue. 

"I can smell the both of us on it and taste the both of us too." She husked as her little pink tongue darted out, and sampled the liquid emanating from the apex of my tool. Then Abigail lowered her hot mouth onto my rock-hard manhood, and began to exert a highly skilled suction upon it. It ballooned in her mouth, growing hot and hard. Abigail groaned and then gasped as she jerked and sucked harder upon me.

I couldn't fathom how cunning and clever her mouth was upon me and I began to fuck her mouth with jerky motions of my hips. Abigail looked up and smiled knowingly as she licked my purple cock-head. I was stunned at how my prick had swelled in size, for it was certainly larger than normal and I attributed it to an increased blood flow to its head.

Abigail sucked it hungrily, her head rocking rapidly back and forth between my legs. Her fingers and lips grew sticky with his precum and her saliva. My prick began to throb ominously in her mouth. I groaned.

"Will you be spending in my mouth?" she asked holding me fast with her right hand and then licking the length of my entire shaft.

"That would be all right. You can always lick me too."

"Mmmm, no, I'd rather give you a rousing fuck to end our night of pleasure."

"Somehow I knew you'd want that," she murmured and, rising on her toes, kissed me wantonly, arching her tongue into my mouth, her fingers still jerking my prick. 

"Come on, then," she sighed, "Stuff my hole with your fat cock, kind sir!"

A surprisingly wanton Abigail squeezed a breast with one hand and opened her cunt-lips with the other.

With a groan, I moved between her legs and, bending over my lovely maiden, squeezed my thick prick into her cunt. She moaned softly and arched, her hands now holding and kneading her swollen breasts.

I humped her fast, knowing I had little time to bring her to a spend before I too would succumb to the vigor's of my sexual prowess and come for the last time that evening.

And when Abigail's fingertips lightly stroked my scrotum I sensed I might not make it quite that far. Regrettably I extracted my shaft from between her swollen folds, and not wanting to hurt my beloved's feelings, lightly slapped her swollen labia with my stiff appendage.

"My cunny!" she whimpered.

"What did you say?" I asked.

"Put it in my cunny!"

I complied, ramming my prick into her . . . cunny, as it were.

I know that my buttocks flexed as I speared into her, for Abigail gasped then shuddered as I tunneled into her deepest sector. Suddenly Abigail groaned loudly, her back bowed as my tool undoubtedly generated all sorts of delightful feelings within that sleeve of molten sex she called a cunny.

"YES! YES! That's it . . . Feels sooo good!" "Now fuck me, fuck me hard!"

I literally pummeled her cunt after that, as her body jerked and jounced. Her head was lolling from side to side and I was no longer certain that she was conscious. I raised her legs, placed my hands under her knees and went deeper into her than ever before.

She moaned with pleasure.

Her face contorted with ecstasy.

I savaged her cunny, reaming and ramming into what was . . . what had to be . . . a convulsing hot vortex one second and a contracting, squeezing muscle the next.

The pressure within my loins was intolerable. I began to ejaculate.

With the first burst of semen scalding the walls of her cunt, Abigail hissed out her satisfaction and hurled her hips up to meet my thrust. It was a collision of some magnitude. 

"OHHHH, YES! OHHHH, GOD YES!" She wailed.

I think I was screaming as well, but didn't hear myself as my testicles emptied their store of seed into my darling Abigail. 

I feveredly kissed her face and breasts as she lay panting beneath me. I started to suckle at her left nipple and she joined in, caressing her right breast; plucking occasionally at the nipple while her other hand plied away at the sticky gunk oozing out onto her crotch.

Some time elapsed before either of us spoke. Abigail was first.

"That was wonderful," she murmured. "Can we do it again? This time I want you in my arse."

"Twas wonderful, my dearest," I replied. "But I'm afraid I'm done for the night. Perhaps in the morning if we have the opportunity. If not then, well certainly sometime in the afternoon.

"A nooner, then," she cried gaily. "A nooner it tis!"

We woke early the next morning and managed another fuck. This time I took her while we stood. Neither of us feared her husband might discover us, for Abigail was certain he was still abed with the maid-servant, a young girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years who Abigail had seen him courting with sly touches to her arse and teats in recent weeks. The girl herself had as much as told Abigail her husband was after her. And when Abigail took no action, the girl evidently capitulated to Baring's advances in return for some form of financial remuneration.

Reluctantly, we left Abigail's bedroom and went down to breakfast where I became aroused once more just watching her butter a croissant; from her delicate nibble to the sensual manner in which her tongue darted about to capture a loose crumb, or a dab of jelly; and I pressed my hand to her thigh under the table.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 10



"I want you. I want you now. Let's go," I whispered.

She smiled demurely. "No," she murmured. "Later, now I have to take a walk. You adjust yourself and then give Nicole her piano lesson.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 11



Later that morning I took the first step in Nicole's seduction. Once again we sat at the piano, taking turns with various classical pieces. She sat down and said, "Here. This is what I do with the chords, on this waltz," and she started playing. Her performance was nearly flawless. If she kept practicing I was certain she could entertain royalty and told her so.

"Oh, Mr. Fogg, you do flatter me so," her blush was genuine and made the young girl seem even more desirable than ever.

We began to play together and I put my arm around her to play the chords on the high notes and she leaned across me to play the melody on the base notes. We blundered through the piece, laughing and giggling at our suddenly atrocious playing. Afterward, I made a feeble excuse, telling Nicole that I wanted to take a walk around the grounds as I had to relieve myself, of course I did not tell her the latter.

To my delight, Nicole offered to join me. I don't know all that much about young girls. However I do know they are possessed of an unquenchable curiosity with respect to a man's, or even a lad's prick, in all probability because they dream of having one inserted in them at some point in the future.

We strolled down a path that led away from the main house and into a wooded area. I had no idea how far the path went, but I imagined it continued a good way, perhaps ultimately wending its way back to the main house. 

I waited until we had walked for several minutes, then halted and placed my hand gently upon her arm.

"Nicole, I'm terribly embarrassed, but I must answer nature's call. Please call to me should someone venture along. I'll just go behind that cottonwood tree over there."

I made certain to position myself so that Nicole could, if she wanted, watch me piss on the lilies next to the large tree. Taking my member out, I calculated the odds on whether adorable little Nicole would take a peek at me pissing away.

Those thoughts served only to arouse me to the extent that I encountered a problem in coaxing the usually reliable stream of piss from my pinched urethra in that I also had an erection of moderate proportions. The more I strained, the larger it grew.

I heard a branch crack. With half an eye I slowly dared myself to look in the direction where Nicole stood lookout. She was keeping watch all right --- on my hard prick.

When she realized I had caught her looking she gasped. I expected a scream that would draw a servant or two and that would be trouble indeed as her parents, although one of whom condoned my actions, would seek my head in order to protect themselves and their good name.

But she just sat there on the ground and stared in silence, finally looking up at me with a strange, giggling smile.

"You can't pee?" she half-asked. 

I shook my head. "My prick is too hard," I blurted without thinking. 

"It's REALLY big," she giggled, surprising me in that she was not in the least offended. Moreover, Nicole did not move away. 

"That's because it's hard," I sputtered, not knowing what else to say to this waif of a girl. Then too, I was proud of my prick. It's a handsome tool, a thick seven inches. It must have looked a foot long to this 18 year old virgin.

"Father's isn't that big when he pees," Nicole commented wryly. "You really have a long one." She said as she ventured closer and had another look. 

"You've seen your . . . father's?" I asked having become a little uncomfortable. 

"When I was little he would sometimes go in front of us. I was really small; perhaps three or four, but I still remember it. It didn't look at all like yours," she added.

"What do you think?" I laughed nervously and shook it as I had finally relaxed enough to allow the piss to flow freely.

"It's very nice," she giggled.

"When it's hard the piss won't come out," I told her.

"Why is it hard?"

"I guess because you're here," I answered, deciding at that moment to push the point. "You're really very pretty."

"Do you really think so?" she seemed surprised and pleased.

"Of course, I'd venture to say that you are remarkably beautiful, and in a few short years will have every young lad in Britain chasing after you."

Her hand went to her mouth to cover her cry of delight at my remark. Then Nicole quickly backed out into the clearing. I tucked my prick back in my trowsers and buttoned up. I had this huge bulge in my pants that would be noticeable to anyone happening by. Somewhat terrified at the prospect, I walked back out to face Nicole.

Someone is going to see that," she said and pointed at my bulge.

"That's why you're going to go ahead of me. Anyone happening upon us won't be able to take their eyes off your beauty. Besides, with you around it will never get soft." 

Nicole loved this compliment, and bestowed a lovely smile on me. 

Now go on," I said, shooing her, and she went giggling up the slope with me close behind.

On returning to the music room, Nicole appeared to be in an excited state, for after I sat down at the piano, she bounced onto my lap announcing that we would make fewer mistakes this way. Of course her lovely derriere squirmed around and caused my prick to engorge to its fullest. 

"Nicole," I began, putting an end to any pretext of playing. "Please let me say something that needs to be said, but I fear might be taken the wrong way." 

"Do go on, Mr. Fogg. I already hold you in the highest regard." 

"All right then. I know you are but eighteen years now, but still I find you one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen."

"Oh, Mr. Fogg, you do say the nicest things to a girl. No one but my dear father has ever told me I'm beautiful, and he doesn't count. So for that lovely remark you get a reward." 

She placed her soft, sweet lips on mine ever so briefly, but with intention.

"That was lovely, Nicole," I said. "Thank you. I shall treasure the memory of your sweet lips on mine forever. And I meant it.

Our so-called lesson ended shortly thereafter when Mrs. Baring, my lovely Abigail, invited us to tea. Shortly after, Nicole and Rhonda had a girl friend named Alice call and they all went off to watch one of the servants sail a model boat in their large pond. That left Abigail and me alone in the house, except for the occasional servant meandering through the house.

"Your bed or mine?" Abigail asked hotly as we finished our tea.

"Mine, I should think. As a guest I don't have or keep hours your staff is familiar with, so for our mutual benefit I think it suits our purpose that I develop the habit of taking two naps each day."

"And," Abigail said with a lewd smile, "You'll be taking one now, I presume?"

"Exactly, my dear. Please do drop in on me in . . . shall we say, ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes it is," she said confirming our rendezvous.

Timing is everything, someone once said. I firmly believe it true, for as soon as my beloved closed the bedroom door behind her I found that I was incapable of containing my pent up lust any longer. Not only did I desire this lovely woman with all my carnal heart and soul, but her very own flesh and blood had bestirred my lust for cunt --- any cunt would have done, but to have this gorgeous creature standing before me was too much for me to bear. My cock was fully engorged. It had been thus since Nicole had watched me take a leak in the woods and now it throbbed mercilessly in my trousers.

Abigail stared at my prominent bulge with wide-eyed wonder. Hastily I yanked off my trousers and pulled out my appendage. We were in my bed within seconds, with Abigail scooting over and then climbing on top of me. Her mouth was already attacking my neck with wet lascivious kisses and licks. I enfolded her in my arms and our mouths pressed tightly until I managed to pry mine open to permit her invading tongue entry. Intermittently we sucked one another's tongues while moaning contentedly.

As our kissing wound down I hauled her lithe form upward and ordered my hands to maul and knead her fantastic breasts. Their resilience remains with me to this very day and I must admit to having paused in my writing to masturbate while thinking about them, lovely as they were.

Abigail's breathing grew more rapid. She grunted, then shifted her body in order to straddle mine, granting me even better access to her breasts. I felt her cunt juices being spread over my thighs and stomach as she ground her cunt into my body with my fully engorged prick tightly wedged between us. But that wasn't for very long as Abigail reached her dainty fingers between our bodies and found it, eased her rump back a few inches, raised her haunches slightly and guided my shaft into her with her free hand.

As soon as she was fully impaled upon my tool she rocked her hips and spread even more juice over my lower body.

"My darling," I moaned, "you feel so warm, so wonderfully nice. I don't ever want to leave your lovely cunny."

"Phileas, I feel the same. Perhaps we'll stay this way, it tis so blissful. Might we remain thus until we slowly starve to death?"

"I must confess that as much as I love thee, my stomach would not permit it."

Abigail's tinkled laughter filled the room, but all the same she gave me a mighty swat of her hand on my shoulder.

"PIG!" She groaned, for in retaliation to her blow I had jabbed my prick into her and may have glanced off of her cervix.

"Phileas!"

"Oh, you rather liked that did you?"

"Indeed I did. Can you keep doing that, I mean not constantly, but every so often?"

"It would please me no end, M'lady."

"Can you... for a really long time, Phileas?"

"I can but try, M'lady," and added several fast thrusts to emphasize my point.

"Oh, God . . . I'm about to swoon, Phileas!"

My prick slipped away from her cuntal clutches and flopped against my belly.

"Please don't," I said, frantically reaching for my shaft. "You'll miss some of the fun." However, I did not ram it back into her.

"Mmmmmm," she sighed and kissed me hard and passionately. As our tongues mingled I toyed with her nipples, which had grown long and hard. We continued the kiss and in the silence of the room I distinctly heard her breathing growing somewhat irregular.

My dearest began to grunt as she rubbed her cunt into my hip, no doubt titillating her clit, for as I bite her left nipple she went wild and started to spend.

"IN! PRAY PUT IT IN, QUICKLY!" Abigail cried out.

I did, quickly and expertly I found her slit and shoved my cock into her warmth once more. I was in heaven and evidently Abigail may have been someplace even better.

"OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!"

Her pussy clamped down on me and her whole body quivered. She pulled away from our kiss and arched her back with her fingers digging into my shoulders. She held that position for a good 45 seconds as her orgasm ripped through her.

As she came down some, I lazily stroked her teats and whispered, "I only wish I had been able to suck them when you were with child." I meant it as a compliment, an inane one at best, but still her reaction was extraordinary. For Abigail's eyes flew open and her mouth dropped and her cunt clamped me as if it were a vise. Abigail ground her sex into me as if she were possessed and being chased by demons.

"OH SHIT!"

I was suddenly aware that the sheets around us had become wet, but I was too involved with her humping movements to think about for a fleeting second or two and then my mind was off trying to record some of the horde of delicious sensations bombarding my senses.

Abigail's fingers dug deeply into my shoulders. She threw back her head and screamed. It began as a high pitched whine and turned into a loud scream and I was comforted by the fact that the family was not in the house and wondered about the servants rushing into the room to rescue someone in dire need.

Her whole body quivered for some minutes as the climax peaked and then wound down.

As she entered her recovery period, she brought her face close to mine and hoarsely moaned, "Phileas my love, I simply adore you. I adore you for bringing me to such ecstatic heights of pleasure. I simply cannot believe that each time I lay with you tis better than the previous time."

All I could think to say was, "You inspire me to do great things, my darling."

My words moved her hips into action again and I pulled her down for some more pleasant kissing. We moved our tongues from one mouth to the other and took turns swallowing each other's spittle. Abigail proving to be the nastier of us by hovering high above my mouth and letting a long string of saliva hang from her lip until Mr. Newton's recent law of gravity ordered it to snap and land in a heap on my waiting tongue.

That set the two of us to laughing so hard Abigail had to pull away to catch her breath and then laid her head on my chest.

Then she grew serious and said, "What you said a moment ago, Phileas, do you recall?"

"Yes, of course I do. It had to do with your inspiring me to do great things."

"No, I meant before that."

I must have had a puzzled expression on my face, for she smiled lewdly and licked my lips in turn, the top first and the bottom second.

"Oh, you dear, dear man; what you said caused me to have a magnificent spend. Your very words were and I quote, "I wish I had been able to suckle your teats when you were with child."

"Well it's true!"

"Here then," she husked, "suck to your heart's content," and holding a breast in her hand fed it to my mouth. I began to suck on her nipple and after a short time the strangest thing happened. Abigail's nipple began to secret a fluid. Twas not milk, at least I think twas not; but not being overly familiar with the ways of women, I did not know for certain.

Hearing me swallow, Abigail got this wonderful lost look upon her face and beamed down at me. I slurped another mouthful down my throat and she squeezed her teat, forcing a stream of warm fluid into my mouth.

After swallowing I removed her nipple and asked, "How the blazes do you manage that?"

She smiled knowingly back at me, but said nothing for a moment, then deigned it proper to respond and said, "I don't really understand what's happening myself, but ever since I birthed Rhonda I find I am able to secret something . . . I've tasted it and don't believe tis milk, mother's milk I mean. But it certainly comes out of me teat, so what else can it be but milk. Perhaps a watered down version of it, but milk it must be."

"Might I have some more?"

"Please do, for it pleases me very much, for as you draw on me I thrill in a thousand different places. I fear that if you sucked away long enough I would have yet another heavy spend."

"Then of course I shall," I told her and moved toward her strawberry tipped breast once more.

"Would you put it back inside me, please," Abigail asked, and of course I complied and was soon glad I had. For as my teeth clamped down on her stiffened bud her cunt muscles clamped down so hard I thought she might lop my prick off at the base. 

"What!" I gasped and realized Abigail's entire body had gone as rigid as a five day old corpse. I gave her teat a squeeze and Abigail moaned, then shuddered as a mighty orgasm arrived and swept her away from me for several minutes. I contented myself with stoking her shoulders and back until she returned to some semblance of normalcy.

"My God," she gasped after opening her eyes and settling them on me. "I have never . . ."

"You told me moments ago that each time was better than the last, did you not?"

"I did. But I didn't think this love making would be the death of me. I fear I almost passed from this world to the next a minute ago." She lightly struck my chest with her fist. "You'd kill me with this . . . this . . ." she was struggling to describe my prick, and so I said, "Prick of mine?"

"Yes!" she cried and in doing so lost her breath and began coughing.

When she recovered, Abigail turned to me and in a serious tone asked, "Phileas, is it possible to fuck one's self to death?"

"I imagine so, although I know not of anyone actually doing so."

"What a wonderful way to die!" Abigail cried out and waved her arms in the air.

"Come, Phileas, give me another harrowing ride. Make it life and death, I pray you do it, do it, oh, do it!"

I grabbed her around the waist and whispered "hold on." We rolled and I slid into her sluicy quim. When I was on top, I whispered to her to put her legs around me and hold on and I moved us back to the center of the bed.

"Is this what you had in mind?"

"Just fuck me!"

I started out using a gentle rhythm and attempted to ensure that I would make contact with her clit as I bottomed out. Abigail began to moan on every down stroke and used her legs to grasp me for the necessary leverage to thrust up and meet my strokes. Soon we had a good rhythm going and her moans grew louder. 

I brought our mouths together and started moving my tongue in and out of her mouth in the same rhythm as our fucking. Her eyes flew open and after about six slow thrusts Abigail renewed her orgasming. This time she remained in control of her person and sucked hard on my tongue as she used her muscular control to apply ample pressure around my manhood. Truth be told, she was holding my prick prisoner, for it could not go forward, nor backward, but remained in place as she gently squeezed it with the walls of her cunny.

From her shuddering I knew she had continued spending and when I could once again maneuver my prick within her she began to clamor for air. I stopped until she was breathing again, heavily for sure, but normal enough to alleviate my concerns for her well being. 

As her orgasm slacked off, she hoarsely whispered, "I can't take much more of this." 

"Well then let us have a frantic finish shall we?" Abigail nodded her head in agreement.

She started rocking her hips in a wild uncontrolled motion, almost throwing me off of her.

"Come in me, Phileas, my love," she panted, "I want to feel you squirting in me."

I was already close and her words spurred my seed's haste to depart my testicles.

"Are you really ready to feel my spend squirting on your cunny's walls?" I hissed through clenched teeth.

"YES! YES! YES!"

Pumping in and out of her like a man possessed, I growled into her ear, "I'm going to spend so much that it will be leaking down your leg all bloody day!"

"OH!" she gasped and started to spend.

"AHH!" I grunted even louder than she had and felt as her cunt grew wetter still, and vise-like --- tighter and tighter, until at last the pleasure we both sought was upon us driving each of us almost mad with its incredible intensity.

Abigail let go a low yawning, half-moan, half-sigh and spent --- clutching my hair spasmodically, and her thighs nipping.

"Fuck me! Fuck me! Ah! Ah!" She cried.

I knew well enough what my dearest wanted and fully intended to give it to her. Several tantalizing slow thrusts later she was on the verge of an orgasm when I pulled out. She moaned in protest, but lay still, which surprised me in that a precious second ago she had been matching me thrust for thrust. 

With a casual motion I dipped two fingers into her sexual cauldron and lifted them to my nose, inhaling her scent and making no secret of my obvious pleasure. Then I wiped my fingers under her nose, coating the area with her scent. Abigail's nostril's flared, but her eyes remained on my face as my fingers returned to her cunt, coated them with another dollop of her juices and put the fingers to my own lips, cleaning her fluids by avidly sucking them away. Her taste was amazing; dark and smoky, sweet and salty is the only way I can describe it. She had her tongue out to its fullest, licking the spot under her nose where I had deposited a sample of her juices.

I could see, the lust riding her body, pushing away all thought and leaving only sensation in its wake. Her eyes flashed with hungry excitement and I realized that in denying her the orgasm only excited Abigail all the more. 




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 11



I began to slap her cunt with my prick.

Each time it landed softly on her outer lips she "Ohhh'd."

I recall striking her a dozen times and elicited an even dozen "Ohhh's" from her. Then holding my shaft in one hand I pushed the head into her slit which readily opened for me. Abigail eagerly watched her body slowly swallow my sexual organ, and I enjoy the feeling of her walls stretching to take my width. Her tight, wet heat enveloped me as I resumed my slow, deliberate thrusting, well aware it wouldn't be long before my beloved spent profusely once again.

As I slid in and out of her body, Abigail groaned, now it was a series of "Oooing" and "Ahhing."

"Good God, your cunt has a magnificent feel to it!" I spat out, for I was beginning to labor under the efforts of my fucking.

She moaned in response.

My cock was almost leaving her cunt with each stroke at this juncture and it was making a strange, erotic sucking sound as I left it, only to gurgle pleasantly as I reentered.

"Do you like having me inside you?"

"Oh, yes!" She said, "Can't you hear me crying out each time you leave me?"

"Yes, yes I do, strange isn't it?"

She issued a lewd laugh and said, "I want you in me more than anything in the world. I don't want you go leave. Please tell me you'll find a reason to stay, or at least visit as often as possible, so we can fuck and fuck and fuck all day and all night."

"I shall my love, I shall." I kissed her and then consummated our coupling, using swift thrusts that proved so intense that we were both climaxing in short order. I can still feel the powerful muscles of her cunt clamping down upon my prick, milking it as I had her teats minutes before. We were both moaning, as I strained to thrust harder and deeper and her husky voice urged me on while she pulled me closer to her with her arms and legs.

We finished with more of a whimper than anything else. Finally I rolled off her, since my elbows were sore from supporting my weight. She gave a little moan as my cock withdrew, followed by a gush of our juices. Abigail quickly squeezed her thighs together, trying to keep my spunk in her.

I noticed she had tears in her eyes and asked her, "What's the matter."

"I am just so happy. I've never felt like this before and I don't know how to handle it. I'm afraid this is a dream and I'll wake up and I'll be alone in my bed and I don't want that."

I pulled her to me and gently kissed her. If this is a dream, then for God's sake, don't wake up. I don't want it to end either. We cuddled for about 10 or 15 minutes, not really talking, just enjoying the afterglow and holding each other. Then she said, "I don't want to get up, but I need to go on the potty."

"Mmmm, as do I as well."

"I'm first because you left all that spunk in me."

I hopped from the bed and gallantly offered Abigail my hand which she accepted and I helped her dismount the bed.

"Thank you," said she as she bent down and pulled the chamber pot from under the bed. She promptly squatted and let fly a heady stream of piss that would have done the finest beer drinker in all of London proud.

She stood up and wiped herself with the hem of her dress.

"Your turn, Phileas," she said gaily, "I want to watch you piss, please do."

I stood three feet from the chamber pot and released a long stream of steamy piss that fell short of the pot, landing for the most part on the floor, but some did splatter and wound up on Abigail's foot. She began to hop on her other leg as I laughed uproariously at her antics.

"No fair pissing on me!" she cried out indignantly.

"I am truly sorry my love, I meant to show off and not to sprinkle you as I did."

I took her in my arms as she struggled to be released. I held her all the tighter.

"Let me go! Phileas let me go!"

"Give me a kiss first," I teased.

"Let me go first. You're spunk is running down my leg."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" I freed her and knelt down before her.

"If M'lady will allow, I'd be most pleased to lick her leg and other parts clean of the dreaded spunk."

That got me a smile, a devious smile at that. Looking directly into my eyes, Abigail put her hand between her legs and brought out two fingers soaked in our juices.

"You may start with this, it's my peace offering," she said.

I lapped it from her fingers and then drew them into my mouth and sucked happily upon them.

Half squatting, she spread her legs and dipped her fingers in the pinkness of her folds, but this time brought the fingers to her own lips rubbing the fluids over them, and then motioned me to come and kiss her.

I did, but only after spending a minute licking and then sucking each of her lips. Eventually, I groaned and reluctantly informed Abigail of my now urgent need to finish pissing.

"I'll hold it for you," she said, amused at my discomfort.

There will be piss everywhere if you do."

She moved next to me and said, "I'm serious, let me guide it."

""I'll let you hold it, but I'll do the aiming."

"But, M'lord," said she miming my earlier 'M'lady' you've already shown your aim to be off target. Would you be drenching my other foot now?"

"I was acting the fool earlier. Now take hold of it," I said and she did, but I maintained control of who was aiming it and cut loose with a sizable stream and was enjoying the entire act until Abigail applied pressure and cut me off in mid-stream as it were.

I found it painful and told her so only to have her laugh as she released the pressure. My urine began to flow again and as a joke I directed the piss onto Abigail's leg.

It took about two seconds for it to register, and then she gave a whoop and began to chase me around the room. I ran, gleefully as a ten year old until skidding in a puddle of piss that lay on the floor and falling on my arse right in the middle of my mess.

Now Abigail set to laughing at my plight. 

It was my turn to chase her and I did so, this time neither of us slipped, for we deftly averted the area. I managed to catch her after a minute and lifting her high in the air, dropped her back on the bed.

It was more than the poor bed could tolerate and it collapsed, sagging downward and almost, but not quite touching the floor and all the piss puddled there.

I gave her delightful rump a hearty smack and she howled joyously.

"Stop! Stop! I'll be good!" she wailed, but I added one more just to make sure she remembered. I casually rubbed my hand over the reddened area and heard a distinct moan come from her lips.

"Want more?" I inquired.

"Yes, no! I mean I want you, not a spanking. I glanced down and saw her clit bigger than life itself and I caressed it with a fingertip. 

"OH GOD!" she moaned. And I began anew on her, sliding a finger into her juicy cauldron only caused her to moan the louder. My prick had risen to it fullest once more and I debated whether to fuck her now or tease her through several orgasms first. I decided on the later.

It wasn't long before my entire hand was covered with our commingled juices.

"Abigail," I whispered in her ear after nibbling it until she moaned.

"Umm," she replied.

"Are you still sore back there?"

"Mmmm?"

"Your arse, is it still tender?"

"I can't feel a thing . . . anywhere. Do it. It is great fun, no matter the pain, do me back there. I love it there!"

I piled up a few pillows and lifted her onto them, her belly face down. I tested the bed to make sure it would hold and it seemed safe enough. God knows we had all but destroyed the bed and the flooring with all the piss.

She reached behind her and spread her ass cheeks for me, showing me the slick starfish that was her anus. And so, I began to play with her arse, wetting it with a generous portion of our combined juices and then poked my middle finger into her without her making a sound. I pressed the round head of my cock against her puckered rosette, but went no further.

"Ummm, please go slow, Phileas. I want you to fill me but not tear me apart."

She lay still and relaxed, inviting me deeper. Taking my time, I worked my cock inside her tight nether passage, pausing often to let her adjust to accommodate the thickness of my shaft. Finally I had the entire length of my pole well into her arse.

I slowly built up a rhythmic pace, thrusting slow and deep. I held her hips and drove myself into her depths. The feeling was completely different from fucking her cunt. Her pussy was slick and hot and expanded to make the necessary allowances for my prick, but her arse had a firm grip on my manhood and in this instance it was the friction of that snugness that was driving us both wild.

Abigail once again spewed filth from her mouth, urging me to come in her arse. "Wriggle that snake in me! Oh Lord! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

At a given point I realized that Abigail had loosened up to the point of being able to push her hips back to meet my thrusts. The intensity of the friction remained but we were moving into and out of one another with relative ease. My balls slapped against her swollen labia as our bodies meshed. I had reached my limits and could hold out no longer. My balls tightened, I groaned, signaling Abigail of what was happening and sent a spray of hot, thick sperm into her arse. 

Still spinning from the force of my orgasm, I ran my hands across her back and then trailed my fingertips along the base of her spine. I could feel her heartbeat through my prick, still buried in her ass. She propped herself up on one arm and looked back at me with a smile.

I pulled away from her to set her free and my shrinking member slid from her with a pop. I helped her to her feet and kissed her. Our sweaty bodies stuck together. Pushing a wet strand of hair out of her face, I tried to think of something appropriate to say. 

Abigail must have been thinking the same thing because we ended up laughing at each other. After all, what do you say to someone after you've had sexual intercourse with every orifice in their body?

We dressed in silence and when finished, I took her hands in mine and kissed each of them and then I lightly brushed her lips with mine.

"I truly believe I love you Abigail."

"I love you too, Phileas. Now why don't you tell me why my husband has you staying here as his guest?" 



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 12



Part Twelve

"I truly believe I love you Abigail."

"I love you too, Phileas. Now, please tell me why my husband has you here as his guest?"

I was silent for a moment thinking furiously. Then I began to tell her a blatantly concocted tale designed the turn her against Sir Baring and grant me leeway to her daughter Nicole.

Knowing that the best of lies are as truthful as possible, I began thusly: "Dearest Abigail, your husband is a very wealthy man. I myself am not poor, but he has it within his power to crush me financially should I not do his bidding."

Abigail reeled back a step as she gasped at my words.

"He had you seduce me?"

"No, no! I was told to distract you while he . . . I cannot tell you what he is about for I do not know what it is he is about."

"You were to distract me!"

"Wait! Please hear me out! I . . . never distracted you as instructed. No, for on meeting you the very first time I fell in love with you and so doing his bidding was a relatively simple matter. Just to be near you, to smell a mere whiff of your fragrance would have made me so happy. But to find that you... you cared for me was unbelievable, improbable and utterly . . ." further words failed me.

"I wanted to tell you from the very first. But how could I? You would have rushed to Sir Baring and confronted him. I would be ruined and worse, yes far worse, I would have lost you forever."

"But why did he involve Nicole?" Abigail asked a puzzled expression on her continence.

"I don't know for certain. I believe he thought she would become enamored of me as young girls often do and that you would be occupied in both thought and action, not wanting to leave me out of your sight. A furthering of the distraction as you can see."

I hung my head and looked down at the tips of my boots.

"He did that... to you?"

I nodded my head.

"That miserable cur! What a scoundrel! I shall kill him!"

"NO!" I shouted and hoped the household members didn't come running. "Don't you see? His scheming has brought us together! Without his treachery our love would never have been possible." I reached for her, and to my relief Abigail rushed into my arms.

"It's true!" She cried as she covered my face with a thousand kisses. "Oh, Phileas . . . I do love you so!"

It was my turn to kiss her and I did so, with as gentle a kiss as I could manage and she was thoroughly aroused before it was over. But alas, I could not rise to the occasion and told her so.

"Can you do the other...?"

"I don't know," I murmured, knowing that this time Abigail would take the initiative. With a resigned sigh, she slid along my body, licking it like a whore, sucking and biting at my nipples and revealing a whole new aspect of her personality.

Abigail kissed me deeply, thrusting her tongue into my mouth as she spread her legs on either side of my body. Moaning and gasping for breath, she slithered over my chest and sat next to me. Her eyes were smoke and desire as she glanced at my still flaccid prick, then she moved to straddle my body; rising up on her extended arms and knees above me. The sight of her sweaty breasts hanging down -- watching them sway slightly with her heavy breathing mesmerized me.

Looking down at me Abigail followed the direction of my gaze and, smiling, shook herself side to side. Her breasts wagged invitingly with her movement and I smiled back at her as my eyes met hers. Then Abigail began to play with her breasts; lifting one to her lips, the nipple already fully extended and brown with the blood of her arousal. I watched as she licked it, her eyes still locked on mine, tantalizing me. I licked my lips and checked for the first signs of an erection, but there was none at the moment.

Abigail began kneading her breasts, first the right and then the left. Finally, squeezing them together and somehow managing to suck both nipples simultaneously. Then with a soft whimper, she released her breasts and rose and shimmied her way up until her cunt was hovering mere inches from my face.

It was my turn to gasp, for I had never seen her mound get so puffy and full -- so darkly flushed, during her earlier excitements. Then too, I had never before been afforded such a prime view as this one. The earlier times the lighting and angles had been poor, but this time . . . I could readily make out a ridge of pink flesh at the top of her slit -- just below an arrow shaped tunnel of flesh that Abigail was rubbing so furiously. She had two fingers inside her cunt and was moving them faster -- fucking herself harder than I ever had. Her other hand was also there, under the first and rubbing vigorously at the top of her slit, sometimes side to side, sometimes in circles. Suddenly, her body seemed to relax, becoming heavy as she sagged downward upon me. I felt a shiver passing through her; her hands stopped moving. The shiver passed, and the fucking fingers stilled. But those of her other hand, those dainty, rubbing fingers began moving again; though more slowly and gently than before. Another shiver passed through her, only this time the fingers kept moving as a bit of fluid seeped around her fingers. Abigail stopped then; her only movement being the removal of her fingers from within herself. There was a final shiver, softer than the previous two, and she lay still.

I deliberately allowed a full minute to pass. Then I went to her breast and suckled it as would a baby. When her moans of delight rose in volume, I abandoned her sweet buds and moved quickly to her center. I was still without an erection, but could tell that my manhood would be dependable as ever and rise again as does the sun on a regular basis. I pulled her cunt-lips open with the fingers of one hand and grabbed her buttocks with the other, then thrust my face into her cunt.

"Oh fuck yes! Oh yes! Do it, Phileas!"

 She wriggled around until her face was nudging my still inert prick, but contented herself by taking it into her mouth and giving suck. I was also busy, with my tongue now probing her silky, wet folds; darting in and out of her juicy opening. Abigail groaned and refusing to be inactive in our shared lust began to nuzzle and kiss my ball sacks; first sucking one nut into her mouth and gently massaging it with her tongue before releasing it, then giving it some more nuzzling and kisses before sucking the other one up.

I reciprocated by trailing a finger along the crevice of her arse and tickling her puckered anus. She paused in mid-kiss on a testicle to whimper her delight. I answered by sucking the nub just emerging from the pink flesh at the top of her slit, her clitoris, as it were, and heard her whimpers change to a satisfied hiss of pleasure.

I had one palm flat on her sucked-in belly, the other squeezing and kneading her swollen breasts that I think heightened her sweet agony and lusty hunger. Then I nipped at her swollen clit and Abigail began to jerk and bounce on my face; my hands left her belly and breasts in order to hold her cunt to my ever questing mouth. Abigail abandoned my sacs and her hands replaced mine on her breasts. Her head arched back; and her mouth open in a wide 'O'.

"AHHH, YES! LICK ME THERE! YES! YES! RIGHT . . . THERE!"

I believe she spent, for Abigail scrambled off my face and propped herself up against the backboard, knees drawn up and spread apart. I followed her and descended upon her cunt once again, sucking and lapping at her flowing juices as she wailed, "OH! OH! OH!"

She gripped my hair and moved my head around and around between her thighs; all the while her hips were lurching and jerking. Then with her head flipping from side to side Abigail's hands moved to her breasts to squeeze and maul them.

Needing to rest my tongue, I rammed two fingers into her sodden cunt and masturbated her vigorously, eventually adding my tongue by flicking it over her clitoris.

Abigail's face was radiant with her lust.

I frigged her all the harder.

When my arm finally tired she was panting and moaning like a dazed bitch in heat. I later learned that she had spent ten or twenty times. She had no certainty of the number, but swore that they came on after the other for as long as she could remember.

I rolled onto my back expecting to rest a minute or so, but she flung herself upon me and buried her face in my crotch; sucking my now rampant prick greedily and hungrily. There was no mistaking the lust in her; she wanted to devour me.

Soon I was taking control, jerking her head back and forth with both hands; carnally fucking her mouth. Since Abigail no longer required a hand to hold my member, she returned to yanking on her nipples, stretching them out to an unbelievable length.

I knew I had plenty of time before I would be spending and forming another idea of how to make love to her, I abruptly shoved her head away. She moaned loudly at the loss of my prick, but responded quickly when I turned her around on the bed so that she was now on her knees and forearms; her arse thrust up and back at me.

She placed her hands on her arse cheeks and pulled them apart.

Panting, I asked, "Do you want me up your arse again?"

"Yes," she moaned. "But, Phileas . . . first please finish off my . . . cunt!"

I fed my member into her velvet sleeve and reveled in her moan of delight as I filled her. Abigail bit her upper lip and drew blood. I flexed my buttocks and urged my hips forward. The entirety of my prick sank into Abigail's treasure cove.

"Oh yes!" she gasped in joy, "Oh God, that's so good!"

Her body rocked forward as I drilled my manhood into her flesh. Now I was gasping, buttocks flexed taut, as I savored the clenching of her cunt's muscles upon my shaft. I began to rut again, slowly, drawing out the vast, pleasurable sensations found as my prick coursed in to her deepest parts. My hands, seeming of their own accord slid along her ribcage, then to her slightly swinging breasts and squeezed them to her obvious enjoyment.

"Phileas?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Fuck me like a whore!" she gasped.

"But you're not a whore," I exclaimed heatedly.

"Treat me as one! Go on; fuck me as you would a randy whore!"

Wanting to comply as best I could with her wishes, I eased back, leaving only the very head of my prick lingering against her labia. A glance downward, favored me with a view of my glistening member as it bulged with desire for the tunnel directly in front of it. She moaned softly and I slowly entered into her again until fully embedded in her cunt. She whimpered, her buttocks swaying and writhing erotically against my thighs. I took a moment to tweak and then pull and twist her elongated nipples and she cried out in both pain and pleasure.

We fucked slowly and unhurriedly, like lovers do, with no concern about time or being caught at it. My prick was gliding smoothly in and out of her greased tunnel, emerging and disappearing between her buttocks.

Deciding to humor her request to be treated as a whore I engaged Abigail in a brief conversation.

"So tell me, my fine whore, when did you first start doing this?"

"Later," she gasped. "Not now."

"No," I insisted, "Now."

"You bastard," she hissed.

"Tell me, bitch, or I'm going to pull out and walk away."

 Appalled at the thought of my leaving her in such an excited state, Abigail began to cry and pleaded with me not to leave.

"Tell me, who was your first customer, 'eh bitch?" I snarled then smacked her hard on the arse.

"Ouch! All right! All right!" She wailed.

And much to my surprise, she did; switching to a Cockney accent and doing it so brilliantly that I was almost convinced she was telling me the truth.

"Me mum was a prostitute. Twas was four years before I met Sir Baring." Abigail wiped a tear away, then smiled and gave me a light kiss on the cheek. "Yea, I wus young and innocent. Many's the time I'd come home to the sound of banging on the ceiling and moans coming from upstairs. I didn't usually bother to find out what was going on cos, well that was normal in our house. But one day I decided to take a look. Taking off me shoes first so as not to make any noise, I quietly crept upstairs. Me mum's bedroom door was slightly open and I remember still to this day peeking through the crack and watching me mum doing a punter. They wus lying on top of the bed, not in it, so I got an excellent view of the proceedings; me mum with her legs spread wide apart, bent at the knees, with this bloke who was a little bit porky and pushing himself in an out of her.

"It was spellbinding! She was gently purring away while he wus huffing and puffing and mumbling something under his breath. After a short while he stopped and said, "Okay whore, now you get up top." With that they switched places and mum lowered herself on top of his throbbing penis. "En that twas the first prick I ever did see, if you don't count little Davie Bannister a four year old I had to watch occasionally.

"Anyway, me mum asked him if he minded if she smoked and he told her he didn't mind, that he liked the smell of tobacco. So she lit up, blew some smoke out of the side of her mouth and looked towards the door. "Oh, did I ever feel her eyes on me; but she turned her head back to him, put the fag back in her mouth, and thrust away at him like a mad woman."

"Me mum, her name wus, Sue; well she were a blur of blonde hair, red lips, cigarette smoke as she rode him for all she was worth. Some five minutes or so of heavy thrusting later she held still whilst he spasmed to a halt. She then got off and I quickly tip- toed down the stairs into the living room, trying to pretend to do my usual reading whilst thinking back in awe on this sight that I'd just seen."

"Ten minutes or so later I heard footsteps down the stairs and voices in the front room. Then, after a moment, I heard the door shut and me mum coming back into the living room. When she spoke I near died on the spot.

"So now you know what your mum does for a living, Abby." She said matter of factly. I started to stammer and made the mistake of saying, "Sorry, I don't know what you mean mum." She knew I was lying 'cause hit wus written all over my sweet little face.

"Oh come now, Abby, I saw you. I don't mind you looking, you know. Admit it, you saw me having a go with that bloke; that `punter'."

"Umm, yes, I 'spose I did."

"Me mum give me this big lecture on her being a whore; what it was, what she did, how often, for how much and why she did it.

"Wow!" I thought I couldn't believe that we were having this conversation, or that this was what she did for a living!"

Me mum reached towards the kitchen table and lit another of her cigarettes, inhaling deeply before pulling it out of her mouth.

"Do you want a cigarette, Abby?"

"Umm," I said, hemming and hawing, wus this some trick? Mum knew I wusn't near old enough to smoke.

"Look," me mum says," I started smokin' when I was 12. You're a hell of a lot older than that. If you want to smoke then I'll let you have one. It's up to you."

For the first time since she came downstairs I began to feel safe. I took one, and she lit it for me. On my first attempt I coughed and spluttered, but after some excellent coaching from me mum I got the hang of it. I felt like it made me more of a woman and got me closer to mum.

From then on I was smoking 2 or more cigarettes a day and once or twice I even tried a pipe. I felt just like I wus all grown up. Next thing I know, me mum's letting me watch her plyin' her trade as it were. I musta watched her hump a hundred or so 'punters." Twas their 'Willie's' what I enjoyed seeing the most. What I didn't care for was the ones with the real hairy arses. But I seen some enormous 'Willie's,' truly enormous; maybe ten inches or more. But many a bloke was gifted with just a wee 'Willie;" maybe four or five inches at best.

My breasts began to mould to a nice shape and size, and like all young girls, I started thinking 'bout having sex. Being sneaky I would "borrow" some of me mum's 'nicer' things and strut around the East End asking the more appealing men if they were looking for a good time."

"Looking for business love?" I'd say.

"Do you want a cuddle?" I'd tease.

"Looking for some spice?" I'd offer.

"How 'bout a nice fuck?" I'd dare 'em.

Then, soon's they made like they was going to accept me offering, I'd run like the wind to a secret hiding place and watch them stamp their feet and swear in anger lookin' for me.

Soon enough though, this wasn't enough for me. My sexual feelings and me needs arose. Consequently I began masturbating when I was in my "whore" role, visualizing fucking blokes for money. It sure made me horny! The more often I played my new "role" the harder I found it to revert back to plain old Abigail again."

It had to happen I suppose. Midway through me 18th year me mum finally caught me playing the whore. I had done the whole chatting up act, the walking with a wiggle, the stoop to show me new found tits; smoking and then after taking off at a run on the bloke, masturbating to satisfy me needs. But just as I came, I heard a familiar voice from behind me."

"Well now, Abby, that was very impressive!"

CAUGHT!

"Err, umm, mum... I wus just...."

"Don't be ashamed of doing it. I'm sorry for creeping up on you, should not a done it, but I almost fell over you . . . so tell me true, How long yer been doing it?"

"A . . . A . . . A few months now."

"Well I'm bloody proud Abby; you look really gorgeous strutting round like that in my clothes 'en all. Thing is, do you want to do it? Be a whore I mean?"

"Was this another trick?"

"Maybe.... "I answered.

"You can try it with one 'o mine if you've a mind too. I won't mind. You'll bring in more money than I do and that's for sure."

I took my time in making my reply. "I... don't really want to be a prostie," I said after a while.

Me mum grinned and hugged me tight, 'en told me it was fine with her. And the strange thing is some months later me mum had a gentleman ask for her hand. And two years later I met Alexander.

"Should I believe you? I said tersely.

"O course you should! I don't lie!" And then she burst out laughing and tickled me, crying out, "You believed me! You believed me!"

I kissed her and whispered sweet nothings in her ear after telling her that of course I believed her; and I also believe that she was a most gifted storyteller as well. Abigail fairly glowed with pride and I resumed my unhurried fucking, but took to adding a sequence of pauses... slowly gliding in, then pausing for a count of four and easing out, pausing again, and so on. This served to arouse Abigail all the more and soon she was writhing in sheer pleasure under me; her body lurching and rocking back and forth on her forearms and knees.

Slowly I built up speed. My motions grew faster and thrusts went in deeper. Abigail gasped and cried out, jerking forward under my lunges. Faster and faster I went, my hips swinging rapidly, feeling that sensation building within me.

With a firm grasp of her hips, I rammed into her and with each thrust, she grunted with pleasure. "Take it! Take it whore!" I gasped, increasing the speed of my thrusts.

I was ready to explode. My thighs smacked loudly against her flesh. She gasped and cried out, jerking and rocking under me. Her breasts shook violently as I plunged furiously in and out of her cunt. Abigail was coming hard when I jerked my prick from her suctioning cunt.

She gasped in shock and frustration and quickly reached back for my cock, trying to claw it back into her flesh. "Don't stop now!" She whined piously.

I grunted and laughed. "I'm not stopping, I'm going to fuck my whore's arse, what did you think?" I said brusquely.

"Oh! Then hurry!" She moaned and bent steeply forward with her shoulders were on the bed and her buttocks and hips lifted high. Her face was turned to the side as I added some of her juices to my stiff member, then parted her cheeks and pressed a finger into her bumhole.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 12



Abigail gasped and lurched forward as I wriggled my finger in and out of her anus, laughing at her reaction.

"Come on, whore," I teased, "Tell me you want it. Tell me you want it in your arse."

"Yes," she whimpered. "Shove it in there, sodomize me!"

My prick hovered against her shithole as I paused and said, "I can't hear you, bitch, speak up."

"Please ... Phileas, oh please!"

"That's my bitch. Beg for it!"

"Please, Phileas... fuck my ass! Shove your prick into my ass! Tear me apart!"

Abigail twisted her body and gripped my protruding shaft in one hand as I held her hips.

"Ready?" I asked softly.

"YES, DO IT!"

I flexed my buttocks and my prick slid between her fingers and the cleft between her arse cheeks. Her head jerked upward and her face contorted in a violent rictus of lust. Her mouth tore open and a shriek erupted from her throat.

I managed to wedge my cock some three inches on my initial thrust. My God, the pressure of her anus on my prick was exquisite.

Abigail cried out again, this time in sobbing, shuddering gasps. Her neck was arched and the tendons stood out in her throat. Her arm was rigid with tension of supporting her weight and part of my with each thrust; and her fingers flew as she strummed her quim, adding to her overall pleasure.

I was almost there and paused deep inside her to savor the feel of her; to memorize the perfection of it all. Beneath me, Abigail's ragged breathing gradually steadied. She began moving her arse and that served to jerk my prick slowly, gently.

"Come on," she gasped. "Come on Phileas, come in my arse!"

I slammed my manhood into her and she gasped again, this time it was a cry of naked lust. She held it tightly then as I made no move to withdraw, waiting those precious remaining seconds before emptying my load into her bum.

Then, slowly, hissing in pleasure, Abigail released me. Her hand slid up her body and squeezed her heavy breasts in wanton lust. Her body writhed and swayed in pleasure on the bed. Her face was radiant with pleasure. Her buttocks squirmed against my thighs and I came.

"OH! OH! OH! That feels so good, Phileas," she moaned then shivered. And with a huge sigh, I pulled my still discharging prick from her bum and began jerking it so that the last two ropes landed on her spinal column and the crevice of her fine arse.

"NO!" She moaned, and taking pity on her, I pushed my still dribbling prick back into her bumhole and continued to fuck her until she slowly sank to the bed and lay on her belly. With that last motion, my prick slipped from her gushy arse and lay limp on her left buttock until I rolled over and lay on my back too tired to move.

Time passed.

And more time passed before Abigail stirred and in a husky, wanton, but satisfied voice whispered, "So you do know how to fuck a whore."

"And I also know how to make love to the most beautiful woman in the world as well."

"Mmmm," she laughed lustily, "You do at that."

Abigail dressed quickly a few minutes later and told me that she hoped to see me later that night, but the rest of her day would be spent visiting a friend nearby and gathering some provisions for the following evening's dinner.

I had to wonder if she meant to confront Sir Baring based upon what I'd told her.

***** 



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 13



When Abigail left me, I decided to proceed with my seduction of Nicole even though it filled me with guilt and a certain dread of what would surely follow.

A few minutes before ten, Nicole knocked on my door and inquired if I wanted some tea. Opening the door I found the scamp had it there with her on a tray. She smiled and then giggled, then said with a humorous sagacity far beyond her years, "Tis for our walk, Mr. Fogg." 

"Fuel?" I inquired innocently, knowing she meant to fill my bladder in hopes of seeing my prick as it emptied itself of the 'tea.'

"I expect so, Mr. Fogg. Oh, and Mother says she'll be gone all the day gathering provisions for tomorrow's dinner. We can take as long as we like . . . on our little walk. Isn't that lovely?"

Her smile was nothing but wicked innocence, growing wider as I poured a second cup of tea and drank heartily.

Shortly thereafter we began our walk, and in short order Nicole, nymphet that she was, availed herself of certain new intimacies with me as indicated by the entwining of my arm with hers; and followed that by moving closer to me than was called for under the best of circumstances hugging my arm to her so that on occasion her breast brushed lightly against me. 

Thusly encouraged, when we were fully out of sight of the house, I turned and embraced her; and she pressed closely to my chest, pushing her delightful budding breasts into me as I leaned down to bestow a sweet kiss upon her waiting lips. I held her to me for a full minute, savoring the feel of her young lips on mine. There was no doubt but that Nicole noted the display of my assuredly less than paternal interest in her through the silent display of my rod pressing its urgency against her. 

Thereafter I arranged it so that on several occasions Nicole witnessed the prominence of my loins, which her close presence and flirty conduct had inflamed to the point where my tumescence was highly visible. 

A wry smile crossed her face and Nicole chirped merrily, "Shall I be your lookout again, Mr. Fogg? You drank so much tea I fear that you must need to relieve yourself by now; do you not?"

How could I refuse? Only this time, I unleashed a full-sized erection that caused Nicole to gasp in surprise and remove herself to some distance away from me. And while I stood before a multi-trunk birch tree I heard her going, "Oh, Oh, Oh." on viewing the size of my erection.

After a short while, I was able to relax, managing to spurt a long, thick stream of piss against the birch tree that brought Nicole round to better view my performance and on witnessing the powerful stream I was splattering the poor birch with, she shrieked with delight. "Mr. Fogg," she tittered as I shook my member free of the last drops, "I have a linen hanky in my pocket, would you like me to wipe off any... residue?"

"You certainly may," I said as a euphoric feeling swept over me.

But Nicole merely giggled and tossed the wadded up linen at me and ran back up the trail laughing. We resumed our walk, with Nicole breaking into giggles every ten or so steps. Suddenly she was back at my side, knocking her hips into mine as we walked. I made no further overture toward her seduction, preferring to let nature take its course. I was convinced that I had all the time in the world to complete my treachery.

Nicole and to some extent, her younger sister Rhonda, hovered around me the rest of the day and I had to wonder if Nicole had confided in her as sisters are wont to do. If so, I thought, then perhaps I might succeed in seducing the pair of them and satisfying Sir Baring's unstated request.

*****

Once Nicole was sure everyone had gone to bed for the evening, she lightly rapped on my bedroom door, which I opened a crack, for I knew not if it were she or my beloved Abigail. On seeing it was Nicole, I quickly opened the door and she ran up to me in her nightgown and hugged me. I hugged her in return, feeling her supple, young body pressed against mine. When I glanced down at her I saw that her eyes were closed and her head tilted back. I knew enough about girls to decode that signal, and so I kissed her until my tumescence was obvious and rubbing against her loins.

I told her we had to stop or we'd get caught. Knowing it was true; Nicole hugged me one last time and scampered off, giggling happily.

*****

An hour later, I made my way to Abigail's room and we made love most of the night, but my mind was on Nicole the whole time; or almost the entire time, as I planned her seduction while fucking her mother in each orifice before returning to my own bed around three in the morning.

*****

There was no piano playing the following morning, for Abigail once again had to leave the house --- this time to meet with her society friends that would see them caring for the poor and destitute and visiting the local hospital.

I surprised Nicole by bringing a picnic basket along on our daily walk. As she had the day before, she stayed very close to me; and after we had gone about a mile she took my hand and almost pulled me into the brush. We kissed several times in succession and eventually I brought our tongues together. Then with my arm around her waist, I drew her closer, and we sat for a time under a Chestnut tree, whilst I murmured sweet nothings into her ear. I waited for her to sigh before proceeding further then I began kissing my way down her arm. Beginning at the point where I had nibbled at her, I worked my way in a bit of a zigzag towards her elbow. Kissing first to the right, then to the left and finally in the center before once again giving a gentle nibble, clenching her flesh lightly between my teeth and pulling softly away until the flesh slipped free. 

Nicole laughed delightedly and in a childish manner pretended to scold me for being so presumptuous. I rubbed the skin along her neck in small circles and asked, "Would you have me stop right now?"

"OH?" she replied as though just coming awake, "No, no, do proceed, it is... very invigorating, Mr. Fogg, very invigorating."

I concluded my travels by moving down her arm and caressing the inside of her wrist. We kissed again, softly, with no perceived urgency on either of our part and it lasted quite a while. But for all that time, I maintained my casual stroking of her wrist, raising her ardor higher and higher. As soon as our lips separated, I was moved to kiss her wrist, using my tongue to tickle the flesh there on her pulse point and I felt it pick up and begin to race.

I sensed that I almost had her and transferred my lips to the back of her hand, kissing it firmly as I shifted position upward. I held her lightly by the back of the neck and turned her face to mine. Nicole acquiesced with nary the faintest protest. When she turned it happened that her breast came into contact with my hand and before she could move away I was kissing her on the lips and she melted into my arms, unheeding of my hand upon her pear-sized bust. 

These touches and our kisses had aroused the lithe nymphet to the point where I imagined that I could see the heat rising from her loins like steam from a boiling kettle. I kissed her with more passion than ever, sent my tongue into her mouth and sucked on her tongue until Nicole was moaning and mashing her tender breasts against me. Thinking it time to advance my amorous intentions upon her, I left my hand rest squarely on her belly, only inches from her center. A voluptuous shiver ran through her and she moaned all the louder, signaling me that she would be all too receptive to further explorations.

Still, I was very much aware that Nicole as youthful as she was might panic at any moment; but as her moans intensified I decided to risk pressing on, but at the slowest of tempos. Gradually Nicole relaxed in my arms; increased the ardor of her kisses; and tightened her arms about my neck. And then after ending a prolonged kiss with a huge sigh, Nichole begged me to leave her there and go back to the house. But I knew she was wrestling with a bigger problem than my stiff prick already staining my trousers with its over- heated wetness. 

My hand seemed to possess a mind of its own, furrowing under her dress and burrowing under her petticoat, to caress one of her delicate calves. Nicole made a muted protest at this. But I knew enough about women to ignore her; sending my hand higher, to mid-thigh, which evoked a violent reaction from her, in that she shoved the hand away and told me in no uncertain terms to, "Stop!"

I lifted my hand, returning it to her calves and this she permitted, for she was thoroughly confused. On the one hand she was overwhelmed with lustful sensations, and on the other, her sense of right and wrong was being thoroughly tested. My fingers continued to torment her, edging their way to that sweet spot behind the knee.

Nicole laughed at the initial touches; then moaned mournfully as they continued in their seductive ways; and then a scant minute later she reached a decision and uttered a wanton, "OH!" as the sexual arousal from my discreet caresses took control of her senses. "Mr. Fogg! What are you doing to me?"

"Am I misbehaving?" I ask.

"You are indeed!"

"Give me another of your sweet kisses," I begged.

This was quickly granted, for Nicole had grown to love our kissing. As our mouths devoured one another I held her tight and tighter still. Nicole moaned long and loud and I wondered if a servant or worse had heard.

"Please, Nicole, do try to be quiet, you will soon have everyone running after us and we shall be found out." She quieted down and a moment later asked, "What's happening to us . . . to me?" There was a lovely innocence to her question.

"Shall I stop kissing you?" I asked, knowing full well the response she would make.

"Yes!" She quickly replied, and then, "No! No! Don't listen to me; I love all your kisses!"

"Good, then give me another."

"I shall, but . . . no tricks."

We began another prolonged kiss; but this time I drew her lower lip between mine and licked it ever so lightly with my tongue. I felt the fire of lust surging through her as she shuddered in my arms. 

I noticed two things during that soft, close mouthed kiss of passion. The first was the feeling of her nipple beneath the back of my hand, rigid and erect; and the feeling of my prick as it was forced flat against my stomach by our joined hips. I hadn't even noticed my cock rising again, let alone felt the pressure of my clothing as it came fully rigid. My thoughts had been solely of Nicole and her responses to my seduction. But now I found myself wondering at Nicole's thoughts as my fully engorged prick pressed into the side of her hip and upper thigh.

I worked my hands to her sides, until I was sliding them up and down the sides of her body, from the tops of her hips to the sides of her ribs. Of course, we continued our kissing, and Nicole began to moan a little when my thumbs touched the bottoms of her breasts and pushed them up towards the top of her bodice. 

It took some time, but my efforts were rewarded as her small breasts escaped their confinement sufficiently so that Nicole's swollen bumps were revealed to my eyes all the way to the darkened flesh which surrounded her nipples. The nipples themselves, remained lodged in a crease of the fabric, which gallantly fought to retain her treasures as it rode up and down with the movement of her breasts. 

I leaned down to kiss her again and this time her head came up to meet me, her hands going to the back of my neck and then my shoulders as our tongues became snakes in a battle for ascendancy.

I changed my moves then, sliding both hands straight up the middle in that barest of gaps we maintained between our bodies. Up to those glorious risen mounds on her chest and maneuvering them until they rose up and free of her corseted bodice for my eyes and hands to feast on. Her breasts were mere swells as one would expect of a young girl just beginning to mature, but her nipples... I was thunderstruck, for they were the longest I had ever seen. I could not restrain myself, but reached to each breast and took the distended nipples in my fingers as my lips returned to hers. Gently I squeezed at them, pressing with my thumbs to bend them over the sides of my fingers and see if they would lengthen further. Nicole growled in her throat, the first sound to escape her lips since her protest that I was taking advantage of the situation.

I slid my fingers together against her nipple, trapping it then using a gentle squeezing pressure; I began dragging my hand from her breast, the nipple first being pulled with it, then slipping along between my sweaty fingers. I would momentarily, slightly spread my fingers and then re-trap the nipple before again sliding my hand away and pulling at the trapped nipple again. I found myself amazed that her nipple was so large. It had grown to about half the thickness of my pinkie finger and its end actually showed above my fingers when I squeezed them together. As I again squeezed and pulled on it my kissing lips reached her ribs and the underside of the breast upon which my hand worked. I kissed and gently licked at the point where the mound of flesh grew from her chest. Nicole's body arched, her shoulder rising slightly and her head going back.

I moved my head my head to the side and took a nipple into my mouth, putting just a bit of the tip between my lips, and sucked on it, slowly increasing the suction until not only it, but the little cap of dark flesh beneath it slipped into my mouth. I moved my tongue then, probing and lapping at everything I had captured.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" She gasped, her eyes suddenly vacant as if she were someplace else and I knew she was filled with that first pleasure derived in having one's teat neatly sucked.

I knew opportunity when it came round and with a nipple firmly clenched between my lips, I slowly rose to my knees beside her and began moving my slippery hand in tight circles against her inner thigh, moving it slowly towards the small leg opening in her pantaloons.

My hand advanced towards that opening in small motions, concentrating mostly on those sensations I might elicit. I slid my hand across a breast, spreading the fingers wide and allowing her nipple to slide into the gap created by my middle and ring fingers. When the nipple was at the base of the fingers I lightly squeezed the breast with my hand as I moved it around her chest. Her bodice was pushed as low on her chest as it could go and had become a twisted bunch of material from armpit to armpit.

Nicole's eyes had closed and her lips slightly parted. She was breathing rapidly through her mouth and at my touch the tip of her tongue appeared, coming into contact with her upper lip. I smiled, pleased with myself. Slowly a look of pleasured astonishment covered her face and her body fluttered and a quiet whimper escaped her lips.

Releasing her nipple from my mouth, I bent down and kissed her on the tummy, Nicole's back arched and her tummy rose up to press firmly against my mouth as I nibbled at her. My kisses returned to her breasts while my fingers were slid inside the leg of her pantaloons reaching the top of her thigh and then, I found the bottom of her young mound and allowed my fingers to explore the crease between her silky smooth pubes and her inner thigh, touching her as lightly as I could; and noting the scarcity of pubic hair along the smooth, smooth pathway. 

The movement of my hand was more restricted now, but I found I was still able to twist it further and down until it slipped between her legs and completely covered her quim. My middle finger insinuated itself into the crack of her arse, coming to rest across her bum hole. She moaned continuously, but offered little in the way of resistance.

I tried moving my hand up and down on her cunt, pressing into her and rubbing its length. My intention was to drag my fingers up, into and through the slit itself, but her pantaloons interfered. My hand became twisted inside the leg opening and the pantaloons proved too restrictive for the move. 

I released her completely and sat back. She moaned softly and we resumed our kisses, her mouth softer than ever and with an insatiable hunger for more. I stopped kissing her to explain Frenching to her and she seemed to have more than just a vague understanding of where it will lead. Several French kisses later my hand was well under her petticoats and rubbing over her quim. I doubt that she even realized what was going on, so enraptured was she with all the kissing and hugging. 

But inwardly she knew I was rubbing her quim, of that I'm convinced, for she was humping back at my hand. I suspect Nicole was fearful that I might end the rubbing if she protested and she was too close to coming to want it to stop at this point. Then too, my hand felt not only her youthful heat, but a growing wetness signaling her state of high arousal.

Suddenly Nicole cried out, for my finger although still outside a layer of underclothing had begun to play with the interior of her labia. Suddenly wary of my intentions, Nicole tried to close her thighs. This is perfectly all right with me for she has only managed to trap my hand just where I want it, next to her clitoris. 

Now nature has placed the woman's clitoris so that it cannot escape man's fingers. I don't know that this is fair, but it is said that "all's fair in love and war," and so although Nicole closed her thighs tightly, supposedly denying me access to her quim as well as her rear; it would appear the same action served to seal the arse as well, so that unless I acted with some violence toward her person, I could not succeed in opening her thighs to me. 

But as I said nature works against a woman because her clitoris is almost always accessible to the man's middle finger -- as it will penetrate the tightest of clamped thighs to reach the upper part of the cunt where the devilish clittie lies, enabling me to incite my nubile maiden to submit to my every whim. 

That same middle finger lightly brushed over her engorged clitoris.

"UNNNNGH!" She groaned and fell back as if in a faint. Being a gentleman, even if I am a cad and a bit of a scoundrel, I waited patiently for her to revive. When she did, Nicole drew herself up, looked me directly in the eye and demanded that I remove my hand from her privates.

She was surprised when I laughed at her demand and it took a moment for it to register upon her aroused senses that I had already done so. This perplexed the young maiden so much that there was no protest when my hand commenced to caressing her elongated tit buds.

"You have," I told her, "the longest nipples I have ever seen."

"Really?" She replied, pleased and surprised for as I later learned, Nicole had no one to compare herself with other than her sister, Rhonda who was almost a year younger than she.

And so while I amused myself playing with one nipple, Nicole explored her youthful sexuality by tantalizing the other. In no time at all her nips stood out proudly at least an inch and I had to wonder if someone had stretched them early on. Sir Baring came to mind, for he was certainly capable of such an act, but I quickly forgot about such matters and returned to the seduction at hand. I must add another word or two on those remarkable buds. Her nipples were thick and a dark pink in colour as well as stiff with arousal. 

"You know, Nicole," I said, "one day when you've fully developed breasts, I shouldn't be surprised if you were able to suck them yourself."

"I couldn't," she protested and blushed from head to toe.

I laughed and said, "I'll wager you've already tried to do it."

"Mr. Fogg!" She cried out, scandalized.

"Tell me true, have you not?"

"I have never..." she finished, blushing even more.

"Try it right now," I said coaxing her.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 13



"I cannot do it," she complained whining.

"Try it. It is so nice to have them sucked is it not?"

"Well yes it is most pleasing, but I cannot do it."

"Will you at least try it for me?"

"All right, I will give it a try," she said and bent her head downward falling several inches short of accomplishing the act.

"Bend your knees up to your chest," I suggested and she did.

Suddenly she gasped, for her tongue had touched the left nipple accidentally.

"Oh ho!" said I, "I think you can do it. Have another go will you?"

Now Nicole seemed eager to try it again and this time she cupped her tiny breast and lifted it toward her lips and at the same time she urged her knees higher, affording me my first glimpse of her quim lips as they strained mightily against the material of her pantaloons. On the second attempt, she caught the nipple between her lips and sucked merrily upon it for a minute or so until her body tired and she released it.

"You never know unless you try," I admonished her. To which she nodded her agreement. 

Sensing it was time to begin our fuck, I reached across her and lightly slapped at her hip. "Let's get these off," I said, and hooked two fingers her waistband and tugged at the pantaloons. Nicole groaned, but did not resist, instead she hastened to assist me and working together we soon had her naked from the waist down save her stockings. Her bodice remained bunched around her waist.

Deciding that I too wanted to be naked at that point, I quickly stripped out of my own clothing. Nicole watched as I finished stripping my underwear down over my ankles and off. Then we tackled her upper garments and finally stripping her to the nude I began the fuck by sucking feveredly upon her still blossoming, pear shaped nubs. 

Nearly mad with my need to fuck her -- to reap her virginity, I growled, "Let's feel your cunt." She let me. "My God," I said, "how soft your cunt feels. You must let me fuck you."

Nicole was panting and gasping at my every touch, the lips of her mouth intermittently fastened firmly to mine, parting only to gasp for air as I caressed the lips of her quim down below.

Moaning incoherently, Nicole was no longer capable of remaining impassive and excitedly wrapped her legs around my thigh and began to vigorously hump my leg. Soon thereafter, Nicole for the first time grasped my fiery doodle, causing me to frig her all the harder. Her head dropped over my shoulder, and I got my fingers under her arse and lightly rubbed over her bum and slit to her clitoris which had finally come out of hiding.

With a start, she gasped softly, "Oh!" 

A moment later I had my finger at her slippery entrance as she cried out, "Take me, I'm lost!" and sent the finger in to the first knuckle and no further. Nicole's only reaction was to hump my thigh even faster and to squeeze my doodle all the harder. 

With my hand mashed against her, I could feel her smooth, juicy quim convulsing against my thigh as the rest of her supple body trembled on the verge of a tumultuous climax; which arrived following some additional frigging of her cunt on my part.

After Nicole had recovered somewhat, I held her tight to my chest and whispered in her ear for her to pump my prick. She gave me a wide-eyed look of wonder and silently obeyed, staring with fascination at my stiff, red tipped rod and the pendulous, firm balls attached to the base.

"Look at it," I said, for she had turned her eyes and head away. At my words she turned back at gazed at her hand and then my erection. A moment later, she gave it a good squeeze and began to jerk it up and down.

"Like this?" She inquired.

"Exactly like that," I told her and she beamed delightedly. "It's so hard... I can't really squeeze it so very much."

"You're doing splendidly, Nicole my love, splendidly. "Feel how hot it is," I murmured in her ear then kissed her softly at the nape of her neck. She shivered as I lightly brushed over her hardened nipple, eliciting a moan of high arousal from her lips.

Then in a conspirators whisper, she lewdly gasped, "You're going to spray on me, aren't you?" 

"Yes," I replied, "but in you, not on you." 

Then, for a brief moment I permitted my stiff prick to dance before her eyes, seeing that a form of lewdness had taken control of her body and the desire to let me have my way had taken possession of her soul, and so I began to take her.

Nicole couldn't really keep her balance and put her hands on my shoulders. Her small fingers gripped my skin as I ran my tongue around her cunt slit while her scent nearly overwhelmed me. I pulled her moistness down to meet my tongue. The taste was decidedly different from what I would have imagined; tasting sweet and smelling of a pungent perfume. I loved the smooth hardness of her clit against the tip of my tongue. She squirmed and I tried to push my tongue far up into her cunt.

I licked and lapped at her quim until Nicole spent again, then quickly laid her across my lap and allowed my hands to traverse the full globes of her bum, squeezing here, then spreading her apart, exposing her glorious cunt to my eyes.

I fingered Nicole to another quick climax and finally thought she would be able to accept my prick in her hole although I knew it would be the tightest cunt I'd ever entered.

Her breathing was coming harder. My prick rubbed softly against her wet labia, coating itself with her juices before I urged it into her. Nicole readily accepted the first inch or so, but moaned in pain when I tried to go further and I halted for the moment, pulling out and using a finger to pave the way for me. After adding a second finger and frigging her to the brink of another climax I reinserted my prick and found entering her much easier as I ruptured her maidenhead with the first thrust. Nicole proved to be every bit the virgin her father thought her to be, crying out and bleeding profusely at first, but she was grunting and fucking me back not a minute later. 

"Lift your ass a little, Nicole," I murmured a few moments later, and she did as I held firmly to her hips and slowly worked my prick deeper into her tight sheath. Worming her hand down beneath herself, Nicole sent her middle finger across her clit and gasped at the sensation it wrought.

I kept making inroads with her, pressing in, pulling back, tunneling deeper and deeper, until finally I found myself buried entirely within her.

"You may not believe it, Nicole, but my prick is fully inside you." I told her.

"Oh, I know well how far in yer are," she replied. "I feel torn asunder and yet I'm experiencing the most wonderful feelings... a constant tingling that won't stop... God I don't want it to stop. And every time you move inside me I'm thrilled so much I feel faint."

"There's more," she said moments later, panting heavily. "My nipples..." she paused, gasped for air. "... my nipples have these sparks of electricity shooting from them. I know we can't, but I think it would be unbearably wonderful were we able to suckle them right now."

"We'll try it in a little while, my love, but right now I'm going to give you a royal fucking."

"It gets better?" The youthful girl said, obviously astounded by my words.

"Yes it does," I said, and pulled on a stiffened nipple just to see what its effect would be. I alternated kissing her mouth and tweaking her nipples as well as watching her face as the varied sensations coursed through her body. 

Finally Nicole began to spasm violently, then moaned loudly and pitched forward against me, burying her head in my shoulder. I gently removed my hand from her small breast and held her as the after tremors hit. When Nicole opened her eyes and looked up, she had a magnificent glow to her that I have never forgotten. My finger brushed over her clitoris and she spent again, then appeared to faint.

In truth, I had never encountered anyone this quick to spend, or this often and I had yet to really fuck her. I began to worry for her well being.

I gave her two smacks on her arse to make sure she was fully conscious and then fucked her relentlessly and repeatedly for over an hour. Oh, to be sure I came several times in the process, but so aroused was I that my prick never softened and I just kept going and going, pausing along the way to recapture my breath.

Nicole was delirious when I finally finished. No matter what I did to her, she wanted more. Even though it was her first time, I had fucked her repeatedly, with little or no recovery time between taking her virginity. 

I recall that Nicole, when capable of speech, rambled on about how wonderful my prick felt inside her. I had long before reached that point where my strokes were gliding smoothly and effortlessly in and out. There were several times when Nicole passed out from the pleasure of it all and I waited for her to revive. And revive she would, arching her nubile body until I thought her spine would snap before shifting her position. Even then she would writhe this way and that while I paused in my fucking to kiss and suck and lick her swollen breasts and those deliciously long, dark nipples until she was screaming from the overall intensity of it.

We changed positions frequently but the one that remains fixed in my mind all these years later had her on her hands and knees, fucking slowly, unhurriedly, rocking back and forth, with me pulling her inflamed quim up and down on my pistoning prick while she gasped that another spend was at hand. She was into frigging herself by this time and I felt my balls release their precious cargo and moved faster, until groaning loudly, I jerked myself from her cunt, causing her to moan at the sudden loss, turned her onto her back and began to masturbate to what would be the last of my cums. 

Nicole expressed her great disappointment by starting to weep as I slowly stroked myself.

"We're not quite finished, Nicole, my love."

"We're not?" She sniffled and wiped a tear away from her rosy cheek

"I want to come in your mouth, or on your tits and nipples."

She looked at my cock and nodded slowly. "Very well, Phileas, then do so, I will accept whatever you do gladly."

"You please me greatly, Nicole... Nicole a woman at last."

She smiled at my remark and said, "Might I... swallow some?"

"Swallow my spunk? Yes, you can, if you like. In fact, if you don't mind, I'd rather enjoy it if you did. By the way," I grinned, "it's called sperm, spunk, seed, semen and cum as well as spunk."

I stood up and pulled her head to my crotch again and fucked her mouth slowly, head bent, watching her, rocking her head back and forth with my hands, pumping my hips. My cock was slippery and sticky with our juices and she later told me it smelled and tasted divine. I was not surprised as I had had the same reaction to her cunt and its juices.

Nicole sucked me languorously, whimpering with pleasure, jerking and pumping my cock with growing confidence. I began to erupt. Instinctively, she opened her mouth and let it spurt down her throat and then gagged, sputtered, gasped and then, as she again informed me later, her mind leaped with delight at the warm, tangy taste and smell of it, and she sucked it eagerly before, holding it her hand, directed it to splash on her breasts and face. 

For the next two days we rutted like rabbits. I formally introduced Nicole to oral sex, which she promptly termed "yummies." I made a point to eat her smooth, almost bald pussy until she gushed into my mouth. Then she would suck me to orgasm. During this time, I taught her how to give great "yummies," and after completing her second "yummy" she swallowed all my spunk. This quickly became a tradition maintained with every subsequent oral encounter. We were fucking at least three times a day and would have tried more but for the fear of being caught. Then too, I still had Abigail to satisfy each evening. I was losing weight, but cared not.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 14



Of course, Nicole confided in her sister Rhonda, and before I knew it her sister was flirting with me at every opportunity. But I had no intention of reciprocating her affections. Nicole and her mother were more than enough for any man. However, I was confronted with the problem of keeping the girls quiet about my actions with Nicole; to ensure no petty jealousies crept in and exposed us to either parent. For I was as certain as there is no avoiding death and taxes that Sir Baring would have me hanged were the girls to turn me in. Then too, Nicole loved her sister dearly and wanted to protect her from any and all harm.

We were frolicking in Nicole's bedroom, she was already naked before me, and her hands were clenched into little fists pressed firmly against her quim.

Without a word, I leaned over and kissed Nicole passionately, moving my tongue against her lips and cupped her left breast in the palm of my hand.

""Do you really like them?" she asked innocently.

I nodded then gasped as she leaned down to kiss one of her own pink nipples. I took the nipple into my mouth the instant Nicole released it. She moaned contentedly as I sucked upon her with my mouth and rubbed the other nipple with a free hand. A moment later my hand was gently brushed aside and Nicole's lips descended upon the moist, abandoned bud. I immediately moved to the other and together we nursed happily on her elongated nipples.

Of course, as I nursed upon her my hands roved about her lithe form, caressing the fullness of her arse, delighting in the fact of how much she liked the feel of my hands upon her.

"My sweet," I said, "you have the nicest cunt I've ever seen." Nicole murmured her appreciation and opened the portal of love to my questing finger.

"It's not too much for you, is it?" I asked.

"No," she responded hoarsely. The one word spoke volumes.

I decided to move more rapidly for a time and kissed and tongued my way to her navel and swirled there a moment before proceeding further down. I stopped just below the line of faint wisps of her newly grown pubic hair. Nicole fell back on the floor spreading her legs and urging my mouth down to where her clitoris throbbed in expectation of my mouth.

I could see the goose bumps on her arms and legs as she started stroking the outside of her labia. She was biting her lip and twitching a little. I saw a flush creep across her mons. Her eyes were half-glazed as she fondled the soft, succulent flesh of her inner thigh. Her dainty fingertips crawled toward her cunt ever so slowly, kneading, kneading, and kneading. 

I watched her puffy, damp, excited lips separate, exposing the gleaming bright-pink of her tender glory hole. My gaze moved up over the folds of her belly to take in the lengthy rocks of her aching, inch and a half long nipples; past the quivering of her chin and the wide-open amazement of her mouth and flared nostrils. My eyes looked deeply into hers, then away as Nicole's fingertips found and separated the moistness of her quim, and with a sudden intake of breath, her mouth and eyes closed as her head went back. I helped her to her feet and had her sit on the edge of the bed

When my finger first invaded the sanctity of her hotly glowing little slit, Nicole's pelvis bounced in a little twitch. I ventured in to the first knuckle, then with a little stir . . . backed out to barely touch the hood of her clitoris . . . then ever so slowly back down to gently prod and stir her honey pot again . . . and again and then sought a deeper purchase and out again, to bump the fast growing protuberance as it emerged from under it hooded hiding place. Nicole's hips were moving in anticipation, hungrily seeking more of my finger. The smell of her exploding hormones engulfed my senses as her juicy lubrication ran down my finger to drip off my knuckles onto the floor. 

Nicole's pelvis was shaking; and her knees were stretched wide as my free hand traveled under her to squeeze her sweating buns. I groaned and dove between her legs to suck that red hot cunt between my pursed lips. She squawked in surprise, and her feet shot out from under her as she toppled backward onto the bed. I was kneeling on the floor with my face buried in her cunt. My hands clutched her little contorting pelvis to me as I speared her quaking quim with my tongue. Nicole's wide-spread legs shook with pent-up emotion; and her knees occasionally boxed my ears even as my nose snorted against her clitoris. I watched her little-girl belly knot as she spent; her body vibrating as though undergoing a convulsion and she was slobbering all over herself uncontrollably as she sank into momentary unconsciousness. 

With her revival moments later, she joined me on the floor planted wet kisses along the sides of my shaft. I urged her face to mine and coyly sucked her lower lip into my mouth as I teased her nipple. As our kisses terminated, her right hand came up to grasp and hold my bone-like cock, lifting it, shifting it. "I'm going to suck your cock until you spurt," she moaned.

"As you wish, my sweet," I said softly, savoring the moment.

"Um, please don't choke me with your big thing, I shall do my best, but I fear it is too large for me to swallow properly."

I felt her breath against the end of my cock, right on the crown, and thought that she was only seconds away from taking me into her tiny mouth. I couldn't speak and only nodded my agreement. But Nicole didn't wait for my answer; instead she lowered her mouth and kissed the end of it. Her lips parted and I began sliding into her mouth as her tiny tongue swirled around the opening of my glans, darting in and out and tongue fucking my prick!

I imagined she would prove to be a priceless wench in later years as she knew so many things instinctively. Removing my member from her mouth she glanced coyly up at me and said, "I'm surprised to find that I adore taking you in my mouth. You feel like velvet and silk at the same time." 

A moment later, Nicole once again took me from her mouth to babble happily about the delicious warmth of my prick and then gave me a surprising hard squeeze, turning the cockhead a dark purple before spearing the glistening drop of fluid emerging from its tip.

"Mmmm, I do like the taste!" she was quick to remark before pressing her lips around the head and sucking voraciously upon me. Nicole was to fellatio what honey is to bread, a perfect match! I gasped aloud as her tongue moved from side to side across the swollen vein running the length of my staff.

Then she set out to see just how much of me she could accept down her gullet. I was incredulous as five full inches moved readily into her throat with nary a gag. But at this, I became nervous and holding her heard in hand, cautioned her against proceeding any further. She was content to suck that amount and not seek to swallow the whole of my instrument for which I was very grateful.

Next I knew she was licking my testicles, covering them with her saliva as her hand jerked up and down with my prick tightly clenched in her tiny fist. A moment later, I was back in her mouth, her tongue flicking over, under and around the ridges and the sensitive opening she knew would reward her if she loved it properly.

Then with one last tremendous suck, I felt the sperm racing from my balls and pulled my prick almost all the way out of her mouth, allowing only the head to remain inside as my thick spunk pumped out and over her anxiously waiting tongue.

Nicole her eyes as she savored the salty liquid filling her mouth. She did not swallow at first, but tried to hold the ejaculate in her mouth. Why she did this I have no idea. I could speculate, but that would prove meaningless, and so I let it go. A single drop seeped from the corner of her mouth. I leaned down and kissed it away. Only then did she grant me a weak smile as she gamely swallowed the remainder and opened her mouth to display that indeed she had done so.

We decided to relax for a time and lay upon the bed passing the time asking and answering questions. To the best of my recollection it went like this.

"Nicole, can you feel my prick getting smaller in your mouth after I've spent?"

"Most assuredly I can."

"And when I'm in that lovely cunt ... can you still note the difference?"

"Yes I can, it's strange is it not? I mean, it feels as if you've opened me up so that a horse and carriage might drive in there, yet I can feel you as your prick shrivels. And I must say, I mourn the loss as much as anything I've ever lost."

I gave her a kiss and told her how sweet she was, and hastened to add and a great suck too. Then I asked, "Pray tell me, do you like the feel of the spunk in you?" 

"Oh, tis marvelous!" she replied

Nicole spread her legs wide as I reached for a mirror lying nearby and handed it to her. "Would you like to see your cunt now?" 

"Yes," she replied accepting the mirror and held it so that she could view her quim.

"Oh, my but it looks nasty, do you agree?" 

"No dear, I don't think so." I told her and fell upon Nicole's cunt with a fevered lust and sucked until she bucked to a violent orgasm. When I took my mouth away I discovered that I had stiffened considerably and shoved my member into her sodden quim. I went slowly as I had the remainder of the afternoon and a trip to Abigail's bed that night ahead of me. I might have been in my prime but I did not possess superhuman strength.

Regardless of my somewhat lax effort, after several thrusts Nicole screeched then shuddered as her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed into my arms as wave after wave of pleasure flowed through her. I maneuvered her compliant form into a position that presented her arse to me and sent my juice covered middle finger into her arse. She was so excited that I met no resistance whatsoever. Her whole body was vibrating.

Perhaps a minute passed, she whimpered then spoke haltingly. "I . . . I feel like my arse is on fire!" 

I continued pumping my finger into her pucker as she croaked, "Oh, yes ... Oh, yes!" I felt the waves of her climax as it overwhelmed her and she faded away in a faint.

On reviving, Nicole smiled lovingly at me and said, "You are the most wonderful man. Your hands are magic, your mouth God-like, and this rod of iron when inside me is most certainly heaven sent as well." 

She closed her eyes and a moment later her hips were fucking the air in front of her. Not having spent earlier, I readied myself to mount her again.

"I want . . ." she began but suddenly halted. I hoisted her up so that she was on top and guided myself into her velvet cunt.

The look on her face was one of surprise and a single soft exclamation escaped her lips, "Oh!"

A split second later she slammed herself down hard and froze in place. Something had been different inside of her that time. When her hips had met mine I felt myself hitting something deep inside her. We stayed like that for a moment as she recovered and then she began moving again; sliding back and forth on my belly this time, dragging the top of her quim through my pubic hair as she slid me in and out of her. I have no idea how long it lasted, probably not all that long as I soon felt the pressure rising in my balls again. She was riding me furiously as I emptied myself inside of her and she stretched herself out on top of me when it was done. Hugging me to her and kissing at my chin and neck.

I slowly pulled myself up to a sitting position and took her long nipples in my mouth and chewed on them. I cannot swear to it, but it seemed to elicit another climax from Nicole. At any rate, Nicole lay satiated for the moment and I decided to have one more go at her. After a time I fed my prick to her lips and she sucked me in. It was a wonderful suck. I was in that semi-erect state that allows one to fuck merrily away with no fear of spending for the longest time. I asked her to lick my balls and she did so. I then ventured to have her lick my arse, and since I had gifted her with that salacious act, she happily returned the favor.

"Let's get on with the fucking!" I cried out and Nicole quickly spread her legs, echoing me, "Yes, by all means, let us fuck!"

Two quick thrusts and my prick were firmly lodged in her quim. Not all the way, but some five inches or so. Neither of us made a sound when I paused. But our breathing and panting was loud enough to be heard outside the bedroom should anyone venture past.

I remember rising up some and then bending over Nicole; my hands quiet on her buttocks, motionless in all but the last throbbing of my prick, and the gentle clipping of her cunt around it, as I waited a few precious seconds before fucking her hard and fast.

"Is it nice this way dear?" I asked. 

This caused her to titter with barely suppressed laughter.

"Oh! Yes," Nicole replied gaily, "do married people do it this way ever?" 

"Yes I suppose they do, it's called 'doggy-style,' for dogs fuck this way at all times. We humans vary our positions. Some for the better; some for varieties sake and some other positions are used for deeper penetration. There are too many positions to mention now. For example, I could and I shall send my prick in much deeper another time. But this is fine for now."

There was a pregnant silence, and then, "How long has Mother been gone?" Nicole asked, giving me a nice squeeze with her quim muscles.

"I don't know," I answered softly. I didn't recognize the danger inherent in her innocent remark and grunted, "And I don't care," and I rode the young girls cunt, worrying my cock in even further yet and bringing a certain added pleasure to the both of us.

"OHH, OHH! I feel it!" Nicole screamed, and I knew exactly what she meant for I was flooding her cunt with my load.

The next second the door was flung open and Abigail stood there with a horrified look upon her angelic face. I knew for certain that my life was ended.

*****

I had fled the Baring residence within twenty minutes time. No one chased me out. No one even spoke to me as I departed. 

The following day a messenger appeared at my home on Saville Row. Greedily I tore it open as if hastening to read my death sentence. It was From Sir Baring, and in two simple, yet terse sentences he gloated, "I have this night, tasted my Nicole for the first time. Your reward as well as your membership awaits you at the Reform Club." 

Signed "B."



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 15



I exiled myself to my residence on Saville Row, free to deal with my guilt each and every day. I read every thing I could lay my hands on. I grew a beard, shaved it off, then grew another and shaved that off as well. In no time at all a year flew by and I had not left the house at all. My housekeeper was the only person I saw or spoke with in all that time and those exchanges were brief, usually having to do with the meals for the following week. I had let my manservant go as he had little duties to perform and grew uneasy with me from the first days of my self-induced exile.

It was on September 12, 1859; exactly fourteen months to the day I last saw my beloved Abigail that a prolonged state of horniness drove me from the house for the first time. I went directly to Dolly's shop, where I thought I would find some temporary solace only to be reminded that Dolly had married a gentleman of means; although she had continued to run the dress shop which was prospering beyond her wildest dreams. Dolly was indeed happy to see me and extremely distressed to see my condition; and on learning of my reason for paying her this visit offered to relieve me of my problem in the dressing room. 

I declined, having seduced one man's wife and destroying her life and mine, I had no intention of repeating the deed.

"Well then," Dolly said as if chastising a child. "Perhaps I might introduce you to a friend or several friends who might pay the discrete visit to your home from time to time?"

That had a noticeable affect on me for I knew it would suffice my needs greatly, while harming no one.

"That is a splendid idea, Dolly. As usual, you have the solution ready at hand for the most tedious of my problems." I kissed her hand in gratitude, pleasing her no end.

"I shall send a messenger to you when I have found the right woman for you and as you are always in residence, I will include the time of her arrival as well."

I could not contain myself and hugged the dear woman to my chest in part to thank her and then too, to hide my tears of gratitude.

Three days later, a messenger rang up and I received the note as promised.

'My dear Phileas, I believe I have the perfect woman for you, one Mrs. Eunice Bentley, widowed some four years ago. Her husband was in the military and succumbed to malaria while in the King's Guard in Calcutta. I find her to be an attractive woman and not without certain charms and abilities in the area of which you spoke the other day.

If she does not meet your standard, or need, please let me know as I have another woman in mind as well. Mrs. Bentley will arrive at exactly . . . see I remember how punctual you are about such things . . . one p.m. on Tuesday as it is your housekeeper's day off. I do hope you haven't changed her off day, but knowing you, I expect you have not. 

Enjoy one another dearest . . . God I am flushed with desire myself and only wish it were me rather than her, for I know what great passion your loins have stored up in them.'

'One last thing --- Please do not embarrass Mrs. Bentley by offering her money for her time with you. She is without financial need as her husband came from a wealthy family. She, like you, has certain needs. I believe you were made for one another.'

'I hope you become happy once more. Once again, thank you for everything.'

Very affectionately,

Dolly

*****

At precisely one PM on Tuesday the door knocker rapped three times and with the housekeeper off the premises I hastened to open the door. I had a little speech ready to deliver, but it never left my lips as I was brought up short by the vision before me.

Mrs. Eunice Bentley stood framed in the doorway with the early afternoon sunlight streaming through the material of her dress, leaving fragments of her body silhouetted against the light. She could not have been a day older than two and twenty. I simply took her hand and escorted her inside, so smitten with her that I forgot to close the door. Dolly had exceeded my wishes a thousand times over.

Finally finding my voice, I managed to say, "Quite an entrance that."

"I planned it," she laughed, giving me the once over as well while I was caught up in her laughter's pleasant tinkle. "That is, on seeing the position of the sun, I realized you might be able to see more of me than one would normally."

I stepped back to admire the youthful widow before me. 

"Mrs. Bentley, you are a vision. A vision indeed and I am delighted to make your acquaintance."

"Thank you, kind sir. Dolly has had nothing but the highest compliments when she talks of you.

"Do you like what you see as well?" She inquired, pirouetting for my inspection.

"I am unable to speak, so fascinated am I by your charms," I managed to croak out. And followed with, "I also like what I see . . . very much!" 

Then we were in each other's arms, hugging and squeezing as we entered into our first kiss.

"As do I, Mr. Fogg, as do I!" Mrs. Bentley gasped as she tore open the buttons of my white shirt, popping several before tearing it from my shoulders. My hands were running up and down her flanks, marveling at the feel of a supple young woman after a year's absence. As she took my face in her hands and kissed me again, I raised her gown, and grasping the firm but plump mounds of her arse, pulled her tight against my already hard cock.

How she managed it I never knew, but my trousers were suddenly round my ankles and she was tugging away at my underwear, forcing it down to join my trousers. Then, with my prick poking straight up in the air, Mrs. Bentley managed to put a small distance between us and removed the remainder of her clothing. Stark naked, she jumped lightly up and gripped me about the waist with her thighs; her hands then joined around my neck to support her body weight. We both moaned, and with a dexterity that I'd never encountered before, lifted her arse as her cunt searched about for my prick to spike itself on. Other, lovely, incredible sensations followed rapidly thereafter. Her small breasts and hard nipples crushed against my chest. Her open mouth pressed hungrily against mine; her long tongue explored my mouth and sucked out my tongue. And then I felt the indelible warmth of her moist cunt closing round my member and drawing it into her fiery quim.

Using most of my available strength, I lumbered over to the glass table just inside the entranceway and sat her down upon it. My prick steamed deeper into her as she leaned backward and moaned that moan of exquisite satisfaction that only a woman being pleasured can emulate. A moment later, Mrs. Bentley was fully impaled upon my prick.

"AHHH! GOD, YES!" I hissed, breaking the lip bruising kiss. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the flash of a carriage riding by followed by a gentleman mounted on one of those new contraptions I believe called a unicycle.

"THE DOOR!" I gasped. "Damn it, Mrs. Bentley, the door, it's still open!"

She began to laugh while using her cuntal muscles to squeeze me within her and I almost fainted from the sheer pleasure of it. 

"Let them watch, let them watch us make the beast with two backs, do you really care?"

"No! FUCK NO!" I bellowed, loud enough for any passer-by to hear, and perhaps to see us fornicating on a glass table in my vestibule.

"Let them all watch us rutting away!" 

Still I had the presence of mind to lift Mrs. Bentley's writhing form and lower her to the rug in the parlor, removing us the sight of any passersby. I eased half-way out and then smashed into her, feeling my testicles smack against her arse as she roared her pleasure. Then she was humping frantically back at me, and inarticulate sounds bubbled from her throat as I matched her thrust for thrust until clutching the cheeks of my arse with her fingers, she spent wildly. When I paused to recapture some air in my lungs, she whined, "More, more, more!"

Not having spent yet, I teased her cunt lips, rubbing the knob of my prick up and down her glistening slit for a moment, and then slamming it into her hard and fast, catching her off guard and causing her to moan that she was about to spend again. I reached out and mauled her breasts, pinching and pulling on the hard tips of her nipples. That triggered a loud, wailing cry and her stomach and cunt muscles rippled and pulsed. Then a loud, shuddering orgasm caused her body to arch off the rug as she did indeed spend again.

Mrs. Bentley's orgasm was prolonged and powerful, her stomach muscles rippling with each of the many contractions of her cunt. In no way did it dampen her lust for more.

"Oh, what a wonderful man you are! Oh, you fucking wonderful man! Can yer do it again?"

My next words apparently won her over for life. "I haven't come as yet, but I'm very close, my love."

Her words were harsh, even brutal on the face of it. "Fuck me! Fuck me hard! Rape me!" It was more beg than command. Raising her legs even higher, I entered her again. This time fucking her wildly as she'd requested and she responded in kind.

"Don't tease me, fuck me! Come on, fuck me, and prove to me just how good you are!"

I rammed into her as fast as I possibly could, feeling my sperm roaring up to the tip of my cockhead.

"I'm going to milk you, you fucker, going to milk all your spunk out of your ball sacs and suck out your balls!"

Again, moments later, she crowed, "You've got to come in me!" 

Her voice grew hoarse, "You're going to come in me, you're . . . going . . . to . . . come . . . in . . . MEEE!"

"OH YES, YOU FUCKING SLUT!" I responded, releasing my load to cannonade against her cervix. 

"Yes. Yes, yes! Call me a slut again!"

"You slut, take my spunk!" I cried out, too weak by this point to do anything else. She continued to pound back at me until her body trembled and shuddered as another powerful climax finally silenced her. Panting heavily, Mrs. Bentley rested for half a minute then struggled up on her elbows and reached down to the last remnants of spunk oozing from the tip of my prick and scooped the thread with her fingers, raised it to her lips and lewdly licked it off.

"Mmmm, you nasty fucker," she gasped, "I like the way you fuck and I like the way you taste. Dolly was dead on about you."

"Thank you, I think," I said in turn.

"Well there is one thing, love."

"What might that be, Mrs. Bentley?"

Before answering, she licked my ear then trailed her tongue across my eyes and face to my mouth for another sharing of saliva. Only then did she deem to whisper, "If we're to do this more often, and I dare say I hope to heaven we do; then you'll be forming the habit of cleaning up your own mess." 

She kissed me again then broke it with a long sigh, and said, "But first, I think we had better close that door before we get arrested."

*****

We remained naked for the rest of the evening. While eating, Mrs. Bentley insisted on playing with my prick, restoring it to life several times which delayed our repast until quite cold. Neither of us cared a whit about it for Mrs. Bentley had this wonderful penchant for taking me into her mouth, bringing me to the very brink of spurting and yet stopping at the last moment to leave me panting and hungering for completion. 

After she did this the third time I lifted her onto the table amongst the dishes and ate her moist pussy most vigorously, intending to leave her without satisfaction as well. But Mrs. Bentley pulled off her orgasm well before I wanted to stop feasting on her delicious cunt. I was slightly miffed at this and so I flipped her lithe, young body over, dropped her feet to the floor and entered her from behind. She turned her head back to me, grinned wickedly and said, "The slut wins another match. Shall we play on?"

I made no reply to her snide, yet accurate remark, but took her from behind, squatting over her hips and pounding my inflamed member in and out of her slippery cunt; crushing her swinging breasts in my hands. A violent orgasm followed. I jerked out of her and spent between her buttocks on her arsehole and then slid back into her cunt until I'd finished coming. Then, with Mrs. Bentley still shuddering from her climax, I leapt upon her and sucked her quim until she spent again. Then we both lay quiet for the remainder of the evening.

I woke her the following morning by kissing her hip, then her buttocks and then lay a trail of wet kisses along her inner thighs as she moaned contentedly.

"Please do not scream or carry on as the housekeeper is making our breakfast and it wouldn't do to frighten her off. She's deathly afraid of banshees, she is."

Mrs. Bentley giggled inanely at this, then whispered, "Good morning, Mr. Fogg." 

She was trembling with excited anticipation as I undid the little black satin ribbon that held her nightgown together under her bust. I wondered at the woman's foresight to bring not only the nightgown, but fresh clothing for this day as well. Was she that confident of staying the night? Then I laughed at my foolishness. Of course she was. She was a beautiful woman come to ravish a horny hermit in his cave. That she would require additional clothing was obvious to any but a dullard such as me. These thoughts vanished as I moved downward to kiss and suckle at each of her adorable breasts.

As my sucking grew stronger Mrs. Bentley started breathing faster and began playing with my hair. While she did so I squeezed the breast not in my mouth.

"Ooooh," she moaned, softly biting her bottom lip. The fact that she loved what I was doing brought me to full station as it were and I turned to biting and sucking both nipples in turn until they were both hard and red.

Abandoning her luscious nipples, I moved down her stomach, planting kisses along the way until I reached the tuft of thick hair and raised her legs while also spreading them apart. After parting her sweet honeyed folds with my fingers I stuck my tongue inside. She was wet and had an exquisite taste. I reveled in her delicate moans as I worked my tongue in and out and over her labia. Eventually her clit emerged and I pounced upon it sucking until she begged me to leave off.

"Mmmm it feels sooo good," she cooed softly as I gamahuched away.

Ravenous with lust, I raised her buttocks and sent my tongue betwixt her arse cheeks. First I sent a finger up that hole, and found it extremely tight. I worked the finger in and out and round and round while sucking up the copious amount of juices pouring from her lovely cunt like a small stream in the countryside.

"Ooooh," she moaned, a little louder this time.

"God you taste so wonderful," I gasped, daring to take my mouth from her cunt to tell her. 

I was mad with desire to fuck her and pulled myself up, startling her to some extent. She looked at me with wide eyed wonder, probably puzzled at my halting the gamahuching when she was so close to that divine pleasure. Not that I cared at this moment, for I was concerned with nothing but my own pleasure just then, and knelt between her legs and stuck my manhood into her tight, wet, little slit.

Mrs. Bentley gasped at the first thrust, looking up to see me grimacing with the sweetness of the moment, for aside from an orgasm, there is nothing better for either sex than the sheer pleasure of the moment when a man's cock crosses the threshold of a woman's well lubricated quim. And that applies to men and women equally. There is no finer moment in all of one's life then either of those two aforementioned times.

Once I was deep inside her I began to pound away at her love nest, fucking her hard and fast, reveling in her grunts and half-whispered endearments and grunting right back at her. I could feel it building within my sacs and yelled wildly, "YES! YES! MRS. YES!"

And I came in her, my hot spunk flooding her cuntal walls and its sheer heat caused Mrs. Bentley to climax along with me. Then I collapsed on her, my fully body weight burying her in the feathered mattress; yet she held me tightly and we lay thus for an eternity until I got a small cramp in my calf and shifted my weight from her to tend to it. While I rubbed my calf back to normal, Mrs. Bentley ran her hands through my hair and lavished kisses on my face and shoulders.

I was most surprised to hear myself utter the words, "I love you, my darling." Yet I did so. I think she too was stunned to hear them, but she only increased the intensity of her kisses, moving to my chest after a while and sucking my nipples, which grew to a size I had not dreamed possible.

"I am very fond of you already, too Mr. Fogg, but I cannot in good conscious say that I love you. You must know this, for to go forward otherwise would be under false pretenses."

"I know, I know," I said.

"I think you said what you said because it has been so long for you without . . . proper company and that when you have had time to think you may wish to retract those lovely words."

"No, I shall not ever take them back. I am not asking you to marry me. I am, however, telling you that I do indeed have the greatest respect and feelings for you. To me that means that I love you, unequivocally, undeniably, and with all my heart."

"OH!"

I realized that I was up to snuff once more and waved my poke at her chin.

"Ahhh," she sighed. "Ready for another go, my love?"

"I am indeed. But Mrs. Bentley, if you don't mind, might I have you in a different way?"

"I am yours to do with as you wish. For after hearing you confess your love for me, how can I refuse you anything?"

"Let's move over to the desk, shall we?" I said.

"What of the housekeeper?" She inquired as she moved toward the desk.

"She'll keep the breakfast warm for us, I expect." I said, no caring a whit about food at the moment as my eyes were feasting on the plump arse she was presenting to me.

Mrs. Bentley stood beside the desk looking at me.

"Spread your legs as far as you can." I said by way of instruction. "A little more . . . yes, that's good." 

Mrs. Bentley had taken one step closer to the desk and bent over it on her forearms; then shuffled her feet apart. I lifted up the sheer nightgown and exposed her bottom and began to play with her pucker using my fingers. I found her very tight and didn't want to hurt her. I resigned myself to being patient, but could not refrain from asking if she had ever had a prick there before.

"Oh, yes, I have, twice, actually. The first was when I was a wee thing and he had nothing but a little wiener the size of your pinky. I hardly felt him a tall. Ah but the other bugger, he had one all right. Almost as big as you he was, and he was in a great hurry to get in and out. He hurt like hell he did. And I want yer to know I appreciate your taking your time with me and getting me wet enough so's it can ease in and out like it's supposed too."

Her words touched me and I had not the heart to cause her any pain. So I dropped to my knees and gently eased her buttocks further apart; then leaned forward and pushed my face between them. 

Mrs. Bentley's head whipped up and her long neck craned to see me. Then she sighed, bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. My tongue rippled into her crack, found her arsehole and swirled slowly over the puckered flesh.

Mrs. Bentley's fingers turned white as they clenched the sides of the desk and her face contorted, but she forced herself to remain still. The room was filled with the scent of her arousal.

"You'll be winning my heart yet, you beguiling bastard, you!" She said and began to weep tears of happiness.

In short order her arse cheeks opened up even wider and her lovely cunt lips unfurled fully; the evidence of her wetness glistening in the early morning light.

"Mrs. Bentley," I said after licking and sucking on her puckered crater for a time, "We'll have to work at this, I don't want to hurt you, but I still want to do it this way. It will just take a while that's all, are you all right with it?"




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 15



"Take as long as you like, you darling man, as long as you like."

That said, I took her hand and placed her fingers on her clit and started rubbing them.

"Ummm, that's nice, Mr. Fogg."

"You keep it up my love, I'll be busy you know where."

She laughed, the tinkle of it buoyed my spirits immensely and my prick soared too.

Mrs. Bentley's gasp of pleasure was sharp as my tongue wormed about an inch into her anus. She relaxed totally as my tongue left her anal confines to seek another port of call on its erotic argosy and quickly found it in the fleece just north of her ruby slit that lay open waiting my throbbing prick.

I licked her cunt for some minutes, during which time she never ceased moaning, or calling my name. I pried her labia open with my fingers and sucked up the copious juices that kept flowing out before inserting my tongue between those marvelous folds and forging into her.

"UGH!"

She quivered, then shuddered as I returned to her marvelous arse and buried my tongue in her crack.

She moaned loudly as my fingers traveled upward and found the tips that now seemed to glow from the centers of her breasts. They were swollen and turgid; her nipples quivering stiffly. 

She moaned again as I fondled them with the lightest, most erotic caress I could imagine; flicking her nipples with my hard fingernails, rolling my rough-skinned open palms sensuously under the pendulant mounds that screamed to be mauled and squeezed. 

I tongued her until her breathing was ragged and hoarse and she moaned softly and incessantly, barely stifling her cries. I went thusly, on and on --- relentlessly devouring her cunt until she teetered on the brink of a tumultuous climax. Abruptly I paused, and got to my feet as she tried to form the words to coax me into finishing her off.

I masturbated rapidly for a few seconds and then moved forward. She tensed as she felt the heat of my flesh behind her. My prick seemed to be a mile long and a mile wide as I tendered it to her very red and swollen arse. When I paused, Mrs. Bentley's hand shot between her legs and caught my prick and stuffed me into her. I helped, swinging my hips forward and surged into her. She gasped with relief and desire. She was hot, tight and wet. 

Holding her hips, I ran my prick smoothly in and out of her, then moistening my fingers with my saliva; I cupped her breasts once again, squeezing them gently at first and then harder. Pinching and rolling her taut nipples while her body lurched and jerked across the desk. I had penetrated her to the point where I could now feel my sacs pressed against her labia at the culmination of each deep thrust into her arse.

"OH, GOD, FUCK ME HARD!" She gasped and I obliged.

I hammered into her as hard and as fast as I could summon the strength to do so. She reacted accordingly, grunting and gasping and spending profusely. I kept pumping into her until I was ready to spend myself and then I suddenly eased my prick from her sodden hole and stepped back. Mrs. Bentley remained bent over the table, panting and whimpering, her body all a tremble. Perhaps a minute passed as I held the base of my prick tight to keep from splattering her with my sperm. At last, she straightened, and although tottering unsteadily on her feet she turned around, her eyes dazed and she reached out to caress the head of my manhood with her soft fingertips.

I was the beneficiary of the most wanton smile I had ever seen. And then she spoke softly, almost whispering, "You've the most loving, lovely cock I've ever had the pleasure of having fuck me. May I have the pleasure of fellating you to the finish, kind sir?"

My voice cracked as I answered her. "You may."

"Thank you, kind sir." Then she knelt in front of me, moaned softly and began kissing the tip. I removed my hand and hers quickly took its place, jerking me in her fist at an easy rate as more of my manhood disappeared down her throat. My prick seemed mesmerized by her actions and I was taken aback at the sheer pleasure derived from her marvelous actions.

Mrs. Bentley removed my prick and gazed at it lovingly; then her tongue snaked out and coiled languidly around my cockhead. A moment later she was sucking so hard I was forced to groan loudly and instinctively began to fuck her face.

Her mouth was a warm, moist grotto and her tongue had a cunning that was truly unique. She managed to keep me at the very brink of exploding for several minutes; somehow she knew exactly when to slow down and when to increase the bobbing and sucking to bring me back to the brink again.

It was the sweetest torture imaginable.

Suddenly I knew I was not to be stopped. Apparently she knew as well and opened her mouth lasciviously and smiling that same wanton smile as earlier, her eyes followed my gushing spunk as it shot from my prick opening and onto her protruding tongue and then the next line smacked across her cheek.

When it was done, she took me back in her mouth again and licked me clean. Finally, she leaned forward and wiped the gunk off her face with her fingers and then lapped at them with her tongue; her eyes never leaving my face. Then rising on her toes, she kissed me gently on the lips.

"Methinks I love you too," said she.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 16



But it was affection, not love that bound Mrs. Bentley and I together. We both came to realize it after a short time, but after her arrival I found myself venturing out once again, first to stroll along Saville Row, and then London of an evening. 

Once again, this time at Mrs. Bentley's urging, I grew a beard; and eventually I took advantage of my club membership and soon entered into what one might say was a virtual ironclad routine of rising at the same time each morning and arriving at the Reform Club at exactly noon to spend the next twelve hours there before departing for my residence on Saville Row.

Mrs. Bentley's visits soon fell off to three times a week, during which times we fornicated like rabbits. I shall not bore the reader further with our dalliances, except to relate upon the one evening Mrs. Bentley arrived with Dolly in tow.

And what an unforgettable evening it was.

I was not expecting Dolly at all. They made it a surprise, and a grand surprise it was. I learned that Dolly had missed our randy play and it turned out that although she dearly loved her husband, he lacked shall we say, a certain adroitness generally required of a lover in the boudoir. 

We did not waste much time in beginning to remove our clothing. I recall making Dolly gasp as I found her drawers under the layers of skirt and underskirt and petticoat. She stopped, her fingers paused in opening her bodice, and I smiled. She wore one of the pairs I had given to her during the time we spent together; little more than scraps of sheer lace held snug by a knotted cord.

She moaned and began to move against me as I cupped her cunt through the lace. I rubbed my fingers against her lips, feeling the heat of them, and the dampness.


"In for a penny, in for a pound," I murmured for some silly reason as I found the knot which held her drawers tight and slipped it loose.

Mrs. Bentley was in the process of removing a stocking as I slid one finger inside Dolly, and as I added a second, Mrs. Bentley stuck her tongue out at me in a school girlish manner and lewdly hissed, "You'll have more than enough to eat this night, me love."

I laughed at her and gave her what I hoped was a lascivious wink; and found myself totally enthralled by Dolly's most warm, wet quim. I kissed her throat and she rolled her hips against me then arched her back. I began to frig her and felt the buzz of her voice against my throat as she said, "I've really missed you so much."

My fingers were gliding in and out of her thoroughly saturated cunt when her hands dove into her skirts to play with mine. Then Mrs. Bentley knelt next to us having removed one stocking, but not the other and stroked Dolly's fluttering thighs and her shivering belly with one hand while the other freed Dolly's magnificent breasts from their confinement.

I removed my hand from her skirts and held my fingers up for Dolly to lick, which she did playfully relishing the taste of herself. She looked up at me with a satisfied, feline smile. "And what might we be contemplating next?" She asked coquettishly, as Mrs. Bentley surreptitiously brought my prick into view.

"Give it a nice suck, would you Mrs. Bentley?" I asked.

"Please, call me Eunice when we're having a fuck would you dearie?" she replied with a grin like a cat having swallowed a canary. Then of course, after spitting a long string of saliva upon my knob, she devoured me.

"Yes, of course, I replied when I'd recaptured my breath then gave myself up to the delightful sensations of her tongue as it rolled over my erection. 

Dolly reached across her to rub my foot, then my calf. Eunice's hand darted down to stroke my thigh and I groaned contentedly.

I started to protest, wanting to get back to Dolly's quim, but both women shushed me. Moreover, Dolly's nimble fingers had located my testicles and begun tickling them as Eunice sucked laboriously upon my manhood.

I leaned back against Dolly, cradling my head against her shoulder, as she slipped a dainty finger inside my arse. Turning my head slightly, I found her lips and we kissed with open mouths until the naughty devil sent a second finger up me arse to join the first.

I groaned, and she shushed me again. We kissed some more then I lifted my body up to meet her probing fingers. My back arched like a bow, my head fell back away from her mouth, and she looked on smiling, her fingers doing devilish work as the candles flickered in her deep blue eyes. 

And then there was this magnificent wave. It came over me all at once, that wave; my prick exploded, and I fell back onto the featherbed with a feeling of weightlessness and euphoria. A few minutes passed before I was sufficiently roused to renew my play with the two beauties. Dolly hissed in pleasure as I stroked her cunt again, velvety, and hot it was. She tangled her fingers in my hair and rolled her hips against my hand. I felt the muscles in her calves tighten under my caress and I urged my tongue into her quim as Eunice caught each of Dolly's nipples and worked them, twisting them one way and then the other and Dolly moaned with erotic pleasure each time Eunice changed direction.

I slid a hand down her flank to her buttocks, ducking beneath the hem of the chemise to caress her skin as I found her little nub; the little man in the boat tis called, and worried at it with my lips and teeth.

She cried out something wordless, and threw her arms back over her head. I worried the boatman some more then stopped to have a look at that lovely cunt of hers; a cunt that I had sorely missed. It gaped at me, wet it was for certain; the juices of her pleasure were smeared along her trembling thighs. And Eunice, whom I had been neglecting, had one hand pawing lewdly at Dolly's breast and was breathing in ragged, lusty pants. She, like Dolly appeared to be utterly beyond herself; and I had never seen either of them look more beautiful then they did at that moment.

I took a moment to tell them just that and they covered my face and neck with wet kisses, ending by kissing one another, using their tongues in superb fashion I might add and before they had finished their kissing I was in possession of a roaring erection and wondering where to stick it.

Mrs. Bentley won the honors. I took her arm and positioned her with her arse protruding off the end the bed. I knelt on a bench behind Mrs. Bentley and admired her fine arse, running my hands lightly over her rump at first, then getting rougher and squeezing those plump cheeks with both hands, causing her to moan with pleasure. Releasing her cheeks for the moment, I reached round her front and found her nipples. They were heavy with blood, and the touch thrilled us both. 

"Oh!" she moaned, pushing her arse back against me, "Oh!"

Behind her, kneeling by the headboard, I could see Dolly looking down on the scene, chewing absently on a strand of her blonde hair.

I let go her teats and eased backward a bit, then leaned forward and began to gamahuch Eunice for her arse had the strongest appeal to me at that very moment. Using long, lascivious swipes of my tongue from the star of her puckered arsehole to her now unhidden boatman I caused Eunice to cry out: "No, No, with your prick!"

Eunice didn't wait for me to act, but reached back and, taking it firmly in hand, guided it to her cunt. She paused for a second, her palm along my shaft, her fingertips against my balls; my knob at the wet entrance of her labia; then she drew in her breath and thrust back at me and it seemed my prick was sucked into her rather than me pushing it into her.

It disappeared into her so easily; so rapidly that it was much akin to a knife cutting through butter.

"OHHHHH YES!" She sighed, as the entirety of my member entered her.

Her mouth fluttered open. Her belly rippled thrice and she grimaced in pleasure. I began to fuck her, using slow, drawn out strokes that had her hips squirming and writhing in pleasure while she moaned thickly with undisguised pleasure.

I caressed her back, my hands gliding up and down her smooth, pliant flesh; then reached under to fondle her breasts.

A quick glance over at Dolly found her removing the remainder of her clothing while pressing first one hand, then the other into her quim depending on which was needed to remove her garments.

Eunice hissed softly as I squeezed her swollen mounds in my hands; then pinched her rigid nipples. In return, she cupped and then lightly squeezed my balls.

"Oh fuck, that feels so good, Mr. Fogg," she murmured and turned her face to mine.

We changed to a more comfortable position and I whispered in her ear, "Please, call me Phileas," bringing the two of us to a first name basis at last. Then we enjoyed a deep kiss while I caressed her cock filled cunt and we moaned into each other's mouth.

Slowly, Eunice straightened. Her hips began to move, gyrating in tight, erotic circles on my lap. She groaned and her back arched slowly. Her hips swirled slowly; her buttocks constantly flexing and squeezing my prick. 

She hissed softly and her hips rose, still circling and undulating; then suddenly she spiraled down slowly. Her mouth fluttered open and she leaned forward, her shoulders hunched and deep hollows appeared in them. Then with her hands on my knees, Eunice began to rock up and down on my cock, sliding her cunt up and down the length of my shaft. Her belly rippled inward and she arched her back and hissed in pleasure as her cunt ground down deep on my manhood.

Suddenly she paused with my prick half in and half out of her and clapped her buttocks rapidly together, squeezing my cock with her cunt. I gasped under her and arched my hips as my member reared into her and she moaned in delight.

"Oh fuck yes! Oh god yes!" she cried. "Ugh! Now, quickly! Fuck Dolly!" And she rolled away from me.

Waving her arm, she urged Dolly to take her place, and groaned, "You've satisfied me... or the moment, Phileas!"

"Come on! Come on, whore!" She yelled at her friend, "Hump the man!"

I waited impatiently for Dolly's warm loins to settle down upon my shaft and as soon as she did, we began to fuck like two dogs in heat. Whimpering and moaning her pleasure, Dolly began rocking up and down on my engorged penis. Her breasts jumped and bounced with her motions and I tried without success to catch a nipple in my mouth. Gasping and crying out, she moved faster and faster. Her arse caromed off my thighs; her thighs mashed my balls in excitement. 

The palm of her hand, fingers spread, lay flat on her belly as she suddenly ground her hips round in tight, jerky circles. Hissing her pleasure, she slowly drew her right hand up her body; then mashed her breasts savagely and thence up to her grimacing face wherein she covered her eyes.

"God, yes! She moaned. "Oh fuck . . . I can't tell yer how much I love your cock in me slit!"

I swiveled my hips as I thrust and sent my prick careening along what must have been fresh territory as she wailed, "OHHH, YES!"

We were so covered with sweat if was difficult to maintain any purchase on her waist. It took some doing, but I finally managed it and was able to move her up and down on my shaft again reveling in the soft feel of her cunt as it slithered along the length of my shaft.

Dolly hunched forward and held both breasts in her hands; mouth open in a wide "O" as she rocked back and forth, seeming lost in her own world.

The savage in me took charge and I began to yank her up and down on my lance, growling "ferociously" as Eunice reminded me later; and in the process forcing a series of choking cries from poor Dolly.

As I came to my senses . . . this savagery did not, in fact, last very long. Dolly's head was lolling listlessly as she had spent several times during my assault and then fainted.

I paused, not certain as to what action if any I was required to take.

Eunice resolved the problem having witnessed more that I did as a participant and eased Dolly to one side, then spying my still rampant erection, Eunice straddled my thighs and quickly moved my prick into her slippery cunt as I watched numbly.

"Mmmm, she groaned as she rocked slowly back and forth on her knees.

"Time to satisfy me again, Mr. Phileas Fogg," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Can you feel it?" She said still hissing like a cobra. "Can you feel it squeezing your great big prick?"

"YES! It's so lovely. Nice and tight! I spat out. "Nice and hot and juicy too!"

"So . . . does it feel good? Honestly?"

"It's bloody marvelous!"

Dolly had revived and began to tickle my testicles and I told her I loved her and what she was doing.

Both women cackled lewdly.

I sent my hands in search of Eunice's breasts and finding them, fondled them lovingly.

Dolly abandoned my balls and moved up to take one of Eunice's breasts from me and suckled it, eliciting a whimper of joy from Eunice.

I seemed to be taking an extraordinary amount of time before coming and wondered at it, but did not complain as Eunice whimpered again, this time as a result of my writhing hips sending my prick thrusting into her.

She smiled down at me, then bent over and kissed me deeply. Dolly had relinquished the breast permitting her to do it. Dolly had some devilment in her and on leaving the supple breast; she pressed a finger into Eunice's arse.

Our kiss ended abruptly at this as Eunice shrieked with pleasure and surprise.

I thumbed Eunice's clitoris and she moaned all the louder. Her eyes were wide open and she was looking straight at me; yet there was no hint of recognition in them as her climax crashed down on her and I held her tightly to me as I too spent inside her.

We lay there, gasping for breath for some time before we both heard Dolly's plaintive call.

"Eunice," croaked Dolly; her voice weighted with thwarted desire and need.

I kissed Eunice's neck, and she turned her head to look at me, and I kissed her mouth, savoring the taste of her, delighting in the enthusiasm of her tongue as it licked at my lips, my teeth, my own tongue. 

"Now, now," I murmured, shifting myself so that my groin pressed against the small of her back, and her lips brushed my cheek as I felt for her hand, and she tried to kiss me again. "You've had yours," I said. "It's Dolly's turn now."

And Eunice turned from me to look at Dolly through the red film St. Jane leaves over one's eyes. 

"Oh, my lovely Dolly. Have I neglected you?"

"Well..." and Dolly decided to say no more.

"Why don't you kiss Dolly, Eunice?" I suggested. She did and with surprising ardor too.

I had no idea the women had a history of mutual gratification with one another, and I cannot relate the voluptuous excitement the libidinous fantasies racing through my brain caused, save that I nearly spent from them.

"You're so hot," said Eunice, her voice filled with wonder," So soft." 

She leaned forward and kissed her Dolly again, Dolly's eyes were closed, and she did not move, but trembled slightly.


"Now," I said, and cupped my hand under Eunice's, fitting my fingers to her and curling them up in mine. "Follow my finger." I extended my index finger, slightly curled, and felt her smaller finger crook against it. 

"Gently," I whispered as our entwined fingers probed forward, unseen, between Dolly's wide splayed thighs. I felt, as did Eunice, the slick, wet lips of Dolly's cunt.

Both women laughed and writhed about on the bed, until with a hungry moan, Eunice knelt between Dolly's legs and began to lick her juicy quim. I stood to one side gazing at Eunice's thickly furred cunt from behind, as her handsome rump rose up in order that her face could better reach Dolly's Quim.

Dolly shuddered with anticipation. "Please," she groaned.

"Like this," I said, touching Eunice on the shoulder, thinking to show her something she knew little of; only to have Eunice tell me in no uncertain terms, 

"I know well how to finger and gamahuch a lady, Phileas. Please do leave us to have at one another and when we're finished you may choose which of us you want to empty your seed into."

"No," said Dolly, opening her eyes, "No!" 

"What tis it?" Eunice asked gently.

"The both of you may do me . . . if you please?"

And so it was that both our fingers moved slowly in and out of Dolly. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Eunice's mouth, then mine. Our tongues touched, and she breathed sharply as Eunice's thumb glided over the lips of Dolly's sex and up to find her little boatman.

"Oh," Eunice gasped happily, "He's standing up for me already!"

I looked and saw it, small but quite hard and swollen, perched atop her engorged labia.

Eunice caressed it lightly and Dolly moaned in delight.

As Eunice toyed with the tiny nub I licked her lips just below and occasionally our tongues touched and we left off Dolly to enjoy a short spell of French kisses before returning to the business at hand.

Soon Dolly squeezed her eyes shut and breathing quickly, began to utter a strange but obvious moan of pleasure. "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" But both Eunice and I knew well it was not her wish that we cease our tender ministrations to her cunny. With a tremendous shudder, Dolly came as the warmth of St. Jane coursed through her, Dolly came hard against our fingers, and then fell back against the cushions, hips still jerking spasmodically, as Eunice fell atop her, kissing her belly, her breasts, her throat.

"Oh," said Dolly. "Oh, Eunice . . . Don't."

"Eunice," I said. She looked up at me, and I beckoned her to me, and she fell into my arms as Dolly sat up, still panting, still trembling. 

I pulled her to me, and opened my other arm to embrace Eunice, then held both women close, stroking their hair, as Eunice's hand played with my stirring prick and Dolly rested her head against my shoulder. 

That was wonderful," Dolly sighed contentedly. "Thank you both."


We lay on the bed for a time before Dolly began to lick and then suck my penis, slowly running her teeth up and down the length of my hardened shaft.

I saw her eyes glitter with lust as she dragged her tongue up the glistening shaft, her lips wide, her cheeks and breasts flecked with our commingled love juices.

"Aaah, keep sucking, Dolly, I've sorely missed that talented mouth of yours." 

Then realizing I might have offended Eunice, said, "Tis true, you know that each woman's mouth is different that the next. And yours is as sweet as there is. In fact, while slightly different you both posses the most artful means of fellating one."

"Methinks Mr. Fogg has a bit of the Irish in him, so full of the Blarney is he," Eunice said and then rolled over with laughter.

"Dolly loves to give suck. I like it too, but no where as much as she. Have ya always loved sucking a man's cock Dolly, me girl?" Eunice said teasingly.

Dolly popped me from her mouth to reply.

"I have and the bigger the better. And I love swallowing their spunk too. You do too Eunice, I've seen ya many a time."

That said, Dolly bent her head and returned to fellating me, drawing my member deep into her throat; sucking it slowly and heavily; laving it with her tongue.

"What might I do to please you, Phileas?" Eunice asked.

I made no reply.

"Please, tell me what you'd like." Eunice turned on her side to face me.

"Shall I frig for you?"

"Have you a . . . what is it called . . . a dildo?"

"If you like," she said and jumped from the bed and left the room only to return a moment later waving an ivory phallus. 

"Is that a dildo?" I asked, as I was not certain, but it surely resembled a prick and a rather large one at that. Perhaps it was some 10 inches in length and of a sizable thickness, much larger than mine.

Eunice squatted directly in front of me and while Dolly giggled as she gulped away at me, Eunice, holding the dildo with both hands, shoved it up and into the deepest part of her quim.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 16



"Mmmm," she moaned with pleasure.

Mmmm," Dolly mimicked her as she fellated me.

I pulled Eunice to me and kissed her graceful neck, her bare shoulders and finally her luscious breasts. Taking her nipple between my lips, I chewed it roughly while squeezing the other. And all the while, Dolly licked the up one side of my prick and down the other, before taking me back into her wet, warm mouth.

Eunice gasped when I forced a finger inside her pussy despite the thick dildo already there and began shaking and grinding her quim against my hand. Then her free hand darted to her clit rubbing it with her fingertips as her face quickly took on a rictus of lust seconds before she spent profusely. 

Her spending was something to behold as the dildo and my finger acted as a giant cork and once removed a tidal wave of spunk issued forth from her quim, splattering over both of us.

"Oh, my!" Dolly gasped, having rid herself of my throbbing member. "I believe he made you come. I... I... think it the most I've ever seen!"

"Where have you been keeping all of it until now?" I ventured to ask. But Eunice was speechless, still in the gasping throes of her spend, and Dolly and I pursued the matter no further, although I did think to ask her about it another day.

We rested for a time and then Eunice moved behind Dolly and got her to raise her arse high in the air and then spread her cheeks apart.

"Gonna do me back there, love?" Dolly inquired anxiously and licked her lips. "Jesus, I feel so exposed, so vulnerable. Can you see back there Phileas?"

"I can and let me tell you the sight is beautiful to behold; with your lovely arse and Eunice's beautiful face so close in proximity."

Dolly giggled happily as Eunice's tongue darted out and licked her puckered starfish.

"Clean enough for yer?" Dolly asked playfully.

"Mmmm, I'd say so, love."

Then Eunice moved quickly to Dolly's quim, giving it a long, lascivious lick and Dolly began to quiver and I should mention, did not cease her quivering until well after she'd spent.

But I'm ahead of myself. Eunice used her thumbs to spread Dolly's labia wide; then sucked and licked each side in turn as Dolly shook and moaned. Then Eunice caught both Dolly and me by surprise as she pulled her mouth off Dolly's dripping pussy and just slowly fucked two fingers in and out of her tight wet cunt. Dolly stiffened; ready to come any second. But Eunice anticipated this --- whereas I, as a male, would most likely have missed it thereby hastening Dolly's climax. Eunice, being a woman of experience, knew that the longer she drew Dolly's come out, the better it would be for her. And so she pulled her fingers out of dolly wet morass and fed them to my eager mouth. I sucked greedily at them, licking them clean while Dolly moaned as if in great distress.

"Watch this, Phileas," Eunice warned me and I stared in awe as she revealed her clit, now grown to the size of a tiny penis. 

"What?" I croaked . . . then gasped as she careful aligned her clit with Dolly's, which remained close to its normal size, as I recall, then slid it over Dolly's.

The scene before me was so erotic that I had to squeeze the base of my prick to prevent ejaculation. Dolly began to spend and a copious amount of fluid gushed from her cunt as well, although not nearly as much as Eunice had released earlier.

"Phileas!" Eunice bawled loudly, "Come fuck one of us!"

Making a momentous decision I selected Eunice. My reasoning for it was simply that Dolly was still climaxing and Eunice was responsible for it. Then too, Eunice had made her spend and she had pleaded for me to fuck one of them.

I mounted her and immediately felt her squeeze my arse. Her nails were sharp and deep into my buttocks, making me groan in both pain and pleasure. If she didn't put a halt to this unusual treatment I knew I would come very quickly.

"Stop that!" I yelled and she did so.

For some reason I glanced over at Dolly and my eyes widened as I saw her applying the long dildo to her cunt, driving it deep into her wetness. My hands reached out to Eunice's hanging tits and squeezed them as I renewed my fucking; causing her to moan long and loud.

"Come for me!" I implored her, and a second later I felt her tremble and knew she was going to oblige me. Releasing her breasts, I took hold of her hips and pounded into her. My body shook and I shivered through a fantastic orgasm, releasing gobs of spunk into her gaping cunt.

But they were not done with, oh no. A moment later both women were kneeling beside my partially spread thighs. Eunice licked my prick stem, Dolly my balls, till I grew hard again. They were wonderful in their patience and oh so cunning in compelling me to rise once again, for I was long past my record of sexual endurance.

"Who wants this lovely prick up their arse?" said I.

Both Dolly and Eunice shouted, "Me!"

I selected Dolly as I expected to have many more evenings with my dearest Eunice and this might well be my only time with Dolly.

Dolly bent over, offering me a splendid target. I caressed her quivering buttocks as Eunice and Dolly fenced with their respective tongues, giggling like children, very naughty children. I leaned forward until the head of my prick rested against Dolly's arsehole. 

Dolly began wriggling her arse coquettishly, maddening my desire to penetrate her backside to the hilt of my man-sword. I shoved my prick halfway up her bottom with apparently very little pain to her then falling on her; I clasped my arms about her and rammed myself in the rest of the way.

She moaned, but whether it was my prick or Eunice's lips that caused it I'll never know. My testicles bounced merrily against her and the cheeks of her bottom caromed off my belly.

It was like heaven! I reveled in the incredible warmth of her rectum. And to prolong this magnificent rapture, I rested motionless on her as the two women renewed their torrid kissing as my hands gripped and squeezed her palpitating breasts so conveniently available to me from this position.

Dolly's arse began to move, spasmodically heaving back at me as if seeking to compel my prick even deeper than it was!

Inspired by her favorable reaction, I sent a finger to her cunt and tickled it without slipping it into her. Dolly's reaction was marvelous! She plunged wildly against me, her breasts which I had reluctantly abandoned, swung this way and that way, totally out of control. I feared momentarily that she might strike and hurt Eunice with them. 

"Ah . . . Ah . . .!" She groaned, then spent, provoked beyond her capacity to endure any further. She was a cyclone of frenzied upheaval and I feared for her well-being and pulled my prick from her bottom with a loud pop.

"Do me . . .!" Eunice cried out as she presented her bun to me, the fingers of each hand deeply embedded in her rosy cheeks, spreading them apart and revealing her arsehole open and awaiting me. I later learned that in her excitement at watching me fuck Dolly's arse, Eunice applied the dildo to her own arse, leaving me an extraordinarily easy entry.

Although I was amazed at the ease with which I slid deep inside her, it could not compare to the rapidity of her climax. Two strokes on she too was gasping, 

"Ah ... Ah ...! A scarcely articulate cry before her hand went to her cunt and began fingering herself prompting me to discharge albeit weakly, my final spend of the evening. A violent spasm shook her and she spent, and this I firmly believe ...from both holes at the same time!

I lay there utterly absorbed in the indescribable pleasure of taking two arse holes in a row. Eunice lay tightly clasped in my arms and Dolly in Eunice's. Tenderly I kissed each woman in turn and then they kissed each other. 

"Did you girls like it?" I asked maliciously. 

Dolly blushed furiously.

Eunice smiled wantonly at me as if to say, "What do you think?" and I made myself a promise to fuck her bottom regularly from then on.

They shared the bidet, cleansing themselves of the commingled sweat and juices, dressed and bid me goodnight.

It was without doubt the happiest night of my life.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 17



Part Seventeen

And so the years passed with me spending more and more time at the club and less and less time with Eunice; although we did have our "special moments" together.

The most eventful happening during this period was that I found myself attending Nicole's marriage at Westminster Cathedral. If anything, she was more beautiful than I remembered. I found my eyes filled with tears as she came down the aisle on her cursed father's arm. It had been but six years since we cavorted about in the woods and bedrooms of her abode. Her sister, Rhonda, now seventeen, stood as her Maid of Honor, her breasts all but hanging out of her low cut gown. I stood gnashing my teeth as her father, Sir Alexander Baring, handed Nicole off to her soon to be husband and glanced down Rhonda's cleavage before turning to take his seat. I knew then that he was still bedding his daughters. I could only wonder if Abigail knew, or cared.

Neither girl noticed me as I stood at the rear of the cathedral, but on passing, Abigail's eye caught mine and I cringed from the scornful look she bestowed upon me. I had thought that perhaps I might get a word with her, but that look told me I was never to speak with her again. I left the cathedral with my tail between my legs and went directly to the Reform Club and played whist rather poorly, losing nearly three hundred pounds.





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 17



Madame Bentley had discreetly left the room while the men were speaking. Fogg noted her absence and nodded to himself. "Good! What time is it?"

"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout, drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.

"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.

"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible—"

"You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it's enough to mention the error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m., this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service."

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.

Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new master going out. He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor, James Forster, departing in his turn.

Passepartout remained alone in the house in Saville Row, or so he thought. On hearing a soft sound he turned his head and began to smile. Madame Bentley's curvaceous ankle was dangling invitingly from the bedroom door. Following his instincts, he made haste toward the lovely limb and the nest of honey at its juncture.



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 18



"It was later that evening, Madame Bentley had come and gone and Passepartout was alone in Fogg's quarters.

"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people at Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!" 

Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human. 

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty years of age, with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure; his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, his face rather pale, his teeth magnificent. His countenance possessed in the highest degree what physiognomists call "repose in action," a quality of those who act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure which Angelica Kauffmann has so skillfully represented on canvas. Seen in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer. Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well as in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions. 

He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and was economical alike of his steps and his motions. He never took one step too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest cut; he made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved or agitated. He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always reached his destination at the exact moment. He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation; and as he knew that in this world account must be taken of friction, and that friction retards, he never rubbed against anybody. 

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. His only vice a love of the fairer sex. Since he had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet, he had in vain searched for a master after his own heart. Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by Moliere with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding, soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund, his figure almost portly and well-built, his body muscular, and his physical powers fully developed by the exercises of his younger days. His brown hair was somewhat tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors are said to have known eighteen methods of arranging Minerva's tresses, Passepartout was familiar with but one of dressing his own: three strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet. 

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout's lively nature would agree with Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether the new servant would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master required; experience alone could solve the question. Passepartout had been a sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for repose; but so far he had failed to find it, though he had already served in ten English houses. But he could not take root in any of these; with chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular, constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for adventure. His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament, after passing his nights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home in the morning on policemen's shoulders. Passepartout, desirous of respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance on such conduct; which, being ill-received, he took his leave. Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was one of unbroken regularity, that he neither traveled nor stayed from home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was after. He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen. 

At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the house in Saville Row. He had begun its inspection without delay, scouring it from cellar to garret. So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail's shell, lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes. When Passepartout reached the second story he recognized at once the room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it. Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lower stories; while on the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant. "That's good, that'll do," said Passepartout to himself. 

He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon inspection, proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the house. It comprised all that was required of the servant, from eight in the morning, exactly at which hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past eleven, when he left the house for the Reform Club—all the details of service, the tea and toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at twenty minutes before ten. Everything was regulated and foreseen that was to be done from half-past eleven a.m. till midnight, the hour at which the methodical gentleman retired. 

Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste. Each pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of year and season at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing; and the same system was applied to the master's shoes. In short, the house in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness, comfort, and method idealised. There was no study, nor were there books, which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law and politics, were at his service. A moderate-sized safe stood in his bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere; everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits. 

Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands, a broad smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully, "This is just what I wanted! Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg and I! What a domestic and regular gentleman! A real machine; well, I don't mind serving a machine." 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 18



Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out, mounted to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered: "That's good, that is! And I, who wanted to remain quiet!" He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure. Around the world in eighty days! Was his master a fool? No. Was this a joke, then? They were going to Dover; good! To Calais; good again! After all, Passepartout, who had been away from France five years, would not be sorry to set foot on his native soil again. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it would do his eyes good to see Paris once more and its lovely women. But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt—but, then, it was none the less true that he was going away, this so domestic person hitherto! 

By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag, containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and descended to Mr. Fogg. 

Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed a red-bound copy of Bradshaw's Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide, with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of steamers and railways. He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes, which would pass wherever he might go. 

"You have forgotten nothing?" asked he. 

"Nothing, monsieur." 

"My mackintosh and cloak?" 

"Here they are." 

"Good! Take this carpet-bag," handing it to Passepartout. "Take good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it." Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand pounds were in gold, and weighed him down. 

Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-locked, and at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly to Charing Cross. The cab stopped before the railway station at twenty minutes past eight. Passepartout jumped off the box and followed his master, who, after paying the cabman, was about to enter the station, when a poor beggar-woman, with a child in her arms, her naked feet smeared with mud, her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl, approached, and mournfully asked for alms. 

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist, and handed them to the beggar, saying, "Here, my good woman. I'm glad that I met you;" and passed on. Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his master's action touched his susceptible heart. 

Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased, Mr. Fogg was crossing the station to the train, when he perceived his five friends of the Reform. "Well, gentlemen," said he, "I'm off, you see; and, if you will examine my passport when I get back, you will be able to judge whether I have accomplished the journey agreed upon." 

"Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph politely. "We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour." 

"You do not forget when you are due in London again?" asked Stuart. 

"In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872, at a quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye, gentlemen." 

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class carriage at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle screamed, and the train slowly glided out of the station. 

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips. Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure and thought wistfully of his time with Madame Bentley earlier that evening and sighed. 

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair. 

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg. 

"Alas! In my hurry—I—I forgot—" 

"What?" 

"To turn off the gas in my room!" 

"Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; "it will burn—at your expense." 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 18



"I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions—" 

"I'll make certain of it," interrupted Fix. "The servant seems to me less mysterious than the master; besides, he's a Frenchman, and can't help talking. Excuse me for a little while, consul." 

Fix started off in search of Passepartout. 

Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to the quay, gave some orders to Passepartout, went off to the Mongolia in a boat, and descended to his cabin. He took up his note-book, which contained the following memoranda:— 

"Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m. 

"Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m. 

"Left Paris, Thursday, at 8.40 a.m. 

"Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6.35 a.m. 

"Left Turin, Friday, at 7.20 a.m. 

"Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 p.m. 

"Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5 p.m. 

"Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m. 

"Total of hours spent, 158½; or, in days, six days and a half." 

These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns, indicating the month, the day of the month, and the day for the stipulated and actual arrivals at each principal point Paris, Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco, New York, and London—from the 2nd of October to the 21st of December; and giving a space for setting down the gain made or the loss suffered on arrival at each locality. This methodical record thus contained an account of everything needed, and Mr. Fogg always knew whether he was behind-hand or in advance of his time. On this Friday, October 9th, he noted his arrival at Suez, and observed that he had as yet neither gained nor lost. He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never once thinking of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen who are wont to see foreign countries through the eyes of their domestics. 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 19



The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred and ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the steamers one hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it. The Mongolia, thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely, so rapid was her speed, to reach her destination considerably within that time. 

The greater part of the passengers from Brindisi were bound for India, some for Bombay, others for Calcutta by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that a railway crosses the Indian peninsula. Among the passengers was a number of officials and military officers of various grades, the latter being either attached to the regular British forces or commanding the Sepoy troops, and receiving high salaries ever since the central government has assumed the powers of the East India Company: for the sub-lieutenants get 280 pounds, brigadiers, 2,400 pounds, and generals of divisions, 4,000 pounds. What with the military men, a number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and the hospitable efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the Mongolia. 

The best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the eight o'clock supper, and the ladies scrupulously changed their toilets twice a day; and the hours were whirled away, when the sea was tranquil, with music, dancing, and games. 

But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most long and narrow gulfs. When the wind came from the African or Asian coast the Mongolia, with her long hull, rolled fearfully. Then the ladies speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and dancing suddenly ceased. Yet the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind or wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. 

What was Phileas Fogg doing all this time? It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would be constantly watching the changes of the wind, the disorderly raging of the billows—every chance, in short, which might force the Mongolia to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his journey. But, if he thought of these possibilities, he did not betray the fact by any outward sign. 

Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship's chronometers, and seldom having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed through the memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference; did not care to recognise the historic towns and villages which, along its borders, raised their picturesque outlines against the sky; and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices. How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the Mongolia? He made his four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent rolling and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whist indefatigably, for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as himself. A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith, returning to his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier-general of the English army, who was about to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the party, and, with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing silence. 

As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his meals conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed the voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great interest in the scenes through which they were passing, and consoled himself with the delusion that his master's whim would end at Bombay. He was pleased, on the day after leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging person with whom he had walked and chatted on the quays. 

"If I am not mistaken," said he, approaching this person, with his most amiable smile, "you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered to guide me at Suez?" 

"Ah! I quite recognise you. You are the servant of the strange Englishman—" 

"Just so, monsieur—" 

"Fix." 

"Monsieur Fix," resumed Passepartout, "I'm charmed to find you on board. Where are you bound?" 

"Like you, to Bombay." 

"That's capital! Have you made this trip before?" 

"Several times. I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company." 

"Then you know India?" 

"Why yes," replied Fix, who spoke cautiously. 

"A curious place, this India?" 

"Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas, tigers, snakes, elephants! I hope you will have ample time to see the sights." 

"I hope so, Monsieur Fix. You see, a man of sound sense ought not to spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train, and from a railway train upon a steamer again, pretending to make the tour of the world in eighty days! No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure, will cease at Bombay." 

"And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?" asked Fix, in the most natural tone in the world. 

"Quite well, and I too. I eat like a famished ogre; it's the sea air." 

"But I never see your master on deck." 

"Never; he hasn't the least curiosity." 

"Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in eighty days may conceal some secret errand—perhaps a diplomatic mission?" 

"Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it, nor would I give half a crown to find out." 

After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of chatting together, the latter making it a point to gain the worthy man's confidence. He frequently offered him a glass of whiskey or pale ale in the steamer bar-room, which Passepartout never failed to accept with graceful alacrity, mentally pronouncing Fix the best of good fellows. 


Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th, Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing, was sighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields. Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought that, with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an immense coffee-cup and saucer. 

The following night they passed through the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic The Bridge of Tears, and the next day they put in at Steamer Point, north-west of Aden harbour, to take in coal. This matter of fuelling steamers is a serious one at such distances from the coal-mines; it costs the Peninsular Company some eight hundred thousand pounds a year. In these distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds sterling a ton. 

The Mongolia had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to traverse before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours at Steamer Point to coal up. But this delay, as it was foreseen, did not affect Phileas Fogg's programme; besides, the Mongolia, instead of reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due, arrived there on the evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours. 

Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport again visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them. The visa procured, Mr. Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits; while Passepartout, according to custom, sauntered about among the mixed population of Somanlis, Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans who comprise the twenty-five thousand inhabitants of Aden. He gazed with wonder upon the fortifications which make this place the Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean, and the vast cisterns where the English engineers were still at work, two thousand years after the engineers of Solomon. 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 19



Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew him unconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last, having seen the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was turning his steps towards the station, when he happened to espy the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with an irresistible desire to see its interior. He was quite ignorant that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian temples, and that even the faithful must not go in without first leaving their shoes outside the door. It may be said here that the wise policy of the British Government severely punishes a disregard of the practices of the native religions. 

Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist, and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation which everywhere met his eyes, when of a sudden he found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up to behold three enraged priests, who forthwith fell upon him; tore off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. The agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in knocking down two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists and a vigorous application of his toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as his legs could carry him, he soon escaped the third priest by mingling with the crowd in the streets. 

At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless, and having in the squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes, rushed breathlessly into the station. 

Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he was really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform. He had resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and farther, if necessary. Passepartout did not observe the detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix heard him relate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg. 

"I hope that this will not happen again," said Phileas Fogg coldly, as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quite crestfallen, followed his master without a word. Fix was on the point of entering another carriage, when an idea struck him which induced him to alter his plan. 

"No, I'll stay," muttered he. "An offence has been committed on Indian soil. I've got my man." Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out into the darkness of the night. 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 19



In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the worthy servant. What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he got to Allahabad? Would he carry him on with him? Impossible! The cost of transporting him would make him ruinously expensive. Would he sell him, or set him free? The estimable beast certainly deserved some consideration. Should Mr. Fogg choose to make him, Passepartout, a present of Kiouni, he would be very much embarrassed; and these thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long time. 

The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the evening, and another halt was made on the northern slope, in a ruined bungalow. They had gone nearly twenty-five miles that day, and an equal distance still separated them from the station of Allahabad. 

The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a few dry branches, and the warmth was very grateful, provisions purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the travelers ate ravenously. The conversation, beginning with a few disconnected phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady snores. The guide watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himself against the trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the night to disturb the slumberers, although occasional growls front panthers and chatterings of monkeys broke the silence; the more formidable beasts made no cries or hostile demonstration against the occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily, like an honest soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg, he slumbered as peacefully as if he had been in his serene mansion in Saville Row. 

The journey was resumed at six in the morning; the guide hoped to reach Allahabad by evening. In that case, Mr. Fogg would only lose a part of the forty-eight hours saved since the beginning of the tour. Kiouni, resuming his rapid gait, soon descended the lower spurs of the Vindhias, and towards noon they passed by the village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches of the Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to keep the open country, which lies along the first depressions of the basin of the great river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the north-east. They stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream, was amply partaken of and appreciated. 

At two o'clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended several miles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods. They had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the journey seemed on the point of being successfully accomplished, when the elephant, becoming restless, suddenly stopped. 

It was then four o'clock. 

"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis, putting out his head. 

"I don't know, officer," replied the Parsee, listening attentively to a confused murmur which came through the thick branches. 

The murmur soon became more distinct; it now seemed like a distant concert of human voices accompanied by brass instruments. Passepartout was all eyes and ears. Mr. Fogg patiently waited without a word. The Parsee jumped to the ground, fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thicket. He soon returned, saying: "A procession of Brahmins is coming this way. We must prevent their seeing us, if possible." 

The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at the same time asking the travelers not to stir. He held himself ready to bestride the animal at a moment's notice, should flight become necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession of the faithful would pass without perceiving them amid the thick foliage, in which they were wholly concealed. 

The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer and now droning songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals. The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the trees, a hundred paces away; and the strange figures who performed the religious ceremony were easily distinguished through the branches. First came the priests, with mitres on their heads, and clothed in long lace robes. They were surrounded by men, women, and children, who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at regular intervals by the tambourines and cymbals; while behind them was drawn a car with large wheels, the spokes of which represented serpents entwined with each other. Upon the car, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus, stood a hideous statue with four arms, the body coloured a dull red, with haggard eyes, disheveled hair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted with betel. It stood upright upon the figure of a prostrate and headless giant. 

Sir Francis, recognising the statue, whispered, "The goddess Kali; the goddess of love and death." 

"Of death, perhaps," muttered back Passepartout, "but of love— that ugly old hag? Never!" 

The Parsee made a motion to keep silence. 

A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round the statue; these were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts whence their blood issued drop by drop—stupid fanatics, who, in the great Indian ceremonies, still throw themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut. Some Brahmins, clad in all the sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman who faltered at every step, followed. This woman was young, and as fair as a European. Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems with bracelets, earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold, and covered with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her form. 

The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent contrast to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at their waists, and long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man, gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments of a rajah, wearing, as in life, a turban embroidered with pearls, a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmere sewed with diamonds, and the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince. Next came the musicians and a rearguard of capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned the noise of the instruments; these closed the procession. 

Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and, turning to the guide, said, "A suttee." 

The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession slowly wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared in the depths of the wood. The songs gradually died away; occasionally cries were heard in the distance, until at last all was silence again. 

Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the procession had disappeared, asked: "What is a suttee?" 

"A suttee," returned the general, "is a human sacrifice, but a voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned to-morrow at the dawn of day." 

"Oh, the scoundrels!" cried Passepartout, who could not repress his indignation. 

"And the corpse?" asked Mr. Fogg. 

"Is that of the prince, her husband," said the guide; "an independent rajah of Bundelcund." 

"Is it possible," resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not the least emotion, "that these barbarous customs still exist in India, and that the English have been unable to put a stop to them?" 

"These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India," replied Sir Francis; "but we have no power over these savage territories, and especially here in Bundelcund. The whole district north of the Vindhias is the theatre of incessant murders and pillage." 

"The poor wretch!" exclaimed Passepartout, "to be burned alive!" 

"Yes," returned Sir Francis, "burned alive. And, if she were not, you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit to from her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her on a scanty allowance of rice, treat her with contempt; she would be looked upon as an unclean creature, and would die in some corner, like a scurvy dog. The prospect of so frightful an existence drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice much more than love or religious fanaticism. Sometimes, however, the sacrifice is really voluntary, and it requires the active interference of the Government to prevent it. Several years ago, when I was living at Bombay, a young widow asked permission of the governor to be burned along with her husband's body; but, as you may imagine, he refused. The woman left the town, took refuge with an independent rajah, and there carried out her self-devoted purpose." 

While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several times, and now said: "The sacrifice which will take place to-morrow at dawn is not a voluntary one." 

"How do you know?" 

"Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund." 


"But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any resistance," observed Sir Francis. 

"That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and opium." 

"But where are they taking her?" 

"To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the night there." 

"And the sacrifice will take place—" 

"To-morrow, at the first light of dawn." 

The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped upon his neck. Just at the moment that he was about to urge Kiouni forward with a peculiar whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said, "Suppose we save this woman." 

"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!" 

"I have yet twelve hours to spare; I can devote them to that." 

"Why, you are a man of heart!" 

"Sometimes," replied Phileas Fogg, quietly; "when I have the time." 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 19



Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror, lay there, with their faces on the ground, not daring to lift their eyes and behold such a prodigy. 

The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms which supported her, and which she did not seem in the least to burden. Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis stood erect, the Parsee bowed his head, and Passepartout was, no doubt, scarcely less stupefied. 

The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, and, in an abrupt tone, said, "Let us be off!" 

It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in the midst of the smoke and, profiting by the still overhanging darkness, had delivered the young woman from death! It was Passepartout who, playing his part with a happy audacity had passed through the crowd amid the general terror. 

A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the woods, and the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace. But the cries and noise, and a ball which whizzed through Phileas Fogg's hat, apprised them that the trick had been discovered. 

The old rajah's body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning pyre; and the priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an abduction had taken place. They hastened into the forest, followed by the soldiers, who fired a volley after the fugitives; but the latter rapidly increased the distance between them, and ere long found themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and arrows. 



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 20



The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour Passepartout laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellow's hand, and his master said, "Well done!" which, from him, was high commendation; to which Passepartout replied that all the credit of the affair belonged to Mr. Fogg. As for him, he had only been struck with a "queer" idea; and he laughed to think that for a few moments he, Passepartout, the ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse of a charming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah! 

As for the young Indian woman, she had been unconscious throughout of what was passing, and now, wrapped up in a traveling-blanket, was reposing in one of the howdahs. 

The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour after leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain. They made a halt at seven o'clock, the young woman being still in a state of complete prostration. The guide made her drink a little brandy and water, but the drowsiness which stupefied her could not yet be shaken off. Sir Francis, who was familiar with the effects of the intoxication produced by the fumes of hemp, reassured his companions on her account. But he was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate. He told Phileas Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall again into the hands of her executioners. These fanatics were scattered throughout the county, and would, despite the English police, recover their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by quitting India for ever. 

Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter. 

The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o'clock, and, the interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to reach Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours. Phileas Fogg would thus be able to arrive in time to take the steamer which left Calcutta the next day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong. 

The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the station, whilst Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her various articles of toilet, a dress, shawl, and some furs; for which his master gave him unlimited credit. Passepartout started off forthwith, and found himself in the streets of Allahabad, that is, the City of God, one of the most venerated in India, being built at the junction of the two sacred rivers, Ganges and Jumna, the waters of which attract pilgrims from every part of the peninsula. The Ganges, according to the legends of the Ramayana, rises in heaven, whence, owing to Brahma's agency, it descends to the earth. 

Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a good look at the city. It was formerly defended by a noble fort, which has since become a state prison; its commerce has dwindled away, and Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar as he used to frequent in Regent Street. At last he came upon an elderly, crusty Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom he purchased a dress of Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin pelisse, for which he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five pounds. He then returned triumphantly to the station. 

The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda began gradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that her fine eyes resumed all their soft Indian expression. 

When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the queen of Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus: 

"Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious contour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow and freshness. Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama, the god of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest reflections and a celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of Himalaya, in the black pupils of her great clear eyes. Her teeth, fine, equal, and white, glitter between her smiling lips like dewdrops in a passion-flower's half-enveloped breast. Her delicately formed ears, her vermilion hands, her little feet, curved and tender as the lotus-bud, glitter with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls of Ceylon, the most dazzling diamonds of Golconda. Her narrow and supple waist, which a hand may clasp around, sets forth the outline of her rounded figure and the beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower displays the wealth of its treasures; and beneath the silken folds of her tunic she seems to have been modeled in pure silver by the godlike hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor." 

It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to Aouda, that she was a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the phrase. She spoke English with great purity, and the guide had not exaggerated in saying that the young Parsee had been transformed by her bringing up. 

The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg proceeded to pay the guide the price agreed upon for his service, and not a farthing more; which astonished Passepartout, who remembered all that his master owed to the guide's devotion. He had, indeed, risked his life in the adventure at Pillaji, and, if he should be caught afterwards by the Indians, he would with difficulty escape their vengeance. Kiouni, also, must be disposed of. What should be done with the elephant, which had been so dearly purchased? Phileas Fogg had already determined this question. 

"Parsee," said he to the guide, "you have been serviceable and devoted. I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion. Would you like to have this elephant? He is yours." 

The guide's eyes glistened. "Your honour is giving me a fortune!" cried he. 

"Take him, guide," returned Mr. Fogg, "and I shall still be your debtor." 

"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout. "Take him, friend. Kiouni is a brave and faithful beast." And, going up to the elephant, he gave him several lumps of sugar, saying, "Here, Kiouni, here, here." The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head. Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the animal, which replaced him gently on the ground. 

Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout, installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were whirling at full speed towards Benares. It was a run of eighty miles, and was accomplished in two hours. During the journey, the young woman fully recovered her senses. What was her astonishment to find herself in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in European habiliments, and with travelers who were quite strangers to her! 

Her companions first set about fully reviving her with a little liquor, and then Sir Francis narrated to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage with which Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of Passepartout's rash idea. Mr. Fogg said nothing; while Passepartout, abashed, kept repeating that "it wasn't worth telling." 

Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than words; her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her lips. Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene of the sacrifice, and recalled the dangers which still menaced her, she shuddered with terror. 

Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda's mind, and offered, in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where she might remain safely until the affair was hushed up—an offer which she eagerly and gratefully accepted. She had, it seems, a Parsee relation, who was one of the principal merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly an English city, though on an island on the Chinese coast. 

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin legends assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient Casi, which, like Mahomet's tomb, was once suspended between heaven and earth; though the Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists call the Athens of India, stands quite unpoetically on the solid earth, Passepartout caught glimpses of its brick houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of desolation to the place, as the train entered it. 

Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's destination, the troops he was rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city. He bade adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success, and expressing the hope that he would come that way again in a less original but more profitable fashion. Mr. Fogg lightly pressed him by the hand. The parting of Aouda, who did not forget what she owed to Sir Francis, betrayed more warmth; and, as for Passepartout, he received a hearty shake of the hand from the gallant general. 

The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the valley of the Ganges. Through the windows of their carriage the travelers had glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar, with its mountains clothed in verdure, its fields of barley, wheat, and corn, its jungles peopled with green alligators, its neat villages, and its still thickly-leaved forests. Elephants were bathing in the waters of the sacred river, and groups of Indians, despite the advanced season and chilly air, were performing solemnly their pious ablutions. These were fervent Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities being Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural forces, and Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators. What would these divinities think of India, anglicised as it is to-day, with steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges, frightening the gulls which float upon its surface, the turtles swarming along its banks, and the faithful dwelling upon its borders 

The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the steam concealed it fitfully from the view; the travelers could scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-westward from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or Ghazipur and its famous rose-water factories; or the tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on the left bank of the Ganges; the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a large manufacturing and trading-place, where is held the principal opium market of India; or Monghir, a more than European town, for it is as English as Manchester or Birmingham, with its iron foundries, edge-tool factories, and high chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke heavenward. 

Night came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst of the roaring of the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before the locomotive; and the marvels of Bengal, Golconda ruined Gour, Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly, and the French town of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to see his country's flag flying, were hidden from their view in the darkness. 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 20







Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 20



"Is it in?" She inquired, instinctively knowing it would incite me even more.I sent my prick surging into her at that, marveling at her tightness, her warmth and the velvety smoothness of her cunt.

Aouda thrilled to the feel of me filling her, and the rapture closed in upon her as the first of many orgasms began.

I took my time, using slow, deliberate strokes I thrust in and out, reveling in the very feel of her walls as they clung to my protracted movements. I kissed her and her mouth opened to accept my tongue again and we played an erotic form of tag, alternating it with intervals wherein we sucked each others tongue into our mouths; but always concentrating on the place where our loins were joined gloriously together.

I picked up the pace and wrought a more violent reaction from Aouda than I'd expected, for she came hard, and swept a cup and saucer that had been on the table onto the floor where they shattered into a thousand pieces.

Aouda's head began to swim from the recurring climaxes resulting from our combined thrusting. She now had her legs wrapped around my waist, trying to draw me even further into her. The muscles in her quim were clenching me reflexively and I drew ever closer to spending.

Suddenly I was gushing into her, unable to without myself any longer. Aouda too was spending; her cunt clenching me as she spasmed to her tumultuous climax.

"It's over!" I heard her sob, and my eyes filled at the thought of her weeping at the loss of my member now shriveling up inside her.

Too my surprise and great joy, I found that my shaft was still firm, and so I kept thrusting into her. Aouda marveled at this and wrapped her legs tightly around my waist to ensure I was contained in her.

Each stroke I took forced spunk out of her quim and onto our thighs, thoroughly lubricating we two fornicators, both inside and out. Aouda was now swimming in a surging tide of ecstasy as I managed to continue to fuck in and out of her frothy channel.

"OH! It cannot be this good, CAN IT?" She muttered to herself, but I heard her words and gasped, "I know . . . it's impossible . . . but it is happening, tell me I'm not dreaming."

"YOU'RE NOT . . . DREAMING, I gasped having exerted myself to the fullest.

Aouda spent again on feeling me ejaculating into her for the second time and collapsed, falling straight back, hitting her head hard upon the tabletop.

When she woke up, she found herself on my bed. She saw my silhouette over her and turned to look at me; still not fully recovered from the sexual exhaustion on the table. She freely admitted her head hurt, but she was distracted from the pain by the sight of my newly risen erection.

Aouda examined my body closely for the first time. Feeling the muscles in my chest and arms and running her fingers through the dark hair on my chest. Her eyes bored into mine with such an intense stare that a wave of lust swept over the both of us.

I climbed onto the bed without saying a word and Aouda began to writhe with anticipation. I allowed my hands to roam over her legs, and felt a shiver go through her. I touched her quim with his finger and felt her grow wet almost immediately. Instead of mounting her, I brought my face down to her crotch. Aouda moaned as I started to nibble on the outer lips of her cunt; then teased them with my teeth. My hands roamed over her outer thighs, then caressed her hips. Aouda was moaning uncontrollably.

When my lips left her crotch she moaned louder in pure desperation. I was panting hard, trying to keep myself under control. My fingers took hold of her hard nipples, teasing them until she could no longer bear it.

She commanded me to: "Bite them! Chew them!"

But I refused and continued teasing them; bestowing long, tickling licks upon each one. My hands had her wrists pinioned to the mattress, the weight of my legs kept her lower half secure. Aouda might have struggled more with her legs, but the reality was that she wanted me inside her and dared not risk losing me. And so she endured . . . well endured might be a poor choice of words as her pleasure grew more intense with each passing second. 

I slithered down her torso and she felt the delicious touch of my tongue working its way along her inner thigh toward . . . . "YES!" she croaked. "THERE!"

My lips touched her outer lips and kissed them so gently that Aouda swooned momentarily. When she recovered seconds later, I was probing inside her with my serpentine-like oral muscle. Aouda could not believe that a man, so distant in ordinary circumstances, knew so much about arousing a woman. But then, she cared not where I had come to learn such things and only that I continue to address myself to her; only that I continue to astonish her with my marvelous technique. I managed to do just that. Soon my tongue was driving her mad. Aouda kept thrashing about as climax after climax ravaged her body.

Later, thinking back, Aouda could only recall some of the magical things I had done to her: 

Touching her engorged clit with my flickering tongue; thrusting a finger into her anus, and the glorious orgasm that brought on; and, if she had it right, I'd followed that by inserting my phallus into her cunt.

Aouda had struggled to stay conscious throughout the series of convulsive climaxes I bestowed upon her, and as she recovered, she saw my face hovering over hers. Slowly, ever so slowly, I smiled down at her and sent my throbbing member into her once again. "This is the last one," I told her. "Let's make it unforgettable."

Aouda was incredulous at this statement. "Make it unforgettable? What were all the others?"

I began thrusting slowly, machine-like at first, as droplets of sweat fell from my face and neck onto her breasts. She told me after that my words haunted her. "What words, my love?" I'd asked.

"Let's make it unforgettable," she replied, and I almost died of happiness. We resumed our lovemaking, both moving faster.

"I can't wiggle my toes," she moaned, and I laughed. "I feel your seed running down the cleft of my buttocks,' she cried.

"Shall we stop and cleanse your arse?" I inquired.

"No!"

"Shall I stop and examine those lovely toes of yours?"

"No!"

"Shall I keep pumping my manhood into your lovely quim?"

"OH, YES!" 

Then, "OH, OH, OH! It's so good! I cannot bear another moment! I . . . I'm going to spend!"

Evidently her spend was so exquisitely pleasurable and fulfilling that she slowly blacked out as her hold on consciousness slipped away.

She never felt me spend in her, but I did, several precious moments later and I collapsed upon her and remained still, even after Aouda slowly returned to the world at the very moment the train darted into a long tunnel, sucking the scant light our shared compartment possessed. Perhaps an hour passed while we clung to one another, kissing and nibbling lovingly at each other.

I was the first to speak. "We must be careful, so you must leave now. Tonight I will let you know when you can return to my room."

Aouda dressed, and after I had opened the compartment door and checked to see if anyone was lurking about, she left me with a last parting kiss and hurried to her own compartment to rest and dream about what had happened. Later that afternoon, Aouda met with Fogg and Passepartout and had a pleasant conversation wherein she revealed nothing to either of the gentleman concerning her trysts with both. Instead she kept up a running chatter to hide the lust and nervousness she had about both men whilst fearing the one learning of her laying with the other.





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 21



The detective and Passepartout met often on deck after this interview, though Fix was reserved, and did not attempt to induce his companion to divulge any more facts concerning Mr. Fogg. He caught a glimpse of that mysterious gentleman once or twice; but Mr. Fogg usually confined himself to the cabin, where he kept Aouda company, or according to his inveterate habit, took a hand at whist. 


Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange chance kept Fix still on the route that his master was pursuing. It was really worth considering why this certainly very amiable and complacent person, whom he had first met at Suez, had then encountered on board the Mongolia, who disembarked at Bombay, which he announced as his destination, and now turned up so unexpectedly on the Rangoon, was following Mr. Fogg's tracks step by step. What was Fix's object? Passepartout was ready to wager his Indian shoes—which he religiously preserved—that Fix would also leave Hong Kong at the same time with them, and probably on the same steamer. 

Passepartout might have cudgelled his brain for a century without hitting upon the real object which the detective had in view. He never could have imagined that Phileas Fogg was being tracked as a robber around the globe. But, as it is in human nature to attempt the solution of every mystery, Passepartout suddenly discovered an explanation of Fix's movements, which was in truth far from unreasonable. Fix, he thought, could only be an agent of Mr. Fogg's friends at the Reform Club, sent to follow him up, and to ascertain that he really went round the world as had been agreed upon. 

"It's clear!" repeated the worthy servant to himself, proud of his shrewdness. "He's a spy sent to keep us in view! That isn't quite the thing, either, to be spying Mr. Fogg, who is so honourable a man! Ah, gentlemen of the Reform, this shall cost you dear!" 

Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say nothing to his master, lest he should be justly offended at this mistrust on the part of his adversaries. But he determined to chaff Fix, when he had the chance, with mysterious allusions, which, however, need not betray his real suspicions. 

During the afternoon of Wednesday, 30th October, the Rangoon entered the Strait of Malacca, which separates the peninsula of that name from Sumatra. The mountainous and craggy islets intercepted the beauties of this noble island from the view of the travellers. The Rangoon weighed anchor at Singapore the next day at four a.m., to receive coal, having gained half a day on the prescribed time of her arrival. Phileas Fogg noted this gain in his journal, and then, accompanied by Aouda, who betrayed a desire for a walk on shore, disembarked. 

Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg's every movement, followed them cautiously, without being himself perceived; while Passepartout, laughing in his sleeve at Fix's manoeuvres, went about his usual errands. 


The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are no mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions. It is a park checkered by pleasant highways and avenues. A handsome carriage, drawn by a sleek pair of New Holland horses, carried Phileas Fogg and Aouda into the midst of rows of palms with brilliant foliage, and of clove-trees, whereof the cloves form the heart of a half-open flower. Pepper plants replaced the prickly hedges of European fields; sago-bushes, large ferns with gorgeous branches, varied the aspect of this tropical clime; while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled the air with a penetrating perfume. Agile and grinning bands of monkeys skipped about in the trees, nor were tigers wanting in the jungles. 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 21







Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 21



"I! But I—" 

"I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by the Bank of England." 

"Never!" replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back, exhausted in mind and body. 

"Mr. Fix," he stammered, "even should what you say be true— if my master is really the robber you are seeking for—which I deny— I have been, am, in his service; I have seen his generosity and goodness; and I will never betray him—not for all the gold in the world. I come from a village where they don't eat that kind of bread!" 

"You refuse?" 

"I refuse." 

"Consider that I've said nothing," said Fix; "and let us drink." 

"Yes; let us drink!" 

Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects of the liquor. Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be separated from his master, wished to entirely overcome him. Some pipes full of opium lay upon the table. Fix slipped one into Passepartout's hand. He took it, put it between his lips, lit it, drew several puffs, and his head, becoming heavy under the influence of the narcotic, fell upon the table. 

"At last!" said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious. "Mr. Fogg will not be informed of the Carnatic's departure; and, if he is, he will have to go without this cursed Frenchman!" 

And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern. 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 21



Then thrashing wildly under me she spent so hard that she lost all control of her senses for several long minutes. Furious I pounded into with everything I had, finally sending a copious amount of spunk into her cuntal cavity. 

Sweating and panting, I began to slip out of her. Aouda cried out and clenched me too her. Her lips and tongue were at my ear. "Hear me!" she moaned. "Hear me!"

"Go on," I told her in a ragged tone. She was crying, tears rolling down her cheeks from red, misty eyes. My heart broke and I moaned softly, in deep pain. She pulled my head to hers and she kissed me, her chest heaving in racked sobs. Her breasts were hot and heavy under my chest.

"I am a whore! I am your whore! I am Passepartout's whore! I love you both!" Aouda shook her head and sent her long hair flying over her shoulder. The great sorrow she felt was evident in her voice as she continued. "I cannot separate myself from either of you and God help me I don't know what to do about it except to end my life. Now Passepartout is gone and you hate me. I must kill myself, I must. I just wanted this last time with you to be perfect . . ."

I took hold of her shoulders and shook her lightly, "You'll do no such thing!" I said quickly. "Now promise me hear and now that you won't put such thoughts into action."

"I've deceived you. I've deceived the both of you. I don't deserve to live!"

"Let me be the judge of that," I shouted into her face, only inches away from mine. "I saved you once, as did Passepartout. Need I remind you of the great risk we took to do so?" Aouda sobbed, but was obviously listening.

"I think it is we who hold the power of life and death over you." I didn't give her a chance to respond to this foolishness. "It is I or Passepartout who shall tell you if and when you need to leave this world."

Aouda seemed to glimpse the deep desire in my eyes and the love I truly felt for her. She appeared to be captivated by their intensity and before she was capable of reasoning properly, I willed her to look at me. She did so and my mouth closed down upon hers and I melted into her sweet, scented mouth. She sighed and grew dizzy from the unexpected sensations swelling in her chest and abdomen.

We parted and she exclaimed, "I love you, I love you, I love you," she sobbed, "Please say you love me too!"

I cradled her in my arms and told her she was the only one I could ever love. We kissed again, and now no words were needed and I could feel the joy and radiance and gratitude flowing from her in a hot wave. Aouda began to work on my manhood again, arousing me with that sureness of touch that took my breath away and made me wonder how there could be a heaven after this.

We fell asleep a while later in a tangle of soaked sheets and sweating limbs. When I awoke, it was late evening. I slipped out of bed and wandered out on deck, leaving Aouda to sleep. I felt strangely elated, even ecstatic, at peace with the world, deeply aroused. I would share Aouda with Passepartout. He was a faithful servant and there was no earthly reason why we could not manage to live happily together at Number 7 Saville Row.





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 22



The Carnatic, setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the 7th of November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan. She carried a large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers. Two state-rooms in the rear were, however, unoccupied—those which had been engaged by Phileas Fogg. 

The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait, and disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to totter to a seat on deck. 

It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows: Shortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the unconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed reserved for the smokers. Three hours later, pursued even in his dreams by a fixed idea, the poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying influence of the narcotic. The thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off his torpor, and he hurried from the abode of drunkenness. Staggering and holding himself up by keeping against the walls, falling down and creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct, he kept crying out, "The Carnatic! The Carnatic!" 

The steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting. Passepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the plank, he crossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the Carnatic was moving off. Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this sort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin, and Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty miles away from China. Thus he found himself the next morning on the deck of the Carnatic, and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze. The pure air sobered him. He began to collect his sense, which he found a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events of the evening before, Fix's revelation, and the opium-house. 

"It is evident," said he to himself, "that I have been abominably drunk! What will Mr. Fogg say? At least I have not missed the steamer, which is the most important thing." 

Then, as Fix occurred to him: "As for that rascal, I hope we are well rid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to follow us on board the Carnatic. A detective on the track of Mr. Fogg accused of robbing the Bank of England! Pshaw! Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than I am a murderer." 

Should he divulge Fix's real errand to his master? Would it do to tell the part the detective was playing? Would it not be better to wait until Mr. Fogg reached London again, and then impart to him that an agent of the metropolitan police had been following him round the world, and have a good laugh over it? No doubt; at least, it was worth considering. The first thing to do was to find Mr. Fogg, and apologise for his singular behaviour. 

Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with the rolling of the steamer, to the after-deck. He saw no one who resembled either his master or Aouda. "Good!" muttered he; "Aouda has not got up yet, and Mr. Fogg has probably found some partners at whist." 

He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. Passepartout had only, however, to ask the purser the number of his master's state-room. The purser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of Fogg. 

"I beg your pardon," said Passepartout persistently. "He is a tall gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a young lady—" 

"There is no young lady on board," interrupted the purser. "Here is a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself." 

Passepartout scanned the list, but his master's name was not upon it. All at once an idea struck him. 

"Ah! Am I on the Carnatic?" 

"Yes." 

"On the way to Yokohama?" 

"Certainly." 

Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the wrong boat; but, though he was really on the Carnatic, his master was not there. 

He fell thunderstruck on a seat. He saw it all now. He remembered that the time of sailing had been changed, that he should have informed his master of that fact, and that he had not done so. It was his fault, then, that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had missed the steamer. Yes, but it was still more the fault of the traitor who, in order to separate him from his master, and detain the latter at Hong Kong, had inveigled him into getting drunk! He now saw the detective's trick; and at this moment Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself perhaps arrested and imprisoned! And what of Aouda? At this thought Passepartout tore his hair. Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a settling of accounts there would be! 

After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and began to study his situation. It was certainly not an enviable one. He found himself on the way to Japan, and what should he do when he got there? His pocket was empty; he had not a solitary shilling not so much as a penny. His passage had fortunately been paid for in advance; and he had five or six days in which to decide upon his future course. He fell to at meals with an appetite, and ate for Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and himself. He helped himself as generously as if Japan were a desert, where nothing to eat was to be looked for. 

At dawn on the 13th the Carnatic entered the port of Yokohama. This is an important port of call in the Pacific, where all the mail-steamers, and those carrying travellers between North America, China, Japan, and the Oriental islands put in. It is situated in the bay of Yeddo, and at but a short distance from that second capital of the Japanese Empire, and the residence of the Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual Emperor, absorbed his office in his own. The Carnatic anchored at the quay near the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd of ships bearing the flags of all nations. 

Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory of the Sons of the Sun. He had nothing better to do than, taking chance for his guide, to wander aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama. He found himself at first in a thoroughly European quarter, the houses having low fronts, and being adorned with verandas, beneath which he caught glimpses of neat peristyles. This quarter occupied, with its streets, squares, docks, and warehouses, all the space between the "promontory of the Treaty" and the river. Here, as at Hong Kong and Calcutta, were mixed crowds of all races Americans and English, Chinamen and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy or sell anything. The Frenchman felt himself as much alone among them as if he had dropped down in the midst of Hottentots. 

He had, at least, one resource to call on the French and English consuls at Yokohama for assistance. But he shrank from telling the story of his adventures, intimately connected as it was with that of his master; and, before doing so, he determined to exhaust all other means of aid. As chance did not favour him in the European quarter, he penetrated that inhabited by the native Japanese, determined, if necessary, to push on to Yeddo. 

The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess of the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about. There Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of a singular architecture, bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos and reeds, temples shaded by immense cedar-trees, holy retreats where were sheltered Buddhist priests and sectaries of Confucius, and interminable streets, where a perfect harvest of rose-tinted and red-cheeked children, who looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese screens, and who were playing in the midst of short-legged poodles and yellowish cats, might have been gathered. 

The streets were crowded with people. Priests were passing in processions, beating their dreary tambourines; police and custom-house officers with pointed hats encrusted with lac and carrying two sabres hung to their waists; soldiers, clad in blue cotton with white stripes, and bearing guns; the Mikado's guards, enveloped in silken doubles, hauberks and coats of mail; and numbers of military folk of all ranks—for the military profession is as much respected in Japan as it is despised in China—went hither and thither in groups and pairs. Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims, and simple civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair, big heads, long busts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions varying from copper-colour to a dead white, but never yellow, like the Chinese, from whom the Japanese widely differ. He did not fail to observe the curious equipages—carriages and palanquins, barrows supplied with sails, and litters made of bamboo; nor the women— whom he thought not especially handsome—who took little steps with their little feet, whereon they wore canvas shoes, straw sandals, and clogs of worked wood, and who displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests, teeth fashionably blackened, and gowns crossed with silken scarfs, tied in an enormous knot behind an ornament which the modern Parisian ladies seem to have borrowed from the dames of Japan. 

Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this motley crowd, looking in at the windows of the rich and curious shops, the jewellery establishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments, the restaurants decked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses, where the odorous beverage was being drunk with saki, a liquor concocted from the fermentation of rice, and the comfortable smoking-houses, where they were puffing, not opium, which is almost unknown in Japan, but a very fine, stringy tobacco. He went on till he found himself in the fields, in the midst of vast rice plantations. There he saw dazzling camellias expanding themselves, with flowers which were giving forth their last colours and perfumes, not on bushes, but on trees, and within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum, and apple trees, which the Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms than their fruit, and which queerly-fashioned, grinning scarecrows protected from the sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other voracious birds. On the branches of the cedars were perched large eagles; amid the foliage of the weeping willows were herons, solemnly standing on one leg; and on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds, and a multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred, and which to their minds symbolise long life and prosperity. 

As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets among the shrubs. 

"Good!" said he; "I'll have some supper." 

But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless. 

"No chance there," thought he. 

The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat as hearty a breakfast as possible before leaving the Carnatic; but, as he had been walking about all day, the demands of hunger were becoming importunate. He observed that the butchers stalls contained neither mutton, goat, nor pork; and, knowing also that it is a sacrilege to kill cattle, which are preserved solely for farming, he made up his mind that meat was far from plentiful in Yokohama— nor was he mistaken; and, in default of butcher's meat, he could have wished for a quarter of wild boar or deer, a partridge, or some quails, some game or fish, which, with rice, the Japanese eat almost exclusively. But he found it necessary to keep up a stout heart, and to postpone the meal he craved till the following morning. Night came, and Passepartout re-entered the native quarter, where he wandered through the streets, lit by vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the dancers, who were executing skilful steps and boundings, and the astrologers who stood in the open air with their telescopes. Then he came to the harbour, which was lit up by the resin torches of the fishermen, who were fishing from their boats. 

The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of which, in their splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites, Passepartout thought seemed like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling crowd. Each time a company passed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to himself: "Good! Another Japanese embassy departing for Europe!" 

The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself that he must get something to eat at all hazards, and the sooner he did so the better. He might, indeed, sell his watch; but he would have starved first. Now or never he must use the strong, if not melodious voice which nature had bestowed upon him. He knew several French and English songs, and resolved to try them upon the Japanese, who must be lovers of music, since they were for ever pounding on their cymbals, tam-tams, and tambourines, and could not but appreciate European talent. 

It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert, and the audience prematurely aroused from their slumbers, might not possibly pay their entertainer with coin bearing the Mikado's features. Passepartout therefore decided to wait several hours; and, as he was sauntering along, it occurred to him that he would seem rather too well dressed for a wandering artist. The idea struck him to change his garments for clothes more in harmony with his project; by which he might also get a little money to satisfy the immediate cravings of hunger. The resolution taken, it remained to carry it out. It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a native dealer in old clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange. The man liked the European costume, and ere long Passepartout issued from his shop accoutred in an old Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban, faded with long use. A few small pieces of silver, moreover, jingled in his pocket. 

"Good!" thought he. "I will imagine I am at the Carnival!" 

His first care, after being thus "Japanesed," was to enter a tea-house of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice, to breakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved. 

"Now," thought he, when he had eaten heartily, "I mustn't lose my head. I can't sell this costume again for one still more Japanese. I must consider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which I shall not retain the most delightful of memories, as quickly as possible." 

It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to leave for America. He would offer himself as a cook or servant, in payment of his passage and meals. Once at San Francisco, he would find some means of going on. The difficulty was how to traverse the four thousand seven hundred miles of the Pacific which lay between Japan and the New World. 

Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and directed his steps towards the docks. But, as he approached them, his project, which at first had seemed so simple, began to grow more and more formidable to his mind. What need would they have of a cook or servant on an American steamer, and what confidence would they put in him, dressed as he was? What references could he give? 

As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense placard which a sort of clown was carrying through the streets. This placard, which was in English, read as follows: 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 22



It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the acrobats and gymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls, barrels, &c., was executed with wonderful precision. 

But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a show to which Europe is as yet a stranger. 

The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage of the god Tingou. Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages, they bore upon their shoulders a splendid pair of wings; but what especially distinguished them was the long noses which were fastened to their faces, and the uses which they made of them. These noses were made of bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet long, some straight, others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation warts upon them. It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their real noses, that they performed their gymnastic exercises. A dozen of these sectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while others, dressed to represent lightning-rods, came and frolicked on their noses, jumping from one to another, and performing the most skilful leapings and somersaults. 

As a last scene, a "human pyramid" had been announced, in which fifty Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut. But, instead of forming a pyramid by mounting each other's shoulders, the artists were to group themselves on top of the noses. It happened that the performer who had hitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the troupe, and as, to fill this part, only strength and adroitness were necessary, Passepartout had been chosen to take his place. 

The poor fellow really felt sad when—melancholy reminiscence of his youth!—he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings, and fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long. But he cheered up when he thought that this nose was winning him something to eat. 


He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who were to compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all stretched themselves on the floor, their noses pointing to the ceiling. A second group of artists disposed themselves on these long appendages, then a third above these, then a fourth, until a human monument reaching to the very cornices of the theatre soon arose on top of the noses. This elicited loud applause, in the midst of which the orchestra was just striking up a deafening air, when the pyramid tottered, the balance was lost, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the human monument was shattered like a castle built of cards! 

It was Passepartout's fault. Abandoning his position, clearing the footlights without the aid of his wings, and, clambering up to the right-hand gallery, he fell at the feet of one of the spectators, crying, "Ah, my master! my master!" 

"You here?" 

"Myself." 

"Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!" 

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the theatre to the outside, where they encountered the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, furious with rage. He demanded damages for the "breakage" of the pyramid; and Phileas Fogg appeased him by giving him a handful of banknotes. 


At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and Aouda, followed by Passepartout, who in his hurry had retained his wings, and nose six feet long, stepped upon the American steamer. 





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 22



Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his; and the detective— who was determined not to lose sight of him—begged permission to accompany them in their walk about San Francisco—a request which Mr. Fogg readily granted. 

They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great crowd was collected; the side-walks, street, horse car rails, the shop-doors, the windows of the houses, and even the roofs, were full of people. Men were going about carrying large posters, and flags and streamers were floating in the wind; while loud cries were heard on every hand. 

"Hurrah for Camerfield!" 

"Hurrah for Mandiboy!" 

It was a political meeting; at least so Fix conjectured, who said to Mr. Fogg, "Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd. There may be danger in it." 

"Yes," returned Mr. Fogg; "and blows, even if they are political are still blows." 

Fix smiled at this remark; and, in order to be able to see without being jostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a flight of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery Street. Opposite them, on the other side of the street, between a coal wharf and a petroleum warehouse, a large platform had been erected in the open air, towards which the current of the crowd seemed to be directed. 

For what purpose was this meeting? What was the occasion of this excited assemblage? Phileas Fogg could not imagine. Was it to nominate some high official—a governor or member of Congress? It was not improbable, so agitated was the multitude before them. 

Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass. All the hands were raised in the air. Some, tightly closed, seemed to disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries—an energetic way, no doubt, of casting a vote. The crowd swayed back, the banners and flags wavered, disappeared an instant, then reappeared in tatters. The undulations of the human surge reached the steps, while all the heads floundered on the surface like a sea agitated by a squall. Many of the black hats disappeared, and the greater part of the crowd seemed to have diminished in height. 

"It is evidently a meeting," said Fix, "and its object must be an exciting one. I should not wonder if it were about the Alabama, despite the fact that that question is settled." 

"Perhaps," replied Mr. Fogg, simply. 

"At least, there are two champions in presence of each other, the Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Mandiboy." 

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg's arm, observed the tumultuous scene with surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it all was. Before the man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs and excited shouts were heard; the staffs of the banners began to be used as offensive weapons; and fists flew about in every direction. Thumps were exchanged from the tops of the carriages and omnibuses which had been blocked up in the crowd. Boots and shoes went whirling through the air, and Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack of revolvers mingling in the din, the rout approached the stairway, and flowed over the lower step. One of the parties had evidently been repulsed; but the mere lookers-on could not tell whether Mandiboy or Camerfield had gained the upper hand. 

"It would be prudent for us to retire," said Fix, who was anxious that Mr. Fogg should not receive any injury, at least until they got back to London. "If there is any question about England in all this, and we were recognised, I fear it would go hard with us." 

"An English subject—" began Mr. Fogg. 

He did not finish his sentence; for a terrific hubbub now arose on the terrace behind the flight of steps where they stood, and there were frantic shouts of, "Hurrah for Mandiboy! Hip, hip, hurrah!" 

It was a band of voters coming to the rescue of their allies, and taking the Camerfield forces in flank. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix found themselves between two fires; it was too late to escape. The torrent of men, armed with loaded canes and sticks, was irresistible. Phileas Fogg and Fix were roughly hustled in their attempts to protect their fair companion; the former, as cool as ever, tried to defend himself with the weapons which nature has placed at the end of every Englishman's arm, but in vain. A big brawny fellow with a red beard, flushed face, and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the chief of the band, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg, whom he would have given a crushing blow, had not Fix rushed in and received it in his stead. An enormous bruise immediately made its appearance under the detective's silk hat, which was completely smashed in. 

"Yankee!" exclaimed Mr. Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at the ruffian. 

"Englishman!" returned the other. "We will meet again!" 

"When you please." 

"What is your name?" 

"Phileas Fogg. And yours?" 

"Colonel Stamp Proctor." 

The human tide now swept by, after overturning Fix, who speedily got upon his feet again, though with tattered clothes. Happily, he was not seriously hurt. His travelling overcoat was divided into two unequal parts, and his trousers resembled those of certain Indians, which fit less compactly than they are easy to put on. Aouda had escaped unharmed, and Fix alone bore marks of the fray in his black and blue bruise. 

"Thanks," said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were out of the crowd. 

"No thanks are necessary," replied Fix; "but let us go." 

"Where?" 

"To a tailor's." 

Such a visit was, indeed, opportune. The clothing of both Mr. Fogg and Fix was in rags, as if they had themselves been actively engaged in the contest between Camerfield and Mandiboy. An hour after, they were once more suitably attired, and with Aouda returned to the International Hotel. 

Passepartout was waiting for his master, armed with half a dozen six-barreled revolvers. When he perceived Fix, he knit his brows; but Aouda having, in a few words, told him of their adventure, his countenance resumed its placid expression. Fix evidently was no longer an enemy, but an ally; he was faithfully keeping his word. 

Dinner over, the coach which was to convey the passengers and their luggage to the station drew up to the door. As he was getting in, Mr. Fogg said to Fix, "You have not seen this Colonel Proctor again?" 

"No." 

"I will come back to America to find him," said Phileas Fogg calmly. "It would not be right for an Englishman to permit himself to be treated in that way, without retaliating." 

The detective smiled, but did not reply. It was clear that Mr. Fogg was one of those Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate dueling at home, fight abroad when their honour is attacked. 

At a quarter before six the travelers reached the station, and found the train ready to depart. As he was about to enter it, Mr. Fogg called a porter, and said to him: "My friend, was there not some trouble to-day in San Francisco?" 

"It was a political meeting, sir," replied the porter. 

"But I thought there was a great deal of disturbance in the streets." 

"It was only a meeting assembled for an election." 

"The election of a general-in-chief, no doubt?" asked Mr. Fogg. 

"No, sir; of a justice of the peace." 

Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed. 

"FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN"—so say the Americans; and these four words compose the general designation of the "great trunk line" which crosses the entire width of the United States. The Pacific Railroad is, however, really divided into two distinct lines: the Central Pacific, between San Francisco and Ogden, and the Union Pacific, between Ogden and Omaha. Five main lines connect Omaha with New York. 

New York and San Francisco are thus united by an uninterrupted metal ribbon, which measures no less than three thousand seven hundred and eighty-six miles. Between Omaha and the Pacific the railway crosses a territory which is still infested by Indians and wild beasts, and a large tract which the Mormons, after they were driven from Illinois in 1845, began to colonise. 

The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed, formerly, under the most favourable conditions, at least six months. It is now accomplished in seven days. 

It was in 1862 that, in spite of the Southern Members of Congress, who wished a more southerly route, it was decided to lay the road between the forty-first and forty-second parallels. President Lincoln himself fixed the end of the line at Omaha, in Nebraska. The work was at once commenced, and pursued with true American energy; nor did the rapidity with which it went on injuriously affect its good execution. The road grew, on the prairies, a mile and a half a day. A locomotive, running on the rails laid down the evening before, brought the rails to be laid on the morrow, and advanced upon them as fast as they were put in position. 

The Pacific Railroad is joined by several branches in Iowa, Kansas, Colorado, and Oregon. On leaving Omaha, it passes along the left bank of the Platte River as far as the junction of its northern branch, follows its southern branch, crosses the Laramie territory and the Wahsatch Mountains, turns the Great Salt Lake, and reaches Salt Lake City, the Mormon capital, plunges into the Tuilla Valley, across the American Desert, Cedar and Humboldt Mountains, the Sierra Nevada, and descends, via Sacramento, to the Pacific—its grade, even on the Rocky Mountains, never exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to the mile. 

Such was the road to be traversed in seven days, which would enable Phileas Fogg—at least, so he hoped—to take the Atlantic steamer at New York on the 11th for Liverpool. 

The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight wheels, and with no compartments in the interior. It was supplied with two rows of seats, perpendicular to the direction of the train on either side of an aisle which conducted to the front and rear platforms. These platforms were found throughout the train, and the passengers were able to pass from one end of the train to the other. It was supplied with saloon cars, balcony cars, restaurants, and smoking-cars; theatre cars alone were wanting, and they will have these some day. 

Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, and cigars, who seemed to have plenty of customers, were continually circulating in the aisles. 

The train left Oakland station at six o'clock. It was already night, cold and cheerless, the heavens being overcast with clouds which seemed to threaten snow. The train did not proceed rapidly; counting the stoppages, it did not run more than twenty miles an hour, which was a sufficient speed, however, to enable it to reach Omaha within its designated time. 

There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of the passengers were overcome with sleep. Passepartout found himself beside the detective; but he did not talk to him. After recent events, their relations with each other had grown somewhat cold; there could no longer be mutual sympathy or intimacy between them. Fix's manner had not changed; but Passepartout was very reserved, and ready to strangle his former friend on the slightest provocation. 

Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow, however, which happily could not obstruct the train; nothing could be seen from the windows but a vast, white sheet, against which the smoke of the locomotive had a grayish aspect. 

At eight o'clock a steward entered the car and announced that the time for going to bed had arrived; and in a few minutes the car was transformed into a dormitory. The backs of the seats were thrown back, bedsteads carefully packed were rolled out by an ingenious system, berths were suddenly improvised, and each traveller had soon at his disposition a comfortable bed, protected from curious eyes by thick curtains. The sheets were clean and the pillows soft. It only remained to go to bed and sleep which everybody did—while the train sped on across the State of California. 

The country between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very hilly. The Central Pacific, taking Sacramento for its starting-point, extends eastward to meet the road from Omaha. The line from San Francisco to Sacramento runs in a north-easterly direction, along the American River, which empties into San Pablo Bay. The one hundred and twenty miles between these cities were accomplished in six hours, and towards midnight, while fast asleep, the travelers passed through Sacramento; so that they saw nothing of that important place, the seat of the State government, with its fine quays, its broad streets, its noble hotels, squares, and churches. 

The train, on leaving Sacramento, and passing the junction, Roclin, Auburn, and Colfax, entered the range of the Sierra Nevada. 'Cisco was reached at seven in the morning; and an hour later the dormitory was transformed into an ordinary car, and the travelers could observe the picturesque beauties of the mountain region through which they were steaming. The railway track wound in and out among the passes, now approaching the mountain-sides, now suspended over precipices, avoiding abrupt angles by bold curves, plunging into narrow defiles, which seemed to have no outlet. The locomotive, its great funnel emitting a weird light, with its sharp bell, and its cow-catcher extended like a spur, mingled its shrieks and bellowings with the noise of torrents and cascades, and twined its smoke among the branches of the gigantic pines. 

There were few or no bridges or tunnels on the route. The railway turned around the sides of the mountains, and did not attempt to violate nature by taking the shortest cut from one point to another. 

The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson Valley about nine o'clock, going always northeasterly; and at midday reached Reno, where there was a delay of twenty minutes for breakfast. 

From this point the road, running along Humboldt River, passed northward for several miles by its banks; then it turned eastward, and kept by the river until it reached the Humboldt Range, nearly at the extreme eastern limit of Nevada. 

Having breakfasted, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places in the car, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded itself as they passed along the vast prairies, the mountains lining the horizon, and the creeks, with their frothy, foaming streams. Sometimes a great herd of buffaloes, massing together in the distance, seemed like a moveable dam. These innumerable multitudes of ruminating beasts often form an insurmountable obstacle to the passage of the trains; thousands of them have been seen passing over the track for hours together, in compact ranks. The locomotive is then forced to stop and wait till the road is once more clear. 

This happened, indeed, to the train in which Mr. Fogg was traveling. About twelve o'clock a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of buffalo encumbered the track. The locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to clear the way with its cow-catcher; but the mass of animals was too great. The buffaloes marched along with a tranquil gait, uttering now and then deafening bellowings. There was no use of interrupting them, for, having taken a particular direction, nothing can moderate and change their course; it is a torrent of living flesh which no dam could contain. 

The travelers gazed on this curious spectacle from the platforms; but Phileas Fogg, who had the most reason of all to be in a hurry, remained in his seat, and waited philosophically until it should please the buffaloes to get out of the way. 

Passepartout was furious at the delay they occasioned, and longed to discharge his arsenal of revolvers upon them. 

"What a country!" cried he. "Mere cattle stop the trains, and go by in a procession, just as if they were not impeding travel! Parbleu! I should like to know if Mr. Fogg foresaw this mishap in his programme! And here's an engineer who doesn't dare to run the locomotive into this herd of beasts!" 

The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was wise. He would have crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with the cow-catcher; but the locomotive, however powerful, would soon have been checked, the train would inevitably have been thrown off the track, and would then have been helpless. 

The best course was to wait patiently, and regain the lost time by greater speed when the obstacle was removed. The procession of buffaloes lasted three full hours, and it was night before the track was clear. The last ranks of the herd were now passing over the rails, while the first had already disappeared below the southern horizon. 

It was eight o'clock when the train passed through the defiles of the Humboldt Range, and half-past nine when it penetrated Utah, the region of the Great Salt Lake, the singular colony of the Mormons. 

During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran south-easterly for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a north-easterly direction, towards the Great Salt Lake. 

Passepartout, about nine o'clock, went out upon the platform to take the air. The weather was cold, the heavens grey, but it was not snowing. The sun's disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an enormous ring of gold, and Passepartout was amusing himself by calculating its value in pounds sterling, when he was diverted from this interesting study by a strange-looking personage who made his appearance on the platform. 

This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and dark, with black moustache, black stockings, a black silk hat, a black waistcoat, black trousers, a white cravat, and dogskin gloves. He might have been taken for a clergyman. He went from one end of the train to the other, and affixed to the door of each car a notice written in manuscript. 

Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which stated that Elder William Hitch, Mormon missionary, taking advantage of his presence on train No. 48, would deliver a lecture on Mormonism in car No. 117, from eleven to twelve o'clock; and that he invited all who were desirous of being instructed concerning the mysteries of the religion of the "Latter Day Saints" to attend. 

"I'll go," said Passepartout to himself. He knew nothing of Mormonism except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation. 

The news quickly spread through the train, which contained about one hundred passengers, thirty of whom, at most, attracted by the notice, ensconced themselves in car No. 117. Passepartout took one of the front seats. Neither Mr. Fogg nor Fix cared to attend. 

At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an irritated voice, as if he had already been contradicted, said, "I tell you that Joe Smith is a martyr, that his brother Hiram is a martyr, and that the persecutions of the United States Government against the prophets will also make a martyr of Brigham Young. Who dares to say the contrary?" 

No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone contrasted curiously with his naturally calm visage. No doubt his anger arose from the hardships to which the Mormons were actually subjected. The government had just succeeded, with some difficulty, in reducing these independent fanatics to its rule. It had made itself master of Utah, and subjected that territory to the laws of the Union, after imprisoning Brigham Young on a charge of rebellion and polygamy. The disciples of the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, and resisted, by words at least, the authority of Congress. Elder Hitch, as is seen, was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains. 

Then, emphasising his words with his loud voice and frequent gestures, he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical times: how that, in Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph published the annals of the new religion, and bequeathed them to his son Mormon; how, many centuries later, a translation of this precious book, which was written in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith, junior, a Vermont farmer, who revealed himself as a mystical prophet in 1825; and how, in short, the celestial messenger appeared to him in an illuminated forest, and gave him the annals of the Lord. 




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 22



Several of the audience, not being much interested in the missionary's narrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch, continuing his lecture, related how Smith, junior, with his father, two brothers, and a few disciples, founded the church of the "Latter Day Saints," which, adopted not only in America, but in England, Norway and Sweden, and Germany, counts many artisans, as well as men engaged in the liberal professions, among its members; how a colony was established in Ohio, a temple erected there at a cost of two hundred thousand dollars, and a town built at Kirkland; how Smith became an enterprising banker, and received from a simple mummy showman a papyrus scroll written by Abraham and several famous Egyptians. 

The Elder's story became somewhat wearisome, and his audience grew gradually less, until it was reduced to twenty passengers. But this did not disconcert the enthusiast, who proceeded with the story of Joseph Smith's bankruptcy in 1837, and how his ruined creditors gave him a coat of tar and feathers; his reappearance some years afterwards, more honourable and honoured than ever, at Independence, Missouri, the chief of a flourishing colony of three thousand disciples, and his pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, and retirement into the Far West. 

Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout, who was listening with all his ears. Thus he learned that, after long persecutions, Smith reappeared in Illinois, and in 1839 founded a community at Nauvoo, on the Mississippi, numbering twenty-five thousand souls, of which he became mayor, chief justice, and general-in-chief; that he announced himself, in 1843, as a candidate for the Presidency of the United States; and that finally, being drawn into ambuscade at Carthage, he was thrown into prison, and assassinated by a band of men disguised in masks. 

Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the Elder, looking him full in the face, reminded him that, two years after the assassination of Joseph Smith, the inspired prophet, Brigham Young, his successor, left Nauvoo for the banks of the Great Salt Lake, where, in the midst of that fertile region, directly on the route of the emigrants who crossed Utah on their way to California, the new colony, thanks to the polygamy practised by the Mormons, had flourished beyond expectations. 

"And this," added Elder William Hitch, "this is why the jealousy of Congress has been aroused against us! Why have the soldiers of the Union invaded the soil of Utah? Why has Brigham Young, our chief, been imprisoned, in contempt of all justice? Shall we yield to force? Never! Driven from Vermont, driven from Illinois, driven from Ohio, driven from Missouri, driven from Utah, we shall yet find some independent territory on which to plant our tents. And you, my brother," continued the Elder, fixing his angry eyes upon his single auditor, "will you not plant yours there, too, under the shadow of our flag?" 

"No!" replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring from the car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy. 


During the lecture the train had been making good progress, and towards half-past twelve it reached the northwest border of the Great Salt Lake. Thence the passengers could observe the vast extent of this interior sea, which is also called the Dead Sea, and into which flows an American Jordan. It is a picturesque expanse, framed in lofty crags in large strata, encrusted with white salt—a superb sheet of water, which was formerly of larger extent than now, its shores having encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at once reduced its breadth and increased its depth. 

The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide, is situated three miles eight hundred feet above the sea. Quite different from Lake Asphaltite, whose depression is twelve hundred feet below the sea, it contains considerable salt, and one quarter of the weight of its water is solid matter, its specific weight being 1,170, and, after being distilled, 1,000. Fishes are, of course, unable to live in it, and those which descend through the Jordan, the Weber, and other streams soon perish. 

The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the Mormons are mostly farmers; while ranches and pens for domesticated animals, fields of wheat, corn, and other cereals, luxuriant prairies, hedges of wild rose, clumps of acacias and milk-wort, would have been seen six months later. Now the ground was covered with a thin powdering of snow. 

The train reached Ogden at two o'clock, where it rested for six hours, Mr. Fogg and his party had time to pay a visit to Salt Lake City, connected with Ogden by a branch road; and they spent two hours in this strikingly American town, built on the pattern of other cities of the Union, like a checker-board, "with the sombre sadness of right-angles," as Victor Hugo expresses it. The founder of the City of the Saints could not escape from the taste for symmetry which distinguishes the Anglo-Saxons. In this strange country, where the people are certainly not up to the level of their institutions, everything is done "squarely"—cities, houses, and follies. 

The travelers, then, were promenading, at three o'clock, about the streets of the town built between the banks of the Jordan and the spurs of the Wahsatch Range. They saw few or no churches, but the prophet's mansion, the court-house, and the arsenal, blue-brick houses with verandas and porches, surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias, palms, and locusts. A clay and pebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded the town; and in the principal street were the market and several hotels adorned with pavilions. The place did not seem thickly populated. The streets were almost deserted, except in the vicinity of the temple, which they only reached after having traversed several quarters surrounded by palisades. There were many women, which was easily accounted for by the "peculiar institution" of the Mormons; but it must not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists. They are free to marry or not, as they please; but it is worth noting that it is mainly the female citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry, as, according to the Mormon religion, maiden ladies are not admitted to the possession of its highest joys. These poor creatures seemed to be neither well off nor happy. Some—the more well-to-do, no doubt—wore short, open, black silk dresses, under a hood or modest shawl; others were habited in Indian fashion. 

Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women, charged, in groups, with conferring happiness on a single Mormon. His common sense pitied, above all, the husband. It seemed to him a terrible thing to have to guide so many wives at once across the vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as it were, in a body to the Mormon paradise with the prospect of seeing them in the company of the glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of that delightful place, to all eternity. He felt decidedly repelled from such a vocation, and he imagined—perhaps he was mistaken—that the fair ones of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances on his person. Happily, his stay there was but brief. At four the party found themselves again at the station, took their places in the train, and the whistle sounded for starting. Just at the moment, however, that the locomotive wheels began to move, cries of "Stop! stop!" were heard. 

Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one. The gentleman who uttered the cries was evidently a belated Mormon. He was breathless with running. Happily for him, the station had neither gates nor barriers. He rushed along the track, jumped on the rear platform of the train, and fell, exhausted, into one of the seats. 

Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast, approached him with lively interest, and learned that he had taken flight after an unpleasant domestic scene. 

When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured to ask him politely how many wives he had; for, from the manner in which he had decamped, it might be thought that he had twenty at least. 

"One, sir," replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward—"one, and that was enough!"



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 23



The train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed northward for an hour as far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred miles from San Francisco. From this point it took an easterly direction towards the jagged Wahsatch Mountains. It was in the section included between this range and the Rocky Mountains that the American engineers found the most formidable difficulties in laying the road, and that the government granted a subsidy of forty-eight thousand dollars per mile, instead of sixteen thousand allowed for the work done on the plains. But the engineers, instead of violating nature, avoided its difficulties by winding around, instead of penetrating the rocks. One tunnel only, fourteen thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to arrive at the great basin. 

The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the Great Salt Lake. From this point it described a long curve, descending towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the dividing ridge of the waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific. There were many creeks in this mountainous region, and it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek, Green Creek, and others, upon culverts. 

Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents, and set foot on English soil. 

At ten o'clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station, and twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the valley of Bitter Creek throughout. The next day, 7th December, they stopped for a quarter of an hour at Green River station. Snow had fallen abundantly during the night, but, being mixed with rain, it had half melted, and did not interrupt their progress. The bad weather, however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulation of snow, by blocking the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been fatal to Mr. Fogg's tour. 

"What an idea!" he said to himself. "Why did my master make this journey in winter? Couldn't he have waited for the good season to increase his chances?" 

While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and the depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from a totally different cause. 

Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and down the platforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp Proctor, the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognised, the young woman drew back from the window, feeling much alarm at her discovery. She was attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily evidences of the most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend, perhaps, the depth of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her, which she called gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious of it, was really more than that. Her heart sank within her when she recognised the man whom Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or later, to call to account for his conduct. Chance alone, it was clear, had brought Colonel Proctor on this train; but there he was, and it was necessary, at all hazards, that Phileas Fogg should not perceive his adversary. 

Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and Passepartout whom she had seen. 

"That Proctor on this train!" cried Fix. "Well, reassure yourself, madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg; he has got to deal with me! It seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two." 

"And, besides," added Passepartout, "I'll take charge of him, colonel as he is." 

"Mr. Fix," resumed Aouda, "Mr. Fogg will allow no one to avenge him. He said that he would come back to America to find this man. Should he perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision which might have terrible results. He must not see him." 

"You are right, madam," replied Fix; "a meeting between them might ruin all. Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would be delayed, and—" 

"And," added Passepartout, "that would play the game of the gentlemen of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New York. Well, if my master does not leave this car during those four days, we may hope that chance will not bring him face to face with this confounded American. We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out of it." 

The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking out of the window. Soon after Passepartout, without being heard by his master or Aouda, whispered to the detective, "Would you really fight for him?" 

"I would do anything," replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed determined will, "to get him back living to Europe!" 

Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame, but his confidence in his master remained unbroken. 

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a meeting between him and the colonel? It ought not to be a difficult task, since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious. The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a few moments, he said to Mr. Fogg, "These are long and slow hours, sir, that we are passing on the railway." 

"Yes," replied Mr. Fogg; "but they pass." 

"You were in the habit of playing whist," resumed Fix, "on the steamers." 

"Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards nor partners." 

"Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all the American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays—" 

"Certainly, sir," Aouda quickly replied; "I understand whist. It is part of an English education." 

"I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game. Well, here are three of us, and a dummy—" 

"As you please, sir," replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to resume his favourite pastime even on the railway. 

Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward, and soon returned with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf covered with cloth. 

The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and even received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg. As for the detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being matched against his present opponent. 

"Now," thought Passepartout, "we've got him. He won't budge." 

At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of the waters at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four feet above the level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by the track in crossing the Rocky Mountains. After going about two hundred miles, the travelers at last found themselves on one of those vast plains which extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so propitious for laying the iron road. 

On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches of the North Platte River, already appeared. The whole northern and eastern horizon was bounded by the immense semi-circular curtain which is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest being Laramie Peak. Between this and the railway extended vast plains, plentifully irrigated. On the right rose the lower spurs of the mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources of the Arkansas River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri. 

At half-past twelve the travelers caught sight for an instant of Fort Halleck, which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky Mountains were crossed. There was reason to hope, then, that no accident would mark the journey through this difficult country. The snow had ceased falling, and the air became crisp and cold. Large birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose and flew off in the distance. No wild beast appeared on the plain. It was a desert in its vast nakedness. 

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his partners had just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard, and the train stopped. Passepartout put his head out of the door, but saw nothing to cause the delay; no station was in view. 

Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get out; but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant, "See what is the matter." 

Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers had already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor. 

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way. The engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man, whom the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had sent on before. The passengers drew around and took part in the discussion, in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner, was conspicuous. 

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, "No! you can't pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear the weight of the train." 

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a mile from the place where they now were. According to the signal-man, it was in a ruinous condition, several of the iron wires being broken; and it was impossible to risk the passage. He did not in any way exaggerate the condition of the bridge. It may be taken for granted that, rash as the Americans usually are, when they are prudent there is good reason for it. 

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard, listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue. 

"Hum!" cried Colonel Proctor; "but we are not going to stay here, I imagine, and take root in the snow?" 

"Colonel," replied the conductor, "we have telegraphed to Omaha for a train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow is less than six hours." 

"Six hours!" cried Passepartout. 

"Certainly," returned the conductor, "besides, it will take us as long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot." 

"But it is only a mile from here," said one of the passengers. 

"Yes, but it's on the other side of the river." 

"And can't we cross that in a boat?" asked the colonel. 

"That's impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It is a rapid, and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a ford." 

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway company and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not disinclined to make common cause with him. Here was an obstacle, indeed, which all his master's banknotes could not remove. 

There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who, without reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge fifteen miles over a plain covered with snow. They grumbled and protested, and would certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg's attention if he had not been completely absorbed in his game. 

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what had occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car, when the engineer a true Yankee, named Forster called out, "Gentlemen, perhaps there is a way, after all, to get over." 

"On the bridge?" asked a passenger. 

"On the bridge." 

"With our train?" 

"With our train." 

Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer. 

"But the bridge is unsafe," urged the conductor. 

"No matter," replied Forster; "I think that by putting on the very highest speed we might have a chance of getting over." 

"The devil!" muttered Passepartout. 

But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the engineer's proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted, and found the plan a very feasible one. He told stories about engineers leaping their trains over rivers without bridges, by putting on full steam; and many of those present avowed themselves of the engineer's mind. 

"We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over," said one. 

"Eighty! ninety!" 

Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to get over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too American. "Besides," thought he, "there's a still more simple way, and it does not even occur to any of these people! Sir," said he aloud to one of the passengers, "the engineer's plan seems to me a little dangerous, but—" 

"Eighty chances!" replied the passenger, turning his back on him. 

"I know it," said Passepartout, turning to another passenger, "but a simple idea—" 

"Ideas are no use," returned the American, shrugging his shoulders, "as the engineer assures us that we can pass." 

"Doubtless," urged Passepartout, "we can pass, but perhaps it would be more prudent—" 

"What! Prudent!" cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to excite prodigiously. "At full speed, don't you see, at full speed!" 

"I know—I see," repeated Passepartout; "but it would be, if not more prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more natural—" 

"Who! What! What's the matter with this fellow?" cried several. 

The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself. 

"Are you afraid?" asked Colonel Proctor. 

"I afraid? Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman can be as American as they!" 

"All aboard!" cried the conductor. 

"Yes, all aboard!" repeated Passepartout, and immediately. "But they can't prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come after!" 

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have acknowledged its justice. The passengers resumed their places in the cars. Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed. The whist-players were quite absorbed in their game. 

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam, backed the train for nearly a mile—retiring, like a jumper, in order to take a longer leap. Then, with another whistle, he began to move forward; the train increased its speed, and soon its rapidity became frightful; a prolonged screech issued from the locomotive; the piston worked up and down twenty strokes to the second. They perceived that the whole train, rushing on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour, hardly bore upon the rails at all. 

And they passed over! It was like a flash. No one saw the bridge. The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and the engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles beyond the station. But scarcely had the train passed the river, when the bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crash into the rapids of Medicine Bow. 

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption, passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyenne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass. The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey, eight thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea. The travelers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains, leveled by nature. A branch of the "grand trunk" led off southward to Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country round about is rich in gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already settled there. 

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more would probably bring them to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet behind-hand. 

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the territories of Wyoming and Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven, passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River. 

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge. Two powerful locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the Railway Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a mighty instrument of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The whistle of the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion's lyre, was about to bid them rise from American soil. 

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching Omaha. The road followed the capricious windings of the southern branch of the Platte River, on its left bank. At nine the train stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the two arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form a single artery a large tributary whose waters empty into the Missouri a little above Omaha. 

The one hundred and first meridian was passed. 

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not even the dummy— complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by winning several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During the morning, chance distinctly favoured that gentleman. Trumps and honours were showered upon his hands. 

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing a spade, when a voice behind him said, "I should play a diamond." 

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor. 

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once. 

"Ah! it's you, is it, Englishman?" cried the colonel; "it's you who are going to play a spade!" 

"And who plays it," replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the ten of spades. 

"Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds," replied Colonel Proctor, in an insolent tone. 

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played, adding, "You don't understand anything about whist." 

"Perhaps I do, as well as another," said Phileas Fogg, rising. 

"You have only to try, son of John Bull," replied the colonel. 

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr. Fogg's arm and gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the American, who was staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up, and, going to Colonel Proctor said, "You forget that it is I with whom you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only insulted, but struck!" 

"Mr. Fix," said Mr. Fogg, "pardon me, but this affair is mine, and mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it." 

"When and where you will," replied the American, "and with whatever weapon you choose." 

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master checked him. Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him upon the platform. "Sir," said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, "I am in a great hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to my disadvantage." 

"Well, what's that to me?" replied Colonel Proctor. 

"Sir," said Mr. Fogg, very politely, "after our meeting at San Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I had completed the business which called me to England." 

"Really!" 

"Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?" 

"Why not ten years hence?" 

"I say six months," returned Phileas Fogg; "and I shall be at the place of meeting promptly." 

"All this is an evasion," cried Stamp Proctor. "Now or never!" 

"Very good. You are going to New York?" 

"No." 

"To Chicago?" 

"No." 

"To Omaha?" 

"What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?" 

"No," replied Mr. Fogg. 

"It's the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and will stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be exchanged." 




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 23



"Very well," said Mr. Fogg. "I will stop at Plum Creek." 

"And I guess you'll stay there too," added the American insolently. 

"Who knows?" replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a request which the detective could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the interrupted game with perfect calmness. 

At eleven o'clock the locomotive's whistle announced that they were approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix, went out upon the platform. Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a pair of revolvers. Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death. 

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second. But just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor hurried up, and shouted, "You can't get off, gentlemen!" 

"Why not?" asked the colonel. 

"We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop." 

"But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman." 

"I am sorry," said the conductor; "but we shall be off at once. There's the bell ringing now." 

The train started. 

"I'm really very sorry, gentlemen," said the conductor. "Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you. But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go along?" 

"That wouldn't be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman," said the colonel, in a jeering tone. 

"It would be perfectly so," replied Phileas Fogg. 

"Well, we are really in America," thought Passepartout, "and the conductor is a gentleman of the first order!" 

So muttering, he followed his master. 

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only occupied by a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen had an affair of honour to settle. The passengers granted the request with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform. 

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily arranged. Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car. The seconds, remaining outside, shut them in. They were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive. After an interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be taken from the car. 

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack. They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did not issue from the car where the duellists were. The reports continued in front and the whole length of the train. Cries of terror proceeded from the interior of the cars. 

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous. They then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux. 

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than once they had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had, according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop. 

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots. 

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer and stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux chief, wishing to stop the train, but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging forward with terrific velocity. 

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to hand with the passengers. Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunks out of the train. The cries and shots were constant. The travelers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour. 

Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended herself like a true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows whenever a savage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as if they had been worms. Several passengers, shot or stunned, lay on the seats. 

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the train was not stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the station beyond. 

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell. At the same moment he cried, "Unless the train is stopped in five minutes, we are lost!" 

"It shall be stopped," said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the car. 

"Stay, monsieur," cried Passepartout; "I will go." 

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each other over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the forward end of the train. 

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender, with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar, had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out. The train, now detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the locomotive rushed forward with increased speed. 

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for several minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped, less than a hundred feet from Kearney station. 

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely stopped. 

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had just saved them. 

Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared. Had they been killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? It was impossible to tell. 

There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was one of the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had entered his groin. He was carried into the station with the other wounded passengers, to receive such attention as could be of avail. 

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in the arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down Aouda's cheeks. 

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were stained with blood. From the tyres and spokes hung ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white plain behind, red trails were visible. The last Sioux were disappearing in the south, along the banks of Republican River. 

Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner, ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the Indians? "I will find him, living or dead," said he quietly to Aouda. 

"Ah, Mr.—Mr. Fogg!" cried she, clasping his hands and covering them with tears. 

"Living," added Mr. Fogg, "if we do not lose a moment." 

Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make him lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly lost. But as he thought, "It is my duty," he did not hesitate. 

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the station, should the Sioux attack it. 

"Sir," said Mr. Fogg to the captain, "three passengers have disappeared." 

"Dead?" asked the captain. 

"Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved. Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?" 

"That's a serious thing to do, sir," returned the captain. "These Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the fort unprotected." 

"The lives of three men are in question, sir," said Phileas Fogg. 

"Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?" 

"I don't know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do so." 

"Nobody here," returned the other, "has a right to teach me my duty." 

"Very well," said Mr. Fogg, coldly. "I will go alone." 

"You, sir!" cried Fix, coming up; "you go alone in pursuit of the Indians?" 

"Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish—him to whom every one present owes his life? I shall go." 

"No, sir, you shall not go alone," cried the captain, touched in spite of himself. "No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!" he added, turning to the soldiers. 

The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at their head. 

"Thanks, captain," said Mr. Fogg. 

"Will you let me go with you?" asked Fix. 

"Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour, you will remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me—" 

A sudden pallor overspread the detective's face. Separate himself from the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step! Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which was going on within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm and frank look. 

"I will stay," said he. 

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman's hand, and, having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he had said to the soldiers, "My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you, if we save the prisoners." 

It was then a little past noon. 

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone, thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his life, all without hesitation, from duty, in silence. 

Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of which he had been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. What! This man, whom he had just followed around the world, was permitted now to separate himself from him! He began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were director of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his greenness. 

"I have been an idiot!" he thought, "and this man will see it. He has gone, and won't come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who have in my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!" 

So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too slowly. He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda all; but he could not doubt how the young woman would receive his confidences. What course should he take? He thought of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plains; it did not seem impossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on the snow! But soon, under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced. 

Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney station, and pursue his journey homeward in peace. 

Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard, long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow, preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No train was expected from the east, neither had there been time for the succor asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery was soon explained. 

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train, had continued its route with such terrific rapidity, carrying off the unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run several miles, when, the fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened; and it had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after remaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The train had then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the desert, and the locomotive without cars, understood what had happened. He could not imagine how the locomotive had become separated from the train; but he did not doubt that the train left behind was in distress. 

He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue on to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which the Indians might still be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he began to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again mounted, and the locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the mist. 

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so terribly interrupted. 

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station, and asked the conductor, "Are you going to start?" 

"At once, madam." 

"But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travelers—" 

"I cannot interrupt the trip," replied the conductor. "We are already three hours behind time." 

"And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?" 

"To-morrow evening, madam." 

"To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait—" 

"It is impossible," responded the conductor. "If you wish to go, please get in." 

"I will not go," said Aouda. 

Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to start, and he had only to take his seat in the car, an irresistible influence held him back. The station platform burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in his mind again began; anger and failure stifled him. He wished to struggle on to the end. 

Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the train. The buzzing of the over-heated boiler was heard, and the steam was escaping from the valves. The engineer whistled, the train started, and soon disappeared, mingling its white smoke with the eddies of the densely falling snow. 

The detective had remained behind. 

Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very cold. Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out of the waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and peering through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome sound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through, to issue out again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in vain. 

Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could they be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with them, or were they still wandering amid the mist? The commander of the fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions. As night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm. 

Throughout the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart stifled with anguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains. Her imagination carried her far off, and showed her innumerable dangers. What she suffered through the long hours it would be impossible to describe. 

Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep. Once a man approached and spoke to him, and the detective merely replied by shaking his head. 

Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disc of the sun rose above a misty horizon ; but it was now possible to recognise objects two miles off. Phileas Fogg and the squad had gone southward; in the south all was still vacancy. It was then seven o'clock. 

The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course to take. 

Should he send another detachment to the rescue of the first? Should he sacrifice more men, with so few chances of saving those already sacrificed? His hesitation did not last long, however. Calling one of his lieutenants, he was on the point of ordering a reconnaissance, when gunshots were heard. Was it a signal? The soldiers rushed out of the fort, and half a mile off they perceived a little band returning in good order. 

Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were Passepartout and the other two travelers, rescued from the Sioux. 

They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort Kearney. Shortly before the detachment arrived. Passepartout and his companions had begun to struggle with their captors, three of whom the Frenchman had felled with his fists, when his master and the soldiers hastened up to their relief. 

All were welcomed with joyful cries. Phileas Fogg distributed the reward he had promised to the soldiers, while Passepartout, not without reason, muttered to himself, "It must certainly be confessed that I cost my master dear!" 

Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would have been difficult to analyse the thoughts which struggled within him. As for Aouda, she took her protector's hand and pressed it in her own, too much moved to speak. 

Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train; he thought he should find it there, ready to start for Omaha, and he hoped that the time lost might be regained. 

"The train! the train!" cried he. 

"Gone," replied Fix. 

"And when does the next train pass here?" said Phileas Fogg. 

"Not till this evening." 

"Ah!" returned the impassible gentleman quietly. 

Phileas Fogg found himself twenty hours behind time. Passepartout, the involuntary cause of this delay, was desperate. He had ruined his master! 

At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and, looking him intently in the face, said: "Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?" 

"Quite seriously." 

"I have a purpose in asking," resumed Fix. "Is it absolutely necessary that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine o'clock in the evening, the time that the steamer leaves for Liverpool?" 

"It is absolutely necessary." 




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 23



"And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians, you would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?" 

"Yes; with eleven hours to spare before the steamer left." 

"Good! you are therefore twenty hours behind. Twelve from twenty leaves eight. You must regain eight hours. Do you wish to try to do so?" 

"On foot?" asked Mr. Fogg. 

"No; on a sledge," replied Fix. "On a sledge with sails. A man has proposed such a method to me." 

It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and whose offer he had refused. 

Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix, having pointed out the man, who was walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg went up to him. An instant after, Mr. Fogg and the American, whose name was Mudge, entered a hut built just below the fort. 

There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two long beams, a little raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and upon which there was room for five or six persons. A high mast was fixed on the frame, held firmly by metallic lashings, to which was attached a large brigantine sail. This mast held an iron stay upon which to hoist a jib-sail. Behind, a sort of rudder served to guide the vehicle. It was, in short, a sledge rigged like a sloop. During the winter, when the trains are blocked up by the snow, these sledges make extremely rapid journeys across the frozen plains from one station to another. Provided with more sails than a cutter, and with the wind behind them, they slip over the surface of the prairies with a speed equal if not superior to that of the express trains. 

Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this land-craft. The wind was favourable, being fresh, and blowing from the west. The snow had hardened, and Mudge was very confident of being able to transport Mr. Fogg in a few hours to Omaha. Thence the trains eastward run frequently to Chicago and New York. It was not impossible that the lost time might yet be recovered; and such an opportunity was not to be rejected. 

Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of traveling in the open air, Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with Passepartout at Fort Kearney, the servant taking upon himself to escort her to Europe by a better route and under more favourable conditions. But Aouda refused to separate from Mr. Fogg, and Passepartout was delighted with her decision; for nothing could induce him to leave his master while Fix was with him. 

It would be difficult to guess the detective's thoughts. Was this conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg's return, or did he still regard him as an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world completed, would think himself absolutely safe in England? Perhaps Fix's opinion of Phileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but he was nevertheless resolved to do his duty, and to hasten the return of the whole party to England as much as possible. 

At eight o'clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers took their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in their traveling-cloaks. The two great sails were hoisted, and under the pressure of the wind the sledge slid over the hardened snow with a velocity of forty miles an hour. 

The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly, is at most two hundred miles. If the wind held good, the distance might be traversed in five hours; if no accident happened the sledge might reach Omaha by one o'clock. 


What a journey! The travelers, huddled close together, could not speak for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were going. The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves. When the breeze came skimming the earth the sledge seemed to be lifted off the ground by its sails. Mudge, who was at the rudder, kept in a straight line, and by a turn of his hand checked the lurches which the vehicle had a tendency to make. All the sails were up, and the jib was so arranged as not to screen the brigantine. A top-mast was hoisted, and another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the other sails. Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge could not be going at less than forty miles an hour. 

"If nothing breaks," said Mudge, "we shall get there!" 

Mr. Fogg had made it for Mudge's interest to reach Omaha within the time agreed on, by the offer of a handsome reward. 

The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight line, was as flat as a sea. It seemed like a vast frozen lake. The railroad which ran through this section ascended from the south-west to the north-west by Great Island, Columbus, an important Nebraska town, Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha. It followed throughout the right bank of the Platte River. The sledge, shortening this route, took a chord of the arc described by the railway. Mudge was not afraid of being stopped by the Platte River, because it was frozen. The road, then, was quite clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two things to fear— an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm in the wind. 

But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to bend the mast, which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly. These lashings, like the chords of a stringed instrument, resounded as if vibrated by a violin bow. The sledge slid along in the midst of a plaintively intense melody. 

"Those chords give the fifth and the octave," said Mr. Fogg. 

These were the only words he uttered during the journey. Aouda, cozily packed in furs and cloaks, was sheltered as much as possible from the attacks of the freezing wind. As for Passepartout, his face was as red as the sun's disc when it sets in the mist, and he laboriously inhaled the biting air. With his natural buoyancy of spirits, he began to hope again. They would reach New York on the evening, if not on the morning, of the 11th, and there was still some chances that it would be before the steamer sailed for Liverpool. 

Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by the hand. He remembered that it was the detective who procured the sledge, the only means of reaching Omaha in time; but, checked by some presentiment, he kept his usual reserve. One thing, however, Passepartout would never forget, and that was the sacrifice which Mr. Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from the Sioux. Mr. Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No! His servant would never forget that! 

While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different, the sledge flew past over the vast carpet of snow. The creeks it passed over were not perceived. Fields and streams disappeared under the uniform whiteness. The plain was absolutely deserted. Between the Union Pacific road and the branch which unites Kearney with Saint Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island. Neither village, station, nor fort appeared. From time to time they sped by some phantom-like tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in the wind. Sometimes flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt, famished, ferocious prairie-wolves ran howling after the sledge. Passepartout, revolver in hand, held himself ready to fire on those which came too near. Had an accident then happened to the sledge, the travelers, attacked by these beasts, would have been in the most terrible danger; but it held on its even course, soon gained on the wolves, and ere long left the howling band at a safe distance behind. 

About noon Mudge perceived by certain landmarks that he was crossing the Platte River. He said nothing, but he felt certain that he was now within twenty miles of Omaha. In less than an hour he left the rudder and furled his sails, whilst the sledge, carried forward by the great impetus the wind had given it, went on half a mile further with its sails unspread. 

It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white with snow, said: "We have got there!" 

Arrived! Arrived at the station which is in daily communication, by numerous trains, with the Atlantic seaboard! 

Passepartout and Fix jumped off stretched their stiffened limbs, and aided Mr. Fogg and the young woman to descend from the sledge. Phileas Fogg generously rewarded Mudge, whose hand Passepartout warmly grasped, and the party directed their steps to the Omaha railway station. 

The Pacific Railroad proper finds its terminus at this important Nebraska town. Omaha is connected with Chicago by the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad, which runs directly east, and passes fifty stations. 

A train was ready to start when Mr. Fogg and his party reached the station, and they only had time to get into the cars. They had seen nothing of Omaha; but Passepartout confessed to himself that this was not to be regretted, as they were not traveling to see the sights. 

The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council Bluffs, Des Moines, and Iowa City. During the night it crossed the Mississippi at Davenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois. The next day, which was the 10th, at four o'clock in the evening, it reached Chicago, already risen from its ruins, and more proudly seated than ever on the borders of its beautiful Lake Michigan. 

Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains are not wanting at Chicago. Mr. Fogg passed at once from one to the other, and the locomotive of the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne, and Chicago Railway left at full speed, as if it fully comprehended that that gentleman had no time to lose. It traversed Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey like a flash, rushing through towns with antique names, some of which had streets and car-tracks, but as yet no houses. At last the Hudson came into view; and, at a quarter-past eleven in the evening of the 11th, the train stopped in the station on the right bank of the river, before the very pier of the Cunard line. 

The China, for Liverpool, had started three-quarters of an hour before! 

The China, in leaving, seemed to have carried off Phileas Fogg's last hope. None of the other steamers were able to serve his projects. The Pereire, of the French Transatlantic Company, whose admirable steamers are equal to any in speed and comfort, did not leave until the 14th; the Hamburg boats did not go directly to Liverpool or London, but to Havre; and the additional trip from Havre to Southampton would render Phileas Fogg's last efforts of no avail. The Inman steamer did not depart till the next day, and could not cross the Atlantic in time to save the wager. 

Mr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his Bradshaw, which gave him the daily movements of the trans-Atlantic steamers. 

Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat by three-quarters of an hour. It was his fault, for, instead of helping his master, he had not ceased putting obstacles in his path! And when he recalled all the incidents of the tour, when he counted up the sums expended in pure loss and on his own account, when he thought that the immense stake, added to the heavy charges of this useless journey, would completely ruin Mr. Fogg, he overwhelmed himself with bitter self-accusations. Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach him; and, on leaving the Cunard pier, only said: "We will consult about what is best to-morrow. Come." 

The party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat, and drove in a carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway. Rooms were engaged, and the night passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg, who slept profoundly, but very long to Aouda and the others, whose agitation did not permit them to rest. 

The next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the morning of the 12th to a quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st there were nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes. If Phileas Fogg had left in the China, one of the fastest steamers on the Atlantic, he would have reached Liverpool, and then London, within the period agreed upon. 

Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout instructions to await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an instant's notice. He proceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and looked about among the vessels moored or anchored in the river, for any that were about to depart. Several had departure signals, and were preparing to put to sea at morning tide; for in this immense and admirable port there is not one day in a hundred that vessels do not set out for every quarter of the globe. But they were mostly sailing vessels, of which, of course, Phileas Fogg could make no use. 

He seemed about to give up all hope, when he espied, anchored at the Battery, a cable's length off at most, a trading vessel, with a screw, well-shaped, whose funnel, puffing a cloud of smoke, indicated that she was getting ready for departure. 

Phileas Fogg hailed a boat, got into it, and soon found himself on board the Henrietta, iron-hulled, wood-built above. He ascended to the deck, and asked for the captain, who forthwith presented himself. He was a man of fifty, a sort of sea-wolf, with big eyes, a complexion of oxidised copper, red hair and thick neck, and a growling voice. 

"The captain?" asked Mr. Fogg. 

"I am the captain." 

"I am Phileas Fogg, of London." 

"And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff." 

"You are going to put to sea?" 

"In an hour." 

"You are bound for—" 

"Bordeaux." 

"And your cargo?" 

"No freight. Going in ballast." 

"Have you any passengers?" 

"No passengers. Never have passengers. Too much in the way." 

"Is your vessel a swift one?" 

"Between eleven and twelve knots. The Henrietta, well known." 

"Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?" 

"To Liverpool? Why not to China?" 

"I said Liverpool." "No!" 

"No?" 

"No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and shall go to Bordeaux." 

"Money is no object?" 

"None." 

The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply. 

"But the owners of the Henrietta—" resumed Phileas Fogg. 

"The owners are myself," replied the captain. "The vessel belongs to me." 

"I will freight it for you." 

"No." 

"I will buy it of you." 

"No." 

Phileas Fogg did not betray the least disappointment; but the situation was a grave one. It was not at New York as at Hong Kong, nor with the captain of the Henrietta as with the captain of the Tankadere. Up to this time money had smoothed away every obstacle. Now money failed. 

Still, some means must be found to cross the Atlantic on a boat, unless by balloon—which would have been venturesome, besides not being capable of being put in practice. It seemed that Phileas Fogg had an idea, for he said to the captain, "Well, will you carry me to Bordeaux?" 

"No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars." 

"I offer you two thousand." 

"Apiece?" 

"Apiece." "And there are four of you?" 

"Four." 

Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There were eight thousand dollars to gain, without changing his route; for which it was well worth conquering the repugnance he had for all kinds of passengers. Besides, passenger's at two thousand dollars are no longer passengers, but valuable merchandise. "I start at nine o'clock," said Captain Speedy, simply. "Are you and your party ready?" 

"We will be on board at nine o'clock," replied, no less simply, Mr. Fogg. 

It was half-past eight. To disembark from the Henrietta, jump into a hack, hurry to the St. Nicholas, and return with Aouda, Passepartout, and even the inseparable Fix was the work of a brief time, and was performed by Mr. Fogg with the coolness which never abandoned him. They were on board when the Henrietta made ready to weigh anchor. 

When Passepartout heard what this last voyage was going to cost, he uttered a prolonged "Oh!" which extended throughout his vocal gamut. 

As for Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would certainly not come out of this affair well indemnified. When they reached England, even if Mr. Fogg did not throw some handfuls of bank-bills into the sea, more than seven thousand pounds would have been spent! 

An hour after, the Henrietta passed the lighthouse which marks the entrance of the Hudson, turned the point of Sandy Hook, and put to sea. During the day she skirted Long Island, passed Fire Island, and directed her course rapidly eastward. 

At noon the next day, a man mounted the bridge to ascertain the vessel's position. It might be thought that this was Captain Speedy. Not the least in the world. It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire. As for Captain Speedy, he was shut up in his cabin under lock and key, and was uttering loud cries, which signified an anger at once pardonable and excessive. 

What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished to go to Liverpool, but the captain would not carry him there. Then Phileas Fogg had taken passage for Bordeaux, and, during the thirty hours he had been on board, had so shrewdly managed with his banknotes that the sailors and stokers, who were only an occasional crew, and were not on the best terms with the captain, went over to him in a body. This was why Phileas Fogg was in command instead of Captain Speedy; why the captain was a prisoner in his cabin; and why, in short, the Henrietta was directing her course towards Liverpool. It was very clear, to see Mr. Fogg manage the craft, that he had been a sailor. 

How the adventure ended will be seen anon. Aouda was anxious, though she said nothing. As for Passepartout, he thought Mr. Fogg's manoeuvre simply glorious. The captain had said "between eleven and twelve knots," and the Henrietta confirmed his prediction. 

If, then—for there were "ifs" still—the sea did not become too boisterous, if the wind did not veer round to the east, if no accident happened to the boat or its machinery, the Henrietta might cross the three thousand miles from New York to Liverpool in the nine days, between the 12th and the 21st of December. It is true that, once arrived, the affair on board the Henrietta, added to that of the Bank of England, might create more difficulties for Mr. Fogg than he imagined or could desire. 

During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea was not very unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the north-east, the sails were hoisted, and the Henrietta ploughed across the waves like a real trans-Atlantic steamer. 

Passepartout was delighted. His master's last exploit, the consequences of which he ignored, enchanted him. Never had the crew seen so jolly and dexterous a fellow. He formed warm friendships with the sailors, and amazed them with his acrobatic feats. He thought they managed the vessel like gentlemen, and that the stokers fired up like heroes. His loquacious good-humour infected everyone. He had forgotten the past, its vexations and delays. He only thought of the end, so nearly accomplished; and sometimes he boiled over with impatience, as if heated by the furnaces of the Henrietta. Often, also, the worthy fellow revolved around Fix, looking at him with a keen, distrustful eye; but he did not speak to him, for their old intimacy no longer existed. 

Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was going on. The conquest of the Henrietta, the bribery of the crew, Fogg managing the boat like a skilled seaman, amazed and confused him. He did not know what to think. For, after all, a man who began by stealing fifty-five thousand pounds might end by stealing a vessel; and Fix was not unnaturally inclined to conclude that the Henrietta under Fogg's command, was not going to Liverpool at all, but to some part of the world where the robber, turned into a pirate, would quietly put himself in safety. The conjecture was at least a plausible one, and the detective began to seriously regret that he had embarked on the affair. 




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 23



As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his cabin; and Passepartout, whose duty it was to carry him his meals, courageous as he was, took the greatest precautions. Mr. Fogg did not seem even to know that there was a captain on board. 

On the 13th they passed the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland, a dangerous locality; during the winter, especially, there are frequent fogs and heavy gales of wind. Ever since the evening before the barometer, suddenly falling, had indicated an approaching change in the atmosphere; and during the night the temperature varied, the cold became sharper, and the wind veered to the south-east. 

This was a misfortune. Mr. Fogg, in order not to deviate from his course, furled his sails and increased the force of the steam; but the vessel's speed slackened, owing to the state of the sea, the long waves of which broke against the stern. She pitched violently, and this retarded her progress. The breeze little by little swelled into a tempest, and it was to be feared that the Henrietta might not be able to maintain herself upright on the waves. 

Passepartout's visage darkened with the skies, and for two days the poor fellow experienced constant fright. But Phileas Fogg was a bold mariner, and knew how to maintain headway against the sea; and he kept on his course, without even decreasing his steam. The Henrietta, when she could not rise upon the waves, crossed them, swamping her deck, but passing safely. Sometimes the screw rose out of the water, beating its protruding end, when a mountain of water raised the stern above the waves; but the craft always kept straight ahead. 

The wind, however, did not grow as boisterous as might have been feared; it was not one of those tempests which burst, and rush on with a speed of ninety miles an hour. It continued fresh, but, unhappily, it remained obstinately in the south-east, rendering the sails useless. 

The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas Fogg's departure from London, and the Henrietta had not yet been seriously delayed. Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the worst localities had been passed. In summer, success would have been well-nigh certain. In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad season. Passepartout said nothing; but he cherished hope in secret, and comforted himself with the reflection that, if the wind failed them, they might still count on the steam. 

On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and began to speak earnestly with him. Without knowing why it was a presentiment, perhaps Passepartout became vaguely uneasy. He would have given one of his ears to hear with the other what the engineer was saying. He finally managed to catch a few words, and was sure he heard his master say, "You are certain of what you tell me?" 

"Certain, sir," replied the engineer. "You must remember that, since we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces, and, though we had coal enough to go on short steam from New York to Bordeaux, we haven't enough to go with all steam from New York to Liverpool." "I will consider," replied Mr. Fogg. 

Passepartout understood it all; he was seized with mortal anxiety. The coal was giving out! "Ah, if my master can get over that," muttered he, "he'll be a famous man!" He could not help imparting to Fix what he had overheard. 

"Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool?" 

"Of course." 

"Ass!" replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turning on his heel. 

Passepartout was on the point of vigorously resenting the epithet, the reason of which he could not for the life of him comprehend; but he reflected that the unfortunate Fix was probably very much disappointed and humiliated in his self-esteem, after having so awkwardly followed a false scent around the world, and refrained. 

And now what course would Phileas Fogg adopt? It was difficult to imagine. Nevertheless he seemed to have decided upon one, for that evening he sent for the engineer, and said to him, "Feed all the fires until the coal is exhausted." 

A few moments after, the funnel of the Henrietta vomited forth torrents of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all steam on; but on the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced that the coal would give out in the course of the day. 

"Do not let the fires go down," replied Mr. Fogg. "Keep them up to the last. Let the valves be filled." 

Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position, called Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy. It was as if the honest fellow had been commanded to unchain a tiger. He went to the poop, saying to himself, "He will be like a madman!" 

In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the poop-deck. The bomb was Captain Speedy. It was clear that he was on the point of bursting. "Where are we?" were the first words his anger permitted him to utter. Had the poor man be an apoplectic, he could never have recovered from his paroxysm of wrath. 

"Where are we?" he repeated, with purple face. 

"Seven hundred and seven miles from Liverpool," replied Mr. Fogg, with imperturbable calmness. 

"Pirate!" cried Captain Speedy. 

"I have sent for you, sir—" 

"Pickaroon!" 

"—sir," continued Mr. Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your vessel." 

"No! By all the devils, no!" 

"But I shall be obliged to burn her." 

"Burn the Henrietta!" 

"Yes; at least the upper part of her. The coal has given out." 

"Burn my vessel!" cried Captain Speedy, who could scarcely pronounce the words. "A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars!" 

"Here are sixty thousand," replied Phileas Fogg, handing the captain a roll of bank-bills. 

This had a prodigious effect on Andrew Speedy. An American can scarcely remain unmoved at the sight of sixty thousand dollars. The captain forgot in an instant his anger, his imprisonment, and all his grudges against his passenger. The Henrietta was twenty years old; it was a great bargain. The bomb would not go off after all. Mr. Fogg had taken away the match. 

"And I shall still have the iron hull," said the captain in a softer tone. 

"The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?" 

"Agreed." 

And Andrew Speedy, seizing the banknotes, counted them and consigned them to his pocket. 

During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet, and Fix seemed on the point of having an apoplectic fit. Nearly twenty thousand pounds had been expended, and Fogg left the hull and engine to the captain, that is, near the whole value of the craft! It was true, however, that fifty-five thousand pounds had been stolen from the Bank. 

When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him, "Don't let this astonish you, sir. You must know that I shall lose twenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by a quarter before nine on the evening of the 21st of December. I missed the steamer at New York, and as you refused to take me to Liverpool—" 

"And I did well!" cried Andrew Speedy; "for I have gained at least forty thousand dollars by it!" He added, more sedately, "Do you know one thing, Captain—" 

"Fogg." 

"Captain Fogg, you've got something of the Yankee about you." 

And, having paid his passenger what he considered a high compliment, he was going away, when Mr. Fogg said, "The vessel now belongs to me?" 

"Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts—all the wood, that is." 

"Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled down, and burn them." 

It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up to the adequate pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins, bunks, and the spare deck were sacrificed. On the next day, the 19th of December, the masts, rafts, and spars were burned; the crew worked lustily, keeping up the fires. Passepartout hewed, cut, and sawed away with all his might. There was a perfect rage for demolition. 

The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top sides disappeared on the 20th, and the Henrietta was now only a flat hulk. But on this day they sighted the Irish coast and Fastnet Light. By ten in the evening they were passing Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had only twenty-four hours more in which to get to London; that length of time was necessary to reach Liverpool, with all steam on. And the steam was about to give out altogether! 

"Sir," said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in Mr. Fogg's project, "I really commiserate you. Everything is against you. We are only opposite Queenstown." 

"Ah," said Mr. Fogg, "is that place where we see the lights Queenstown?" 

"Yes." 

"Can we enter the harbour?" 

"Not under three hours. Only at high tide." 

"Stay," replied Mr. Fogg calmly, without betraying in his features that by a supreme inspiration he was about to attempt once more to conquer ill-fortune. 

Queenstown is the Irish port at which the trans-Atlantic steamers stop to put off the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin by express trains always held in readiness to start; from Dublin they are sent on to Liverpool by the most rapid boats, and thus gain twelve hours on the Atlantic steamers. 

Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way. Instead of arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the Henrietta, he would be there by noon, and would therefore have time to reach London before a quarter before nine in the evening. 

The Henrietta entered Queenstown Harbour at one o'clock in the morning, it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being grasped heartily by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman on the levelled hulk of his craft, which was still worth half what he had sold it for. 

The party went on shore at once. Fix was greatly tempted to arrest Mr. Fogg on the spot; but he did not. Why? What struggle was going on within him? Had he changed his mind about "his man"? Did he understand that he had made a grave mistake? He did not, however, abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got upon the train, which was just ready to start, at half-past one; at dawn of day they were in Dublin; and they lost no time in embarking on a steamer which, disdaining to rise upon the waves, invariably cut through them. 

Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay, at twenty minutes before twelve, 21st December. He was only six hours distant from London. 

But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg's shoulder, and, showing his warrant, said, "You are really Phileas Fogg?" 

"I am." 

"I arrest you in the Queen's name!" 

Phileas Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House, and he was to he transferred to London the next day. 

Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen upon Fix had he not been held back by some policemen. Aouda was thunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which she could not understand. Passepartout explained to her how it was that the honest and courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber. The young woman's heart revolted against so heinous a charge, and when she saw that she could attempt to do nothing to save her protector, she wept bitterly. 

As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether Mr. Fogg were guilty or not. 

The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this new misfortune! Had he not concealed Fix's errand from his master? When Fix revealed his true character and purpose, why had he not told Mr. Fogg? If the latter had been warned, he would no doubt have given Fix proof of his innocence, and satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix would not have continued his journey at the expense and on the heels of his master, only to arrest him the moment he set foot on English soil. Passepartout wept till he was blind, and felt like blowing his brains out. 

Aouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of the Custom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious to see Mr. Fogg again. 

That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was about to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at Liverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st of December, he had till a quarter before nine that evening to reach the Reform Club, that is, nine hours and a quarter; the journey from Liverpool to London was six hours. 

If anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he would have found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent anger, upon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but this last blow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of any emotion. Was he being devoured by one of those secret rages, all the more terrible because contained, and which only burst forth, with an irresistible force, at the last moment? No one could tell. There he sat, calmly waiting—for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he still believe, now that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he would succeed? 

However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon the table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped his lips, but his look was singularly set and stern. The situation, in any event, was a terrible one, and might be thus stated: if Phileas Fogg was honest he was ruined; if he was a knave, he was caught. 

Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were any practicable outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping from it? Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room. But the door was locked, and the window heavily barred with iron rods. He sat down again, and drew his journal from his pocket. On the line where these words were written, "21st December, Saturday, Liverpool," he added, "80th day, 11.40 a.m.," and waited. 

The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his watch was two hours too fast. 

Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an express train, he could reach London and the Reform Club by a quarter before nine, p.m. His forehead slightly wrinkled. 

At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise outside, then a hasty opening of doors. Passepartout's voice was audible, and immediately after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg's eyes brightened for an instant. 

The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who hurried towards him. 

Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not speak. "Sir," he stammered, "sir—forgive me—most— unfortunate resemblance— robber arrested three days ago—you are free!" 

Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him steadily in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever made in his life, or which he ever would make, drew back his arms, and with the precision of a machine knocked Fix down. 

"Well hit!" cried Passepartout, "Parbleu! that's what you might call a good application of English fists!" 

Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word. He had only received his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout left the Custom House without delay, got into a cab, and in a few moments descended at the station. 

Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train about to leave for London. It was forty minutes past two. The express train had left thirty-five minutes before. Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train. 

There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway arrangements did not permit the special train to leave until three o'clock. 

At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by the offer of a generous reward, at last set out towards London with Aouda and his faithful servant. 

It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half; and this would have been easy on a clear road throughout. But there were forced delays, and when Mr. Fogg stepped from the train at the terminus, all the clocks in London were striking ten minutes before nine. 

Having made the tour of the world, he was behind-hand five minutes. He had lost the wager!



Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 24



The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day, if they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors and windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile.

He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And by the blundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed that long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers, and still found time to do some good on his way, to fail near the goal by a sudden event which he could not have foreseen, and against which he was unarmed; it was terrible! But a few pounds were left of the large sum he had carried with him. There only remained of his fortune the twenty thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amount he owed to his friends of the Reform Club. So great had been the expense of his tour that, even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is probable that he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man who rather laid wagers for honour's sake than for the stake proposed. But this wager totally ruined him.

Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what remained for him to do. A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune. From the words which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating some serious project.

Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so doing.

 First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had extinguished the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days. He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had been doomed to bear.

The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda did not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a faithful dog, at his master's door.

Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda's breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the evening he would ask permission to have a few moments' conversation with the young lady.

Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured by remorse; for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the cause of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg, and had betrayed Fix's projects to him, his master would certainly not have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then—

Passepartout could hold in no longer.

"My master! Mr. Fogg!" he cried, "Why do you not curse me? It was my fault that—"

"I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness. "Go!"

Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he delivered his master's message.

"Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself—nothing! I have no influence over my master; but you, perhaps—"

"What influence could I have?" replied Aouda. "Mr. Fogg is influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him is overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must not be left alone an instant! You say he is going to speak with me this evening?"

"Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in England."

"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.

Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in that house, did not set out for his club when Westminster clock struck half-past eleven.

Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer expected him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine), he had lost his wager. It was not even necessary that he should go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists already had his cheque in their hands, and they had only to fill it out and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their credit.

Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained at home. He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting his affairs in order. Passepartout continually ascended and descended the stairs. The hours were long for him. He listened at his master's door, and looked through the keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do, and as if he feared that something terrible might happen at any moment. Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer in anger. Fix, like all the world, had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg, and had only done his duty in tracking and arresting him; while he, Passepartout. . . . This thought haunted him, and he never ceased cursing his miserable folly.

Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at Aouda's door, went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in a corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still pensive.

About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone with her.

Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite Aouda. No emotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned was exactly the Fogg who had gone away; there was the same calm, the same impassibility.

He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on Aouda, "Madam," said he, "will you pardon me for bringing you to England?"

"I, Mr. Fogg!" replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.

"Please let me finish," returned Mr. Fogg. "When I decided to bring you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was rich, and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal; then your existence would have been free and happy. But now I am ruined."

"I know it, Mr. Fogg," replied Aouda; "and I ask you in my turn, will you forgive me for having followed you, and—who knows?—for having, perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your ruin?"

"Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only be assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could not take you."

"So, Mr. Fogg," resumed Aouda, "not content with rescuing me from a terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a foreign land?"

"Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg to place the little I have left at your service."

"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"

"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need of nothing."

"But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?"

"As I am in the habit of doing."

"At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you. Your friends—"

"I have no friends, madam."

"Your relatives—"

"I have no longer any relatives."

"I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no heart to which to confide your grief's. They say, though, that misery itself, shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience."

"They say so, madam."

"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, "do you wish at once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?"

Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light in his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him. He shut his eyes for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again, "I love you!" he said, simply. "Yes, by all that is holiest, I love you, and I am entirely yours!"

"Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.

"But there is something that must also be addressed," Fogg said somberly.

"Yes, my dear Mr. Fogg?"

"What of your feelings for my servant, Passepartout?"

Aouda blushed deeply. "I . . . I must confess, Mr. Fogg, I do love Passepartout, as much as I love you. You know this. I will marry you, of course . . ."

"But what of Passepartout?" He asked, as gently as was possible.

"I will marry you," Aouda said, as tears ran down her cheeks.

"Under those circumstances I cannot marry you. It is painfully obvious that you love him as much, if not more than you love me."

"I have a suggestion, Mr. Fogg."

"Yes? I am willing to listen, to try anything that might resolve our dilemma."

""Marry me publicly, but allow me to marry Passepartout privately. I want the both of you as my husband. We can live here, or anywhere else if need be, in harmonious togetherness."

"Marry me publicly, marry Passepartout privately?" He said, his voice filled with wonder.

Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg still held Aouda's hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big, round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith.

"Yes, Master?"

"Were you listening at the door just now?" Fogg inquired.

"Just now, Master?"

"Let us say, a second or two before you fell into the room, here."

"Then, yes, master, I was standing at the door."

"Did you by any chance happen to hear what Aouda and I were conversing about?"

Passepartout grimaced, for he had never told a falsehood to his master, but the temptation to do so at this moment was compelling.

"I asked you a simple question, Passepartout," Fogg said, standing firm, non-committal.

"I did hear something, Master."

"Do you agree with what you heard?"

"I believe the words forming the best possible reply are, 'I do'," he said, smiling his most genial smile.

Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.

Passepartout quickly replied, "Never too late, Master."

It was five minutes past eight.

"Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?"

"For to-morrow, Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.

"Yes; for to-morrow, Monday," she replied.

Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.

It is time to relate what a change took place in English public opinion when it transpired that the real bank robber, a certain James Strand, had been arrested, on the 17th day of December, at Edinburgh. Three days before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, who was being desperately followed up by the police; now he was an honourable gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey round the world.

The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who had laid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by magic; the "Phileas Fogg bonds" again became negotiable, and many new wagers were made. Phileas Fogg's name was once more at a premium on 'Change.

His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a state of feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten, reappear before their eyes! Where was he at this moment? The 17th of December, the day of James Strand's arrest, was the seventy-sixth since Phileas Fogg's departure, and no news of him had been received. Was he dead? Had he abandoned the effort, or was he continuing his journey along the route agreed upon? And would he appear on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine in the evening, on the threshold of the Reform Club saloon?

The anxiety, in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot be described. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas Fogg. Messengers were dispatched to the house in Saville Row morning and evening. No news. The police were ignorant what had become of the detective, Fix, who had so unfortunately followed up a false scent. Bets increased, nevertheless, in number and value. Phileas Fogg, like a racehorse, was drawing near his last turning-point. The bonds were quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at ten, and at five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his favour.

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets on Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently established around the Reform Club. Circulation was impeded, and everywhere disputes, discussions, and financial transactions were going on. The police had great difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as the hour when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to its highest pitch.

The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of the club. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew Stuart, the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of England, and Thomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited anxiously.

When the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart got up, saying, "Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon between Mr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired."

"What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?" asked Thomas Flanagan.

"At twenty-three minutes past seven," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and the next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve."

"Well, gentlemen," resumed Andrew Stuart, "if Phileas Fogg had come in the 7:23 train, he would have got here by this time. We can, therefore, regard the bet as won."

"Wait; don't let us be too hasty," replied Samuel Fallentin. "You know that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric. His punctuality is well known; he never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not be surprised if he appeared before us at the last minute."

"Why," said Andrew Stuart nervously, "if I should see him, I should not believe it was he."

"The fact is," resumed Thomas Flanagan, "Mr. Fogg's project was absurdly foolish.

Whatever his punctuality, he could not prevent the delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two or three days would be fatal to his tour."

"Observe, too," added John Sullivan, "that we have received no intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all along is route."

"He has lost, gentleman," said Andrew Stuart, "he has a hundred times lost! You know, besides, that the China the only steamer he could have taken from New York to get here in time arrived yesterday. I have seen a list of the passengers, and the name of Phileas Fogg is not among them. Even if we admit that fortune has favoured him, he can scarcely have reached America. I think he will be at least twenty days behind-hand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand."

"It is clear," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and we have nothing to do but to present Mr. Fogg's cheque at Barings to-morrow."

At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty minutes to nine.

"Five minutes more," said Andrew Stuart.

The five gentlemen looked at each other. Their anxiety was becoming intense; but, not wishing to betray it, they readily assented to Mr. Fallentin's proposal of a rubber.

"I wouldn't give up my four thousand of the bet," said Andrew Stuart, as he took his seat, "for three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine."

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes off the clock. Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had never seemed so long to them!

"Seventeen minutes to nine," said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the cards which Ralph handed to him.

Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and then a shrill cry. The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player eagerly counted, as he listened, with mathematical regularity.

"Sixteen minutes to nine!" said John Sullivan, in a voice which betrayed his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and his partners suspended their game. They left their cards, and counted the seconds.

At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.

At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.

The players rose from their seats.

 At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and the pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg appeared, followed by an excited crowd who had forced their way through the club doors, and in his calm voice, said, "Here I am, gentlemen!"

The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the evening—about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the travellers in London—Passepartout had been sent by his master to engage the services of the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain marriage ceremony, which was to take place the next day.

 Passepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon reached the clergyman's house, but found him not at home. Passepartout waited a good twenty minutes, and when he left the reverend gentleman, it was thirty-five minutes past eight. But in what a state he was! With his hair in disorder, and without his hat, he ran along the street as never man was seen to run before, overturning passers-by, rushing over the sidewalk like a waterspout.

In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered back into Mr. Fogg's room.

He could not speak.

"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"My master!" gasped Passepartout—"marriage—impossible—"

"Impossible?"

"Impossible—for to-morrow."

"Why so?"

"Because to-morrow—is Sunday!"

"Monday," replied Mr. Fogg.

"No—to-day is Saturday."

"Saturday? Impossible!"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" cried Passepartout. "You have made a mistake of one day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time; but there are only ten minutes left!"

Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was dragging him along with irresistible force.

Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left his house, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the cabman, and, having run over two dogs and overturned five carriages, reached the Reform Club.

The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the great saloon.

Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in eighty days!

Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!

How was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have made this error of a day? How came he to think that he had arrived in London on Saturday, the twenty-first day of December, when it was really Friday, the twentieth, the seventy-ninth day only from his departure?

The cause of the error is very simple.

Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his journey, and this merely because he had _arvelou constantly eastward; he would, on the contrary, have lost a day had he gone in the opposite direction, that is, westward.

In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days therefore diminished for him as many times four minutes as he crossed degrees in this direction. There are three hundred and sixty degrees on the circumference of the earth; and these three hundred and sixty degrees, multiplied by four minutes, gives precisely twenty-four hours—that is, the day unconsciously gained. In other words, while Phileas Fogg, going eastward, saw the sun pass the meridian eighty times, his friends in London only saw it pass the meridian seventy-nine times. This is why they awaited him at the Reform Club on Saturday, and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.




Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 24



And Passepartout's famous family watch, which had always kept London time, would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the days as well as the hours and the minutes!

Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but, as he had spent nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary gain was small. His object was, however, to be victorious, and not to win money. He divided the one thousand pounds that remained between Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix, against whom he cherished no grudge. He deducted, however, from Passepartout's share the cost of the gas which had burned in his room for nineteen hundred and twenty hours, for the sake of regularity.

That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said to Aouda: "Is our marriage still agreeable to you?"

"Mr. Fogg," replied she, "it is for me to ask that question. You were ruined, but now you are rich again."

"Pardon me, madam; my fortune belongs to you. If you had not suggested our marriage, my servant would not have gone to the Reverend Samuel Wilson's, I should not have been apprised of my error, and—"

"Dear Mr. Fogg!" said the young woman.

"Dear Aouda!" replied Phileas Fogg.

It need not be said that the marriage took place forty-eight hours after, and that Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, gave the bride away. Had he not saved her, and was he not entitled to this honour?

The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped vigorously at his master's door. Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked, "What's the matter, Passepartout?"

"What is it, sir? Why, I've just this instant found out—"

"What?"

"That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-eight days."

"No doubt," returned Mr. Fogg, "by not crossing India. But if I had not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda; she would not have been my wife, and—"

Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.

Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey around the world in eighty days. To do this he had employed every means of conveyance—steamers, railways, carriages, yachts, trading-vessels, sledges, elephants. The eccentric gentleman had throughout displayed all his marvelous qualities of coolness and exactitude. But what then? What had he really gained by all this trouble? What had he brought back from this long and weary journey?

Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who, strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!

Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?





Phileas Fogg - A Memoir Pt. 24



"Excuse me Master," Passepartout interrupted. "How can I marry Eunice? I have but a stipend or two to manage on my own, and . . ."

"Excuse me, my dear, dear friend. I took the liberty of opening an account in your name earlier at the Bank of England. Half the winnings from the bet are now deposited in your personal account. Passepartout, you are now a wealthy man."

"What!" Passepartout gasped, "That is . . ."

"Wonderful!" Both Aouda and Mrs. Bentley cried out simultaneously. They engaged in what one would be compelled to call a group hug, the Fogg continued on.

"And so, Aouda and I marry as the Queen suggests. Passepartout, why not call on the reverend again, this time to perform the nuptials at your wedding. I shall suggest to the Queen's emissary that we have a double wedding at the cathedral a week from now. How does that sound?"

"Passepartout my love," Eunice asked, what do you think?"

"Will you marry me, Mrs. Bentley?"

"Only if you call me by my given name, Eunice."

"This of course, does not mean Aouda cannot lie with you. The next part of my suggestion is that we switch partners on a more or less random pattern."

Aouda squealed with joy. Eunice smiled coyly at Fogg and nodded, telling him with the subtle gesture that she thought him a genius in resolving a complex problem. And so it came to pass. All of London, and much of Europe and America was enthralled by the news of the double wedding. The Queen had been delighted with the suggestion and quickly agreed. The wedding took place with all the gala of a royal wedding.

Then the four lovers withdrew to Fogg's residence, forsaking a honeymoon, claiming they had done quite enough traveling for the time being. Of course Mrs. Bentley went along with this and they settled in, alternating those nights the men slept with their brides and those they slept with the others spouse.

In time, children were produced. With one exception, they were never certain as to who the father was. Eunice suggested and the others all agreed that whoever the mother was, the child would bear the name of her husband. Aouda bore four children, three boys and one girl. Eunice had a pair of twins, one boy, one girl and several years later had another boy. The twins bore a startling resemblance to Phileas and everyone agreed he had fathered them. Still, it was Passepartout's name they were given and no one was ever the wiser, save the immediate group, and certainly the children themselves never knew of it.

A Chronological History Follows:

Aouda's children were named, by order of birth: Philip, Christopher, Aouda, and Paul.

Eunice's children were named Marlene, Paris and Peter.

Sir Phileas Fogg passed on after a long fight with a stomach illness in 1899.

In 1903, Christopher Fogg fell from his horse while riding and died he was 28.

In 1908, Passepartout's heart stopped beating while trying to save his beloved wife Eunice from a house fire. Eunice suffered 3rd degree burns over most of her body and died several hours after her husband.

Aouda, died in her sleep in 1921. She was 78 years of age.

Philip Fogg passed away after succumbing to tuberculosis in 1933. He was 60 years of age.

Phileas' daughter, Aouda was killed in Berlin in 1937 when the Nazi brown-shirts mistook her for a Jew. She was 60.

Paul died in a mysterious plane crash in 1938. He was 58 and working for the British Government.

Paris, the male twin had eight children, all girls. He died in an air raid over London in 1941.

Peter, the youngest of Eunice's children, was a Colonel in the RAF and killed in action at Dunkirk. He was 56.

Marlene, the twin girl also had eight children, all boys. She passed on, presumably of old age in 1986. She was 111 years of age.

It was in her eldest daughter's attic that I found the manuscript that I have transcribed.

Sincerely,

Paris Passepartout Waterman