10 comments/ 12850 views/ 5 favorites F'ukme's Orb By: Spykke Author's note: Due to life interfering, I get less and less time to write and I'm going to hang up my quill. As a swan song I am posting three final stories. One comedic, one warm and cuddly and one dark. Hope you enjoy them. This one has sex, violence, daring-do, bad guys and animals - all with an added twist of the absurd. I must add that no animals were harmed during the writing of this story. ***** It was 1942, August 26th 1942 to be precise. Great Britain and it's allies were in the middle of a struggle for survival from the evil axis led by Nazi Germany. The sun was shining brightly as the sound of Big Ben's chimes echoed down Whitehall. It was four in the afternoon, a figure stirred in a room at the top of a splendid government building. The room was large, sumptuous and lined with bookshelves filled with hundreds of ancient and rare books. A huge desk and table, cluttered with a huge quantity of books, papers and obscure objects dominated the room. The figure behind the desk was absorbed in reading an arcane Celtic text. He puffed on a large, meerschaum pipe, carved in the form of a large busted Melanesian maiden, sending forth huge clouds of fragrant smoke from the rum steeped shag tobacco that he favoured. Dr. Randolph Humbolt Ffeest BSc, BA, MPhil, PhD, Member of the Royal Society, Emeritus Professor of Ancient Celtic History and special scientific advisor to the government of the day was the owner of this small corner of erudition. Belying his august education and title, Randolf was a bronzed, muscular and irritatingly masculine man in his early thirties. He was dressed in an immaculate Saville Row tweed suit, brown gleaming brogues, a fine, white silk shirt and a scarlet bow tie. There was a small ruby ring on the little finger of his right hand, an onyx signet ring on his left hand, third finger and he wore a classic 1920's Rolex Prince Brancard watch. He was clean shaven and his deep brown hair was immaculately coiffured. He puffed contemplatively on his pipe, filling the room with the fragrance of his specially blended tobacco, pondering the intricacies of the text in front of him. The original spelling of his name was Feest however one of his mediaeval ancestors had such an appallingly bad stammer that his name had erroneously been entered in the records as Ffeest. Randolph came from long established and highly regarded family and was appallingly wealthy. Theirs was not old money, it was positively ancient money. Humboldt Ffeest, a distant ancestor of Randolf had performed a small but crucial service to Queen Elizabeth I and had been rewarded for his endeavours with a knighthood and the Dukedom of a little known village called Little Netherton in the Wold. Although history does not record exactly what the service was it was rumoured that it was of a highly dubious sexual nature and involved three young ladies of the court and a bunch of stinging nettles. Humboldt built a manor house on a 1000 acre site and equipped it with the finest furniture and pieces of art. Over the years the family wealth grew by massive proportions until, by the time Randolf inherited the Dukedom, they were one of the wealthiest families in the country. His father, Sir Henry Forsyth Ffeest, had been a diplomat and a close confident to the Prime Ministers of his time. His mother, Lady Cynthia, had been a beautiful socialite who had known most of the crown families in Europe and had fucked most of them. She was a most friendly and agreeable lady who had been instrumental in expediting a number of key diplomatic developments by virtue of her singular bedroom skills. Randolph had a sister, Sarah, also a beautiful socialite who was working hard to emulate her mother. Randolf was married to the exquisite Sophie von Feldstein, the only child of a hugely wealthy Swiss industrialist. Being an intellectual and academic Randolph wasn't over enamoured with the social life of his class and preferred to retire to his mansion at the weekend to partake in manly activities such as shooting, fencing and hunting. He was happy to attend the occasional social event with his wife but this was under polite sufferance. He also took great care to conceal the nature of his work. He chose instead to give the impression of being a typical upper class landholder preoccupied with hunting, shooting and maintaining his estate. Although he married late, you should not think for one moment that he was celibate during his bachelorhood. Randolf had bedded some of the most beautiful women in England. Not the ordinary trollops you found in upper class circles, but those refined women whose breeding told them that when fucking a man in missionary position outdoors, you always raised your loins to prevent the man's balls brushing on the damp grass. Women found him irresistible. He was six foot tall, with a slim, muscular body. His sporting activities meant that his body was as finely honed as his mind. He was no shrinking violet sexually. At the time of his graduation, three young ladies had experienced the pleasure of his fat, somewhat longer than average penis and all would attest that he used it with skill and panache. Randolf had been educated at Eton and had taken a double first in archaeology and classics at Cambridge. His doctorate had involved the study of ancient Babylonian tombs. He was that rare breed which was equally adept at the academic and the sporting arts. He had exceptional abilities in the game of rugby, swimming, fencing, running and boxing - in all cases performing at the highest levels. Academically, he found learning ridiculously easy, coping with his lectures, tutorials and personal studies with ease. When not undertaking these areas of endeavour, he found time to attend regularly the University debating, chess and poetry societies as well as fulfilling a full social life. Ok, you've by now decided that you hate this gifted smart-arse with a passion. The sad thing is that he was almost impossible to dislike. Randolf was neither arrogant nor self-obsessed. He proved to be a decent, unassuming guy who was good company and always good for a laugh. He would as readily accept a practical joke made on him as he would make one. In short, he was a decent sort, well-liked by his male peers. Randolf had met Sophie at a ball given by his close friend Baron Erich von Kieselguhr, a member of Bavarian nobility. He had met Erich when he had spent time at the University of Heidelberg perfecting his German. More precisely they had met during an evening of drinking and debauchery and they had quickly become firm friends. "I say old chap, who is that beauty?" he asked Erich as Sophie walked down the staircase into the ballroom. She was a sultry, tall woman with flowing waist length blond hair and sinuous limbs. Her pale blue gown clung to her body, the deeply low cut neckline revealing the wondrous expanse of her generous breasts. A simple but expensive gold and sapphire necklace graced her neck and nestled between her breasts. In short, she was a walking orgasm of epic proportions. "Oh that's Sophie von Feldstein," Erich replied. "Her father is a good friend of the family." "She's somewhat attractive old man," Randolf replied. Erich raised an eyebrow in surprise. From a man of Randolf's background and reticence, saying that she was somewhat attractive was in effect saying that he wanted to shag the pants off her. "We used to play together when we were young," Erich told him. "Take my word for it, she's a spirited and frisky girl. You'll like her. Let me introduce you" Randolf nodded his thanks. The two men walked over to the woman. Sophie gave a huge smile at seeing Erich followed by an appraising glance at Randolf. "Hello Stinky," Erich said as he hugged Sophie. "It's wonderful to see you. May I introduce to my very good friend, Randolph?" "I'm so pleased to meet you Randolf," she said in German as he took her hand. "The pleasure is all mine fraulein von Feldstein," he replied in fluent German as he pressed his lips to her hand - Randolf was actually fluent in 14 languages as well as 3 dialects of Babylonian and the appallingly difficult clicking language of the M'nibong tribe from the Southern Sahara. Sophie felt a flush of excitement flow through her as his lips touched her hand. Her nipples stiffened and her cunt flooded, soaking her silk French knickers. She had never met such an arousing man. From that moment, they were inseparable. They danced, enjoyed the champagne and mingled with the other guests for two hours before she took him to one side. She loved the way his huge, throbbing cock poked her lower belly as they danced. Finally she could stand the temptation no more. She guided Randolf to an alcove and past a pair of heavy curtains onto a quiet balcony. She leaned over the stone balustrade, hiked up her skirt and pulled down her knickers. "Randolf," she husked, "if you don't push that wonderful cock into my arse right now, I will scream." Being a gentleman, Randolf could not stand to see a woman in distress. He quickly unfastened his pants and gathered a quantity of her juices from her cunt on his hand. He lubed up her pert sphincter and eased two fingers in to loosen her up. Sophie wriggled with delight at his ministrations before gasping with delight as his hugely erect cock slid gracefully into her. For the next ten minutes Randolf fucked her hard with long smooth strokes, plumbing the depths of her bowels. He fucked her to three screaming orgasms before he allowed himself to empty his balls in her. He gently withdrew his cock, allowing Sophie time to clamp her sphincter and prevent his juice leaking out. It was then that Sophie demonstrated her breeding. "Allow me," she said as she kneeled down and carefully sucked his cock clean. With admirable diligence she carefully licked his cock, balls and groin clean from their combined juices. Her finishing school etiquette teacher would have been proud of her performance. "It doesn't matter if his cock tastes of your shit," her mentor would tell her, "a real lady will ignore it and clean the man's parts to perfection." By now you're probably asking yourself why a woman of such beauty and elegance as Sophie was so willing to offer her ass for a good fucking. Well the answer came from her upbringing and education and there were several reasons. Firstly and most importantly, it was unthinkable that a woman of her social standing would go to her wedding bed deflowered. Her husband would expect to see her blood oozing from her tattered maidenhead staining his satin sheets. It was as important as the time he was blooded at his first fox hunt. Secondly, there was no way that she would risk bearing a bastard child. Thirdly, being fucked normally at the ball would mean that she would spend the evening with sperm dribbling down her legs and, should she sit down, she would invariably stain the rear of her dress. On the other hand, using her control of her sphincter, she could retain the semen in her rectum until such time that she could conveniently dump it. Finally, even though her vagina was off limits, she had two other perfectly functional orifices which she could use to great effect during a sexual encounter. It would probably stretch a point to suggest that Randolf and Sophie fell in love. Love wasn't strictly the key criterion for two folk of their class to become emotionally entangled. Both were undeniably eligible, both were from the finest backgrounds and they found each other irresistibly attractive. That was sufficient. Randolf was welcomed into Sophie's family with open arms. Her father had made a mountain of cash from heavy engineering and weapons. Being of a Swiss nationality, it was perhaps a little strange that he made a living from weapons, but that's the way it was. Randolf fitted his expectations for his daughter perfectly. The wedding was the social event of the year and was attended by royalty and other useless upper class twits from across Europe. It was believed that at least six pregnancies resulted from illicit encounters at the reception but that wasn't particularly extraordinary. Erich was himself responsible for impregnating two cute bridesmaids. Sophie's cunt proved to be tight as the proverbial duck's arse. Her groans of pain as his magnificent cock forced itself into her were equalled by the feeling that Randolph's foreskin was being torn off. "Darling," she groaned, "this isn't terribly nice, would you mind putting it in my rear hole instead?" I'm sure that I can better accommodate all of you in there." "Of course not, my dear," Randolf replied. "Whatever gives you the most pleasure." Randolf was ever the decent gentleman. -------- Samantha Pargett-Jones and Rachel Peters were sat in the office adjacent to Randolf's. Samantha loved her work as Dr Ffeest's research assistant. While her own academic credentials were impeccable and would warrant a senior academic post at any of the best Universities, she was content and indeed delighted to act as an assistant to the great man. Everything about him excited her. His mind was like a finely honed scalpel, penetrating any problem with ease readily identifying the key issues. Every day she learned so much from him - he was the perfect mentor. As an added bonus, he was ruggedly handsome and exuded masculinity like no other man she knew. Young Samantha was a slim blonde girl in her early twenties. Her cute face belied this age but her splendid D cup breasts were a real show stopper. "I wish someone would hurry up and invent panty-liners," she sighed to herself as she restocked the quantity of clean panties she kept in her desk drawer. Contact of any kind with Dr Ffeest, whether it was a conversation, or simply being in the same room, had the same effect on her. Her crotch would immediately start to tingle and throb with heat, begging for a severe rogering. Her virgin slit would flood with juices, immediately soaking the gusset of her knickers. On a good day she would need to change her panties up to ten times. On a bad day... well let's just say, it was bad! In a word, Samantha had the terminal hots for her boss and was in serious need of a good fucking. Rachel was Randolph's secretary. A gloriously rubenesque girl, she provided the structure that the busy office needed to operate securely. Five foot six tall with a splendid 38D chest, she had curves in all the right places. Add to that package a face of an angel with long coppery-brunette hair, she was a vision of loveliness. Whilst not having the education of her two colleagues, Rachel was a grade A administrator and coordinator. Sadly, she had similar difficulties as Samantha when it came to her boss. "I want you both to sit in on my meeting with my visitor this morning," Randolf told the girls one Tuesday morning as he walked into his office. Samantha looked up from the aged tome she was studying. "A Miss Hepworth is coming at ten," Rachel told her. "Rannie wants us both to be there." - Rannie was a pet name that the two girls used for their boss. The two girls looked at each other in despair. A meeting with Randolf meant one thing - a lengthy time spent in the same room with that gorgeous hunk. "It's going to be a two knicker day then," Samantha replied as she reached into her desk drawer. Rachel nodded in agreement. Both girls knew from past experience that they would get so wet that they would need to wear two pairs of knickers if they were to prevent damp patches appearing in the back of their skirts. The girls quickly stood and slipped on the extra under garments. Agatha Hepworth sailed into the room at precisely ten-o-clock. I say "sailed" because that is the only way I can describe the motion of a 25 stone woman gliding across the room. "Good morning my dears, is dear Randolf available to see me?" she asked in a melodic voice. The redoubtable Agatha Hepworth was a classic example of the operatic star. A huge, Rubenesque body topped by a fine pair of mammoth breasts, struggling to escape from her low cut dress. A classically beautiful, if not somewhat plump face, framed with flowing raven black hair. She was indeed an opera singer albeit not quite world class. She wore a shimmering, flowered dress and looked quite simply wonderful. "Hello sweetheart," she gushed as she saw Randolf behind his desk. She rushed over and gave him a long and extremely erotic hug. Samantha and Rachel watched the spectacle with extreme envy. They all sat down with cups of tea. "Have you heard of F'ukme's Orb?" Agatha asked without further preamble. Randolf pondered for a moment, puffing on his pipe thoughtfully. "An artefact said to have been found by the 13th century Norwegian mystic, F'ukme of Schnarllfjord, if I recall," he replied. "Said to be a powerful object that fell to earth from Valhalla." "Precisely," Agatha Hepworth confirmed. "It is said that anyone who possesses it has the power to imbue others with superhuman strength and rage." She paused for a moment. "I received this letter yesterday from my good friend Lettie Smythe. She's currently in Sweden researching a number of arcane artefacts. Tell me what you think." Randolph paused for a moment. Lettie Smythe was one of the finest undercover agents in the employment of the British. From all appearances she appeared to be a slightly overweight, "jolly hockysticks" woman who preferred to spend her time hunting and riding. In reality, she was an astute, cunning and highly dangerous woman. Agatha handed an envelope to Randolf who quickly read the contents. He pursed his lips for a moment and then re-read it only this time out aloud. Dear Aggie Hello old girl. As you know, I've been skulking around in Stockholm doing some research for my latest book. Well, the most horrible thing has happened. I was in the central library reading some documents when this nasty little man came up to me. He was a short, hump backed man with a bald head, a monocle and a scar across his cheek. He smelled of boiled onions - most nasty. Anyway, he spoke to me in English with an atrocious accent. "Miss Smythe I presume. My name is Doctor Heinrich Schaeffer. You may not have heard of me but I know all about your work." To be honest, Aggie, I'm glad I hadn't met him before - he was most repulsive. He had this man with him - a tall, thin man in a black leather coat and a black hat. He was equally repulsive. "This is Standartenführer Schultz of the SS," he added. If this Schaeffer man was repulsive, this other man was positively terrifying. He looked like the sort of man who would strangle small kittens just for fun. "I understand you have been researching F'ukme's Orb, Schaeffer continued." I denied it, of course. I was immediately suspicious and I said that I had heard of the orb but knew very little about it. I could see he didn't believe me. What he next said might have terrified me, if I was that sort of girl. "I am very interested in this orb and I know that you know more about it than you claim," he lisped nastily. "I always get what I want and you would do well to tell me what you know." I told him again that I knew hardly anything about it and I certainly had no idea where it was. The two of them looked at me very nastily. "If that is your final answer then we will leave you. Be assured we will meet again under less public circumstances and you will regret being so unhelpful." At that point the two of them buggered off. If truth be known, I have been looking into the Orb. Up to now opinions varied as to the nature of the orb. Some scholars believed that it was a perfect sphere of flawless glass, imbued with the gift of eternal life. Others that it was a sphere carved from the horn of the last unicorn. In truth, no-one really knew what it is. F'ukme's Orb I was studying the chronicles of Schnerd in the archives of the national library - an ancient tome describing the life and times of the gods of Valhalla. It's a bit like an ancient tabloid newspaper. The text was in code but you know how much I enjoy crossword puzzles, well, I was able to decipher it. It gave some answers as to the nature of the orb. From what I read, it suggests the orb is a particularly dangerous item. Although it only started life as a bread roll, it was actually made by the gods' baker Snirken. Now Snirken was a god in his own right but he got into a fight with Thor when they were young. Apparently Thor stole Snirken's marbles and Snirken kicked Thor in the nuts. Thor, being a sore loser in more ways than one, consigned Snirken to the kitchens for eternity. It appeared that Snirken wasn't happy with this and his resentment grew. As he kneaded his bread dough, his anger and resentment diffused into the fibres of the dough, imbuing it with evil power. The dough ended up in the bread rolls served to Thor and the other gods. It so happened that one day Thor was feeling particularly playful at dinner and he started a food fight with Loki, the god of mischief. He threw a bread roll which bounced off Loki's head and shot out the window and down the mountain from Valhalla and into space. Schnerd is unclear about what happens next but speculates that it may have struck a sage called F'ukme and may indeed be the so-called F'ukme's orb. The rest of the fragment of the journal indicates where the orb might be, although the information is incomplete. I have sent this information separately in an encoded form - it's much too dangerous to do otherwise. Apparently the orb has powers to imbue people with superhuman strength and anger and is very dangerous. I don't know what will happen to me but those Nazi's want the orb and I suspect they'll do what they can to get it. I'm going to vanish now - can you speak to dear old Tufty Ffeest and ask him to help? Kisses Lettie Randolf looked up, his usually impassive face troubled. "This is nasty stuff, old girl," he told Agatha. "Best you leave it to me. Is Lettie going to be alright?" Agatha snorted derisively. "Lettie was always the best at hide and seek at school. She could hide in an empty room and you wouldn't find her. If she said that she's going to vanish, you can bet your life she'll be safe and sound." -------- "She was interesting," Samantha commented after Agatha had left. Randolf pondered a moment, puffing on his pipe. "Ah yes, Miss Archibold, one of those young, rich, bohemians." Rachel looked at him, confused. "I thought she was English, not from Bohemia." Randolf smiled - Rachel had this tendency to have the occasional "blonde moment". "No ,my dear, Bohemians are a subculture of people with artistic or intellectual tendencies, who live and act with no regard for conventional rules of behaviour." "How did you work that out?" she asked, amazed. "Firstly, her dress is a design unique to Harrods. I noted from her panty line, as she left, that she was wearing a singular design of French knickers, also exclusive to Harrods. She therefore has significant wealth. Her heavily hirsute axillae indicate that she does not follow the normal convention of shaving and the deposits of paint under her fingernails indicate some form of artistic endeavour. It also helps that she's an old family friend and I've known her for years." "You cheat!" Rachel squeaked. "And there I was thinking that you were Sherlock Holmes." "May I ask why did Lettie call you Tuftie?" Surprisingly, Randolph blushed - a very rare occurrence. "I think some things are left unexplained," he replied. Randolph relit his pipe and stared out of the window, his eyes resting on the Union Flag flapping from a nearby flag pole. "So! what to do?" he pondered to himself. He realised that if this damned orb was dangerous as Lettie believed then he needed to ensure that it didn't fall into Schultz's hands. It could have a serious impact on world security. There was no doubt about it. Randolph needed to travel to Sweden post haste. "Samantha, we need to get moving on this. Go home and pack a bag with warm clothes - we're off to Stockholm." Samantha leapt to her feet with a squeak of glee - she loved excitement and action. "I need you to stay here and man the fort," he told a very disappointed Rachel. ------ F'ukme the mystic, wasn't. "Wasn't what?" You may ask. Well, the fact is, or should I say it was, is that F'ukme wasn't a mystic or a sage at all. In fact he was a just dirty old man with appalling personal habits who lived in a small Swedish village called Schnarllfjord in the year 910 AD. F'ukme was an exceedingly ugly individual, a fact which had led to his rather strange name. As he had slid from his mother into the world, his father having taken one look at his face, had gasped loudly "Fuck me!" followed, more quietly by "that is one ugly kid". It just so happened that his father's brother had just a moment before asked what the boy's would be. "F'ukme? What sort of name is that?" he immediately asked. F'ukme's father considered the name to be appropriate. "Perfectly good for this child," the new father answered. As F'ukme grew up, he became no more handsome and proved to be a pretty dim sort of kid. Whilst not quite being fitted for the job of village idiot, he ended up doing the more menial tasks around the village. More worryingly, he soon showed an un-natural interest in sheep and goats. Naturally, his ugliness ruled out any interest from the village girls and F'ukme grew to be a solitary individual. He was finally ejected from his village one day for disgraceful misbehaviour with the village mascot - an aged she goat called Esmeralda. F'ukme had been pelted with rotten fruit and thrown unceremoniously onto the village muck heap. "Fuck off you old pervert and leave Esmeralda alone," the village elders shouted as they left F'ukme lying in a particularly evil smelling pile of pig dung. F'ukme had stood up, dusted himself down and headed off down the road muttering darkly to himself. At that precise moment a small, spherical object, descended at great speed from the heavens striking him on the head. "What the fuck!" F'ukme bellowed as he fell flat on its face, stunned by the impact. Looking up he watched the object bounce three times and come to rest in a puddle of muddy water. He clambered to his feet and went and picked up the object. He held what appeared to be a small but exceeding heavy bread bun. Having hoped that the object might have been of some value, he snorted in disgust and threw the bread bun at a nearby rabbit. It hit the rabbit with a flash of blue light. The rabbit's eyes glowed red and it gave out a huge roar of anger before launching itself at F'ukme and mauling his right ankle. The ensuing fight was short and bloody. F'ukme was left on the ground bleeding from a multitude of wounds while the rabbit stormed off into the distance chuckling evilly. "What the fuck happened there," F'ukme asked himself. He was feeling rather hard done by. The day had certainly not gone well given that he had been thrown out of his village, beaten around the head by a mysterious flying object, and indignity of indignities had been savaged by a feral rabbit. Yet again he staggered to his feet and walked over to the mysterious bread bun. Picking it up he considered the object. The blue flash and the vicious attack from the rabbit started raising questions in his mind. Quite clearly this object had mysterious powers, and in the right hands, or even possibly the wrong hands, could be both an item of danger and an item for making serious money. His brain was rapidly becoming overloaded by questions and embryonic ideas and he realised that he needed to spend some time thinking. The obvious option was to and go to the inn and do some thinking - or should that be drinking? That's exactly what F'ukme did. Because of the rancid smell of pig dung on his clothes, the inn landlord insisted that F'ukme did his drinking outside. He was quite content to do this and consumed many flagons of the local brew before slipping into a drunken coma. He had tried to find out if the other customers in the inn knew anything about the bread bun but every reply was along the same lines: "A mystic orb of great power? Fuck off you twat, that's a stone bread bun!" Finally a very drunk and very pissed off F'ukme staggered from the inn and hurled the bread bun into the air with all his strength. The bun hit a rabbit before ricocheting into two badgers and a fox. It finally tumbled into a hole in the base of an ancient oak tree. The four creatures crackled with blue sparks, their eyes glowing red. With a howl they leaped on F'ukme. A blood curdling scream was heard "Oh shit, not again," and then just the sound of gnashing teeth and the crunching of bones. Over the years to come animals would periodically creep into the hollowed tree, encounter the bread bun, receive a bolt of blue light, be filled with daemonic rage and proceed to attack any other creatures they found in the vicinity of the tree. Soon the area around the tree became littered with the skeletons and corpses of a variety of wild creatures. The place became known as a place of death, and was shunned by the local population. In keeping with the profound scholarship of the locals, the place soon became known as "Fnergal Bleert - the tree of doom". Parents would frighten naughty children with tales of the tree of doom and the place soon became widely known, even to the extent of being referenced in the Swedish equivalent Doomsday book. As for F'ukme, well once he recovered from his wounds he would recount his tale to anyone who would listen, including Schnerd, who included the tale in his chronicles in an Appendix entitled "The more idiotic stories I heard during my travels." F'ukme died an inglorious death a year later at the hands, or should I say hooves, of an enraged male goat which he had mistaken for a female. --------- It was raining heavily as Randolph's Hispano-Suiza J12 pulled up outside the entrance to the Ffeest family seat in Berkshire. Randolph ran into the hall, striving to avoid getting too wet. He heard the familiar sound of squeaking pulleys and twanging springs as Ernest, the butler, approached to take his wet overcoat. Ernie Stubbins had been Randolph's father's bat-man during the first world war. He had saved Sir Henry's life during the battle of the Somme by pushing him out of the way of the effects of an exploding whizz-bang that had landed nearby. Sadly a shard of red hot shrapnel had neatly sliced through Ernie's right thigh, neatly snipping off his leg and cauterizing the blood vessels as it passed. "Sod me, Ernie," the regimental medic had exclaimed as he dressed the stump. "I couldn't have done a neater amputation myself." Randolph's father was deeply grateful and, being an extremely inventive chap, crafted a prosthetic leg from the leg of an old oak table. Using a cunning system of cog wheels, pulleys and springs, he created a false leg which perfectly mimicked the movement of a normal leg. Apart from a distinctive noise each time Ernie took a step, and strange appearance of a claw and ball foot rather than his own foot, the leg served him perfectly. Ernie was given life-long employment as his butler as further proof of his gratitude. Ernie was like a proverbial pig in shit. He had a job which was hardly taxing, luxurious accommodation in the west tower of the manor and a significant income. This provided him with more than enough time to indulge his passion - young ladies. In spite of missing a leg, Ernie was by no means handicapped. He had a rugged face, which while not being exactly handsome, attracted women like moths to a light. His seriously significant sexual member and his ability to fuck for hours without flagging, simply added to his attractiveness. "Please pack for Northern climes," Randolph instructed Ernie. "Rugged terrain." Ernie nodded. He immediately knew exactly which clothing, footwear and other equipment Randolph would need. He had carried out a similar task many times for his Boss. "Which weapons sir?" he asked. Randolph paused. "The spare Purdeys, and the Webley in the trunk. I'll carry the Colt Service Model. Oh and the special sword stick." Ernie nodded understanding that Randolph probably planned a little hunting with the shotguns but needed only handguns - he was clearly planning on travelling light." "Oh and include my Bavarian special gear," Randolph added, "At once, Sir," he replied as he headed of down the corridor, his leg squeaking and creaking as he went. ----- Given Randolph's well-known status and Sweden's neutrality, the journey to Stockholm was made in the luxury of a private aircraft. No need to use a scruffy, rusting steamer to sneak into a hidden cove as Randolph had had to use in the past. He had booked them into his normal top end hotel in Stockholm old city - Presidential suite, of course. Being just an ordinary girl, Samantha was gob smacked with the hotel and the way the staff fell over themselves to help them. The glitter and luxury of the hotel was overwhelming. The presidential suite comprised of two bedrooms, a lounge and a bathroom. "I hope you don't mind sharing the suite," Randolph asked Samantha, apologetically, "you will have total privacy in your own room." Samantha thought she had died and gone to heaven - sharing a suite with her gorgeous boss? Utter bliss. Dinner was superb, of course and afterwards they retired to their suite to relax. "So how will we get into contact with Lettie?" Samantha asked Randolph, as they sat in front of the fire, sipping snifters of brandy. "You don't, I find you," a voice said from behind the curtains covering the French windows. A figure slipped out from behind the curtains. Samantha looked at the figure with surprise. A woman, aged around 40, wearing matching tweed jacket and plus fours, stout walking boots and carrying a rucksack. The woman had a stocky build, full breasts and an amazingly beautiful face. "Hello Lettie my dear, so nice to see you," Randolph said, totally unfazed by her sudden appearance. Lettie heaved the rucksack onto the floor and sighed with relief. "What I need now, Tufty, is a hot bath, a huge brandy, a cigar and food," she replied as she threw her jacket onto a chair and began unfastening her pants. "Where's the bathroom?" Randolph led the way into the bathroom and began running a bath. "Bring that brandy in here please, Samantha dear," Lettie called out, as she slipped her trousers off. "We'll talk while I bathe" "How does she know my name?" Samantha asked as she brought in the brandy decanter. "Lettie is a mine of information," Randolph replied with a smile. "Most of it useful." Lettie had sat on the bath edge and was peeling of a pair of French knickers. "Damn these stink! Being in the field for a week without a change of kecks is not my idea of fun," she grimaced. "You wouldn't have a spare pair I could borrow?" she asked Samantha. Naked Lettie was a force of nature. Her apparent stoutness was in fact muscle gained from years of constant exercise and playing sport. Her shins bore the scars of many hockey matches and her muscle tone was in no small measure down to her love of the game of Rugby. Her breasts were a magnificent, pert, D cup - worthy of a Valkyrie. To the rear, a superb pair of buttocks and her crotch magnificently hirsute. More than a few suitors had wept with lust at the sight of her body. In spite of having the choice of any man - Lettie was fanatically monogamous. Her one and only love was Archie Fitzwilliam, a colonel in the Guards. Lettie settled down into the hot water and sipped her Brandy. He magnificent breasts broke the surface of the water and lay there like a pair of sleep dolphins resting on the ocean surface. "Damn, that's good," she sighed. "Pass me a cigar Tuftie." Randolph extracted a fat, Havana cigar from the case in his pocket, clipped the end and passed the cigar to Lettie. She took a deep pull on the cigar and sighed again. "A bath, brandy and a cigar - almost as good as sex," she sighed. "Samantha, be a darling and order me some room service," Lettie asked with a smile. "Some rollmops, gravlax, raggmunk and a bottle of ice cold akvavit. Samantha went into the next room and ordered the food. Once she returned Lettie set about telling them what she knew. "My first task was to try and find out what Schaeffer and Schultz were up to." Lettie began. "As you know, Sweden is neutral so any shenanigans they would want to get up to would have to be kept under wraps." "Being essentially stupid, they weren't hard to find. Schaeffer must have decided that pretending to be on holiday would have been an adequate cover. So there we have, Schultz, Schaeffer and ten storm-troopers, all wearing climbing gear and carrying rucksacks, climbing on the 12:35 train out of the city. Not exactly hard to follow." "Eventually they made their way to a remote village called Fnergal Bleert. Well, with only five houses and an inn, it was hardly a village." Lettie paused to take a deep swig of brandy. "They made their way to an old oak tree about quarter of a mile from the village. I have to tell you, the place had a dark and gloomy atmosphere - not my cup of tea at all. I could see that the storm-troopers weren't too impressed either. They huddled in a group looking like they were about to wet themselves. So much for the master race." "Anyway, Schaeffer ordered a storm-trooper to check out a hole in the tree's trunk. The guy refused point blank - as did all of his colleagues. I thought Schaeffer was going to explode with rage!" "Standartenführer Schultz!" Schaeffer shouted, "be so kind to look in that hole, will you?" "Schultz was stood with a huge German Shepherd dog, and was studiously not looking at Schaeffer - he was obviously not happy with the place either." "Standartenführer Schultz!" Schaeffer repeated, "IF you please? "With a sigh Schultz walked over to the tree, knelt down and reached into the hole. After a moment he pulled out his hand. He was holding a small round object. There was a flash of lightening as he stood up. Schultz gave a yelp of pain and threw to object away from him. His dog obviously thought it was a ball and that his master wanted to play catch. He ran over and picked the object up. There was another flash of lightning which engulfed the dog, the dog gave a yelp and its eyes began to glow red." "The dog leapt and seized Schultz by the throat. Schultz shrieked 'no Foofi!' before dying horribly." "Foofi!" Randolph pondered aloud. "damn me, if I were a German Shepherd called "Foofi" I would have killed my master long before then." Lettie nodded in agreement. "Luckily the storm-troopers chose that moment to bolt for safety and disappeared, sprinting into the distance followed by the dog." "Once the coast was clear, Schaeffer put on a pair of heavy leather gauntlets and picked up the object." "Dummkopf, Sie sollten die Handschuhe verwendet haben, (Fool, you should have used the gloves.)" he told Schultz's body. "Sie kann einfach nicht das Personal bekommen, (You just can't get the staff.)" "He then put the orb into a leather bag and trotted back to civilisation." "I followed him back to Stockholm and he flew out on the next available flight to Berlin." "My guess is that he'll high-tail it off to somewhere where he can study the orb and no doubt put it to some nefarious use," Lettie said as she briskly towelled herself down. Mesmerised by the jiggling of her fabulous breasts, Randolph was distracted. "Sorry, my dear did you say something?" he asked. F'ukme's Orb "Dammit Randolph, stop ogling my tits and concentrate on the job in hand," Lettie scolded him as she hit him with her towel. "I said that no doubt Schaeffer will high-tail it off to somewhere where he can study the orb and no doubt put it to some nefarious use." "Probably the top secret research facility at Schloss Bärenstein," he replied after a moment. "Well you'll have to deal with that yourselves," Lettie replied. "I haven't seen Archie for six weeks and I'm gagging for a good shag. As soon as I've eaten I'm off home to get serviced." ---- Three days and a significant amount of undercover travel found Randolph and Samantha in the Hotel Zum Römer in the small village of Bärenstein. "Schloss Bärenstein is a tough nut to crack," Randolph said as he puffed on his pipe. He was sat with Samantha in the cosy lounge of the hotel, enjoying a post dinner Jaegermeister cocktail. "A solid mediaeval castle with a moat, six feet thick granite walls and no doubt dozens of heavily armed, elite guards." "If the castle is such a secret place, how is it that you know so much about it?" Samantha asked. Randolph gave an indulgent smile and tapped the side of his nose with his fore-finger. "Just because the Germans treat the castle as a secret research establishment, it doesn't mean that I know nothing about it." He sipped his drink and pondered. "Fortunately I anticipated that we might encounter this sort of problem and I made suitable preparations," he continued. Back in his room, he opened his trunk and took out a bundle of clothes called his Bavarian special gear. He laid out a pair of lederhosen, long socks, hiking boots, a white shirt and a jaunty Tyrolean hat with a feather. He passed Samantha a traditional Bavarian dress with a low cut décolletage edged with lace. It would display her fine breasts to perfection. He also handed her a pair of fine French knickers with wide legs. This well ventilated underwear combined with her dress would ensure that her personal scents and pheromones would be readily passed into the air. A potent advantage which might spell the difference between success and failure. "Put these on and make sure your have those splendid breasts of your on display. Samantha went to her room and returned after a while wearing the dress. "Hmm, very nice," Randolph said, "but for one minor adjustment." He gently tugged the bodice of Samantha's dress down until the edge of her nipples peeked slightly onto view. "That's much better," Randolph said, smiling at Samantha's blushing face. "Your average German guard is very fond of a plump pair of tits." Now dressed, the two of them would have easily passed for country folk - if you were blind and drunk. They left the hotel and started the walk up the hill to the castle. The castle was a huge block of granite perched on top of a craggy hill. The sides of the hill were precipitous and rose from a wide and very deep moat. From the subtle swirling in the water, Randolph suspected that something gnarly and voracious no doubt inhabited the moat. There was also no doubt that the only way to the castle lay across a stone bridge. In all, an impregnable and easily guarded place. "Just follow my lead," Randolph told Samantha as they approached the two burly soldiers guarding the castle gate. Being a master of languages, Randolph adopted a heavy Austrian rural dialect as he spoke to the guards. "Hello, my old sheep shaggers, is this where the beer festival being held," he called out. Peter Grünwald was a huge thug from Hamburg who enjoyed beating up people smaller or weaker than him, bragging about his home city and being a total asshole. His comrades hated him with a passion. "Fuck off to peasant," Peter growled with a distinctive Hamburger twang. "You've come to the wrong place. There ain't no fucking beer festival here. This is private property." "Now, now, my old chum, no need to be prickly," Randolph replied in an irritatingly friendly manner guaranteed to piss the guard off. "We heard the festival was being held in the castle. I bet you just want to keep all the beer for yourself, you naughty boy." "I told you there ain't no fucking festival here," Peter told him. "Just fuck off and take that cow of a woman with you before I rearrange your face. You fucking country bumpkins make me want to puke." "Hang on a minute," Sigmund, the other guard suddenly interrupted. I'm from the county. It's not nice being rude to decent country folk. " Sigmund was even bigger that Peter and even though he had a friendly, easy manner, he could inflict serious damage when riled. "Are you saying I make you want to puke?" "He's always sounding off, big headed Hamburger cunt he is," he told Randolph. "You're all sheep shagging tossers, you fucking country yokels," Peter replied. "I bet sheep are cleaner than those Sankt Pauli whores you visit," Randolph retorted. "Dead right," the Sigmund added with a laugh. "This twat's had at least three doses of the clap since I've known him." "You mouthy bastard!" Peter shouted as he threw himself at his Sigmund. Randolph and Samantha watched with amusement as the two guards proceeded to beat each other to a pulp. Randolph lit his pipe and waited for the fun to end. Finally, once the two guards had beaten each other to a standstill and it was a simple task for Randolph to tip the semi-comatose men over the parapet into the moat. "So nice of them to help us out," he said with a smile. They slipped into the castle and made their way down into the bowels of the castle. Four more times they encountered guards and each time Randolph managed to manipulate them so that they could be taken care of with minimal fear of harm to him or Samantha. Three of the guards were so enthralled with Samantha's tits that it was a simple matter for Randolph to sneak behind them and club them to unconsciousness while they slobbered over her. The fourth was so enchanted with the sight of Randolph's knees revealed by the lederhosen that he was distracted and Samantha was able to take him out with a perfect right upper-cut. Randolph shuddered at the idea that the guard found his knees attractive. "Nice punch," Randolph told Samantha. "I played lacrosse for the Roedean first eleven. We had to be able to defend ourselves," She explained. (Roedean - famous British girls school) Finally they reached a large, heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bars. A simple sign said "Eintritt Verboten." "This looks like the place," Randolph as he turned the handle. There was a loud click and white vapour began to pour from holes in the walls. "Bugger! Sleeping gas," he gasped just before the two of them slumped to the floor, unconscious. ------ Years of experience had taught Randolph that when you were regaining consciousness after experiencing some form of trauma that it always paid to get familiar with your surroundings and situation before announcing you were awake. Listening carefully, Randolph heard a number of things. The sound of many claws rubbing on concrete; the gnashing of many sets of teeth; the sound of noisy sucking and finally, groans of pleasure. He slowly opened his eyes. He saw that he was in a large chamber. In the middle was a pit maybe 20 feet across, surrounded by a railing. There was a large steel tank by the pit with a maze of pipework and a red lever with a sign saying "Verwenden Sie im Notfall" (Use in emergency). He found that he and Samantha had been firmly shackled to a large, heavy chairs. Samantha was conscious and looking at something with an expression of disbelief. The "something" was his wife on her knees, sucking on Schaeffer's cock. The image was absurd to say the least. Schaeffer was naked apart from a string vest bearing a swastika sewn on the right breast. His cock was a rigid 2 inches long and Sophie was sucking on it vigorously. "Ach meine Schazte, blase mich!" he groaned followed by a shouted "Donner und Blitzen" as he suddenly blasted into her mouth. Sophie swallowed, wiped her lips and looked up at him lovingly. "Now isn't that better than the blitz mädels you usually fuck?" Randolph decided to announce his presence and groaned loudly. "Ah Dr Ffeest, I see you are awake." Schaeffer sneered. "it is delightful to meet you at long last." "I can't say the feeling is mutual," Randolph muttered, his usual good manners temporarily leaving him. "As for you, Sophie, I hadn't realised you were a closet Nazi," Randolph said, his voice filled with contempt. A flash of anger suddenly distorted Sophie's beautiful face. "Save your righteous indignation," you self-righteous fool," she snapped. "While you thought all my trips to the continent were purely social, I working to further the cause of our beloved Fuhrer." "You are a useless upper class fool who does nothing but strut around your estate playing Lord of the manor. The National Socialists will end the power of the idle, bloated British upper class once we have won the war. "My, you sound almost communist," my dear, Randolph sneered. You might mistakenly believe that my family are unfairly privileged, but our position was gained through hundreds of years of service to my country. To me, there is nothing more important than my country. I am a patriot, can you say the same?" "Enough," Schaeffer suddenly intervened. "Ah, I suppose this is where the pathetically derange megalomaniac takes delight in telling me how he plans to conquer the world," Randolph whispered, sotto voce, to Samantha. Utterly preoccupied with his own greatness, Schaeffer launched forth. "You are just in time to see my secret weapon which will win the war. Using the orb, I have created an army of extremely aggressive rabbits. When I unleash them on your forces you will be slaughtered. The real genius of my plan is that the high reproduction rate of the rabbits will ensure that our enemies will soon be overwhelmed." "Ah, but you'll soon lose control of them once their numbers are big enough then you'll be slaughtered to. This will lead to the end of life on the earth," Randolph said. "Oh no, my foolish friend," Schaeffer gloated - the insane megalomaniac couldn't resist gloating. "We have a secret sleeping gas which knocks out the rabbits. Once they awaken they are back to normal - happy little bunnies who only want to munch on carrots." Schaeffer paused, gazing into space as he was overwhelmed with the genius of his plan and his own greatness. "He's as mad as a sack of monkeys," Randolph muttered. The comment shocked Schaeffer back to reality. "Enough chit chat, my little friends are hungry. It is time you met my little storm-troopers, face to face." Schaeffer sneered, waving his Luger at Randolph. "Don't try anything or I'll happily shoot you." Keeping his gun firmly pressed against Randolph's skull, Schaeffer carefully unlocked the shackles. "Move over to the pit!" he commanded. Schaeffer stepped back as Randolph stood up taking care to keep the gun trained on him. Schaeffer suddenly detected the scent of Samantha's juice soaked panties. In addition to her constant arousal, being secured in shackles had added to her excitement. "Ich liebe den Duft des feuchten Muschi, (I love the scent of damp pussy)" Schaeffer moaned, his eyes rolling up in his eye sockets with delight. As Randolph had hoped, Samantha's scent had provided a much needed diversion. That was all Randolph needed. He quickly grabbed Schaeffer's arm and with a deft swing of his body sent Schaeffer spiralling into the pit of rabbits. There was a blood curdling scream followed by the sound of frenzied munching. "Heini!!" Sophie cried out as she ran towards the pit to save her lover. Samantha slyly stretched out her right leg, deftly tripping Sophie, sending her also into the pit. With more luck that judgement, Sophie managed to grab the railing around the pit and hung just out of range of the rabbits. "Ranni! Save me!" Sophie cried out. She frantically flailing her legs, trying to avoid the rabbits as they leaped up, snapping at her feet. Randolph watched her dispassionately. He could see that she was weakening but yet he made no move to help her. "Frankly, my darling, I have no desire to assist a faithless, traitorous, Nazi-loving slut. I have been brought up to treat women with respect and courtesy but you do not deserve any such regard. You have betrayed both me and my country. His face had adopted an uncharacteristic hardness - his eyes showed nothing but contempt and ill-concealed anger. Sophie saw that he would do nothing to save her. Suddenly her hand slipped and she fell with a shriek. Her cries were immediately snuffed out and all that could be heard was the sound of gnashing rabbit teeth. Reaching over to the tank, Randolph pulled the emergency lever. Pit filled with a yellow vapour and within seconds the horde of rabbits were snoring gently. As for Schaeffer and Sophie - there was nothing but bones. ----- "Well done, my man. A good job all round," Winston Churchill told Randolph through a cloud of thick cigar smoke. "recovering that damned orb will ensure that those Nazi buggers will not have it plain sailing with the war.. The two of them were enjoying a smoke and a few brandies in the comfort of Winston's study. Few men had the privilege of such intimacy with the prime minister. "So what do you plan to do with the thing? Stick it somewhere safe?" Randolph asked. Churchill made a face of disgust. "One of the boffins had the idea of using it on tortoises. He liked the idea of a thousand armoured plated killing machines. Personally the idea makes me shudder." Randolph nodded in agreement. "Not exactly my idea of fighting a war." "Precisely," Churchill replied as he topped up their brandy snifters. ------- "We have a serious problem, my girls," Randolph said to Samantha and Rachel. He had brusquely summoned them to his office as soon as he arrived at work and the two women were stood to attention in front of him. Randolph was sat in his buttoned leather chair watching the obviously worried women. "Ever since you have worked for me you have presented me with an intolerable situation. Can you appreciate what it is like for a man, especially a married man, to be constantly assailed by the aroma of cotton knicker gussets soaked in female vaginal juices? The two women blushed and looked down at the floor. "It is time to address this problem permanently." "You're not going to fire us?" Samantha asked, her eyes filling with tears. Randolph got to his feet and began unfastening his trousers. "Heavens no. Your problem is that you just haven't been giving your genitals the requisite amount of daily stimulation," he replied as he careful folded his trousers and placed them on a hanger. He removed his crisp white undershorts and again folded them carefully. "It is well known that frequent genital manipulation is required if you are to counter the effects of excessive libido. You young ladies require expert tuition." The women gasped as his stiff, perfectly straight and mouth-wateringly large cock was revealed. "If you're not prepared to address the problem them I will need to administer appropriate treatment," he added as he sat back down on his chair. "Remove your knickers," he told the women. They swiftly complied and held their skirts up putting their crotches on display. Samantha had a fine blonde bush whilst Rachel was golden ginger. "Straddle my lap and make yourself comfortable," he told Samantha. Samantha obeyed and gasped as his cock slid smoothly into her. Whist she was a virgin, she enjoyed horse riding and her hymen had been torn years previously. She sighed as she sat on Randolph's thighs, feeling his proud member pushing against her cervix. "Are you sitting comfortably?" he asked her. She nodded. "Good, then I'll begin treatment." Samantha whimpered as he began his work.