The Surrey Antiquarian and Historical Society takes great pleasure in announcing a forthcoming lecture on the reading of basic ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic texts by eminent local archaeologist and Egyptologist Sir Roderick Winky-Dadswell. The lecture will take place on Sunday, November 1st at 3 pm in the town hall of Abbess-Saint-Adair. Admittance is by donation with all proceeds going to the London War Relief Fund. Sir Roderick will be assisted by his daughter Miranda. Tea and light refreshments will be provided at 4 pm courtesy of Lady Adeline Winky-Dadswell. Please be punctual as Sir Roderick's previous lectures have all been standing-room only.
- The Surrey Herald. Friday, October 23rd, 1942.
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At approximately 10 pm on the night of Tuesday, December 29th, Miranda Winky-Dadswell sat at her opulent English Regency desk with a manilla folder open in front of her. Moments before, she had lit a candle and donned her nightgown. From the folder, she took a newspaper cutting and looked at it intently. Over the last few weeks, she had read this same article numerous times, so its contents were well known to her. But she read it again and she smiled sweetly when she came to the final thirteen words. These, she now whispered to herself,
“He is at large and must therefore be considered armed and extremely dangerous.”
Then she added, “Disarming and extremely gorgeous more like it.”
“Miranda, put that light out now!”
“Yes, Mummy.”
Miranda frowned as she heard her mother's harsh voice from the other side of her heavy oak door. She quickly folded the newspaper clipping, slid it back into the folder, and put the folder into one of the desk's drawers which she then locked. She sprang up from her desk and moved the candle to the floor right by her full-length mirror. She looked at herself in that mirror and twirled around slowly.
She had celebrated her twenty-first birthday only the month before when she had started wearing her long honey-blonde hair in wavy, flowing locks. She was tall and slim with apple-sized breasts crowned by rose-bud nipples. These she now admired under the fine muslin nightgown. Having earlier dispensed with her stockings and underwear, she imagined herself as some beautiful ancient Celtic warrior queen or a ravishing concubine in some Turkish seraglio. She twirled around again, faster this time, giggling as she did so. The night was cold, clear, and still; a full moon shone outside her window overlooking the fine gardens and grounds of Winky-Dadswell Manor upon which her parents lavished great care.
Miranda now stepped closer to the mirror and regarded her face in it. At this hour she wore no make-up but her large, luminous blue eyes and arched brows made her face noble and beautiful as did her full lips and pointed chin. She tested her breath and decided that brushing her teeth would be a good idea but then she heard the faintest of scratches at the door. Quickly donning a dressing gown, she picked up the candlestick and set it on a nearby shelf then quietly opened the door. In the dark corridor beyond she saw the pleasantly smiling face of Nina the maid. Nina carried a pitcher of steaming hot water, a heavy cotton towel, and a large sea sponge.
“'Ere ya' ar' Miss Miranda,” Nina whispered loudly while glancing back down the corridor.
“Oh Nina you're a saint! Now remember, not a word about this to anyone.”
“So ya' keeps tellin' me, Miss Miranda. Whatever it might be, your secrets is safe with me.”
Miranda took the items from Nina and bade her goodnight. Once the door was shut, she placed them by the wall next to the fireplace and stood back. Shedding her dressing gown, she looked up at an old oil painting that hung at eye level before her. Reputedly by the great English painter William Dobson, it depicted one of her ancestors; a handsome 17th-century woman playing a beautifully decorated lute. Around the lute's rosette, in what must have originally been minute letters of inlaid mother-of-pearl, were the words,
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
These lines, from a poem by John Donne, had, over the last four weeks become her source of strength and inspiration. Reading them again now as she took a deep breath she whispered,
“Aye, and love knows not the season of war...”
She then reached up and just below the frame of the painting, she touched a tiny knot in the dark oak panelling. Almost instantly, a section of the panelling by her feet opened with an almost inaudible click. She dropped to her knees and pushed the panel back. The space beyond was black and the passage only reached to a little height above her head. She crawled into it, turning to haul the water, towel, and sponge in after her. Thankfully she only had a few feet to go, along cold slate paving stones, before she could stand. The narrow passage led to a heavy door; almost identical to the one that led to her room. She smiled as she saw a ray of candlelight shining through the keyhole.
Now she rapped three times on the centuries-old wood with her knuckle and, almost immediately, she heard the low, slow shriek of iron sliding against iron. A final, echoing thud told her that the door was open and she carefully pulled on it, putting all her weight on the four-hundred-year-old hinges. Once inside, the pitcher and towel were silently taken from her by a tall, slim young man with unruly blonde hair. He sported a significant growth of blonde stubble on his cheeks and chin, but his high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes were evident even by the light of the single candle that illuminated the tiny room.
He stood back after placing the pitcher and towel down on what was a makeshift bed; composed mainly of a layer of assorted items of clothing on a 'mattress' of old, leather-bound books. Miranda looked up at him longingly and her eyes travelled down his naked, muscular torso to the thick, white cotton cord that held up his trousers. She looked him in the eye and pointed down at the cord, whereupon he immediately untied it. Being several sizes too big for him, the trousers fell immediately to the floor causing Miranda to grin. He kicked them to one side and looked at her. She then bit the inside of her lip as she gazed at what was revealed.
The young man threw his head back playfully and casually swung his hips to one side, placing his weight on one leg. This caused Miranda to catch her breath for, surely, standing before her in the magical candlelight was not an ordinary mortal man but a vision of some lost statue from antiquity; some unknown masterpiece by the hand of Praxiteles or Polykleitos. She had often looked through her father's many books on ancient Greek sculpture, even sketching some of the more notable pieces from his collection. But the form that now stood before her surpassed them all in beauty and sublimity, and unlike the cold, dead, bronze, and marble of the 5th century BC, this was a real man.
He now parted his legs as Miranda reached in her nightgown pocket for the tiny cake of soap that she had stolen from the storeroom downstairs. She dipped the sponge in the water and proceeded to lather the soap. Once she had done so, she took hold of his generously proportioned cock and swung it up towards his chiselled abdominals. holding it in place there. Below it hung his fleshy, loose balls whose behaviour continued to fascinate her although, in the weeks since they had first met, she had become intimately acquainted with every aspect of the male anatomy. She soaped and cleaned them and then concentrated on the peritoneal area behind them. Finally, she returned her attention to his cock. He had a loose, long foreskin which she delighted in flicking back and forth while pumping his shaft and feeling it rapidly harden under her hand. She cleaned under his foreskin and then looked up at him to be met with an approving smile.
Now she turned him around and sponged his ass, his compact muscular buttocks, and his inner thighs. All the while, she imagined herself as a beautiful slave captured by a handsome Roman general from some conquered Celtic tribe. She was his chattel, his possession; more than eager and willing to obey his every command and fulfil his every desire. She bit her lip as the mere thought of this sent tingles of sensation down to moisten her pussy. Once she was satisfied with her work, she ran her long-nailed fingers several times through his blonde pubic hair then sent them snaking down his thighs to make him shiver.
She was about to do it again when strong hands seized her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. He crushed her lips with his as his hands firmly entwined her waist. Pressing hard against his nude body, she began to feel his cock harden and she squeezed herself against it. Now his tongue parted her teeth and began wrestling with her own. Until meeting him, Miranda had never experienced anything like this before and she found herself drooling at the sheer sensual delight of it. With her pussy tingling, she reached down and found her lover's cock; by now in a semi-erect state. She sighed deeply and slowly slipped her tongue and lips from his mouth.
Falling to her knees, she looked up to see his smiling angelic face, but by now she knew that he was far from being an angel. She started pumping his shaft and once again, marvelled at just how rapidly he grew hard under her relatively inexperienced hand. The head nodded in front of her face; almost begging her to open her mouth but she slid his foreskin back and forth instead, slowly teasing the entire shaft to become harder and harder. The cock's owner was quite happy to let her do this and she continued, ramping up her speed and tightening her grip on his flesh. Soon she could hear him breathing deeper and she felt his balls contract. It was time to slow down and put the cock in her mouth.
As she did so, she heard him sigh and at that instant, she couldn't help imagining some of the anguish and fear that he must have felt in the years, months, days, and even hours before they had met. These thoughts made her even more eager to give him pleasure and she recalled the gentle, almost embarrassed way that he had instructed her in the intoxicating days after she had first seduced him. His cock was a divine pleasure to her. She loved everything about it and rapidly found herself lost in the sheer delight of sliding its thick hard head over her tongue, across the inside of her cheeks, and especially over the roof of her mouth.
She gripped the base of his shaft firmly the entire time, pumping it regularly and ensuring that she did not neglect his fleshy balls; those two orbs that had become her favourite toys. She sucked and licked, varying the pressure and speed of her mouth and bobbing her head. Soon her confidence had grown to the point where she plunged his shaft into her throat; just for an instant at first, to gauge her gag response, then over and over again until she found her nose making contact with the blonde pubic hair of his loins.
She took pride in the achievement, it made her feel primal and transcendent; like she was beginning to tap into the ancient lore of love-making as had been practised by the courtesans of Alexandria and the famed hetaerae of ancient Athens. She licked and sucked harder and faster until, again, her efforts were reined in. He drew his cock reluctantly from her mouth, relishing the slurping sound it made as Miranda tried instinctively to keep it there. He smiled as he pretended to wipe some of the drool from her chin then he pushed her gently down onto her back.
The 'mattress' of old books was surprisingly comfortable and once she had settled there, she looked down to see him grinning slyly from between her legs. She immediately spread them further apart and arched her back. She threw back her cascades of golden hair and gasped as she felt strong, supple fingers parting the petals of her pussy. Soon his lips and tongue had entered her sacred grove and she immediately thrilled to the rays of sensation that began to pulse through her body.
Lust, she thought, why is lust a deadly sin when it is so, so wonderful? Surely it is a blessing, a meditation, and amongst the sweetest of Nature's gifts...
But any further thoughts were lost in the indescribable torrent of pleasure that her lover now granted her. His mouth cleft her throbbing, dripping pussy like a velvet glove inside which was a hand of skillful fingers. They played her body like a violin; her clit became the focus of a symphony of sensation that built and built; racing rapidly towards a thundering crescendo. But discretion and caution were never far from her lover's mind, even in the white heat of passion, he found time to make her bite on a piece of rolled cloth that he had prepared for just this situation.
Miranda was already familiar with it and gratefully accepted it between her teeth. Once it was in place, the sweet assault on her pussy resumed and soon she found herself digging her fingers into her paramour's hair and pressing his head against her yearning cunt. In her delirium, she recalled the look on his face when she had first used the words; cock, cunt, slut, and, fuck. He had been surprised that a lady of her breeding and station in society should know such words. Her response had been to shrug her shoulders and say,
“They're all in the Oxford English Dictionary.”
Now, in a wave of almost blinding pleasure, Miranda came. Orgasm was by far the most beautiful experience that she could have ever conceived and in her heart, she kept a secret note of each of its occurrences, rating each one better, stronger, and more delicious than the last. Tonight's was no exception and she laughed, still with the rolled cloth in her mouth, as her lover slid his magnificent glistening body up against hers on the mattress of ancient tomes. They embraced tenderly and passed their palms over every inch of smooth, naked flesh that was in reach.
Long, delightful moments passed until, inevitably, her hand found its way down to his cock. Grasping it firmly, she smiled as it responded instantly. Its owner thrust his hips into her hand and in no time at all she held a thick, hard cable of perfect flesh. Now she pulled him gently but with obvious intent towards her pussy; running her hand from the soft golden mane of hair which crowned one end of his magnificent cock to its hard, glassy head. He sighed and growled softly then she felt his weight descend upon her, pinning her shoulders against his strong arms and laying his hips gently between her thighs.
“What a noble gentleman you are my darling,” she whispered as she arched her back and guided his cock into her.
Usually, he was gentle with her, but this time she lifted her legs and wrapped them snugly around his hips. Then she whispered,
“Fuck me hard, like the shameless slut that I am!”
She heard him chuckle softly before he became a machine of rippling muscle; driving his cock deeper and deeper into her learning cunt. She looked deep into his limpid blue eyes and saw the very definition of desire writ there. Her hands caressed his sides and drew him down upon her to quiet giggles, gasps, and sighs. But he hadn't forgotten her instructions, so as she grew wetter and wetter, he increased the power and speed of his thrusts. With each one, her legs tightened around his hips; turning them both into one fluid force of flesh. Delight, lust, and longing merged into a perfect synthesis and soon Miranda found herself with the roll of cloth back in her mouth.
She arched her back to meet his every thrust and tensed with every stroke; digging her nails into the granite muscle of his shoulders. Whatever pain she might have caused him simply added piquancy to his task and he responded with suppressed groans and half whispered words. Slapping against her ass-cheeks, his balls added a delicious percussion to the duet of carnal delight that was by now their well-practised repertoire.
Slow and hard, as though by the strokes of an imagined clock, second by second, he tapped her velvet depths and she fought the urge to spit the cloth from her mouth and howl, like a she-wolf, with pleasure. She came in a torrent of transcendent images, radiant light, and nameless sensations whose definition totally eluded her. Sweat and the sound of deep breaths finally registered in her mind as it slowly returned to coherence then she saw her lover's eyes; full of sweet caring. He remained deep inside her and steel-hard.
Still incapable of words, she nodded to him urgently and he resumed his thrusts; again achieving a rhythm and power that took her breath away. After several intense minutes, his cock tensed and his hips flexed, she felt his hands instinctively grasp her shoulders tightly and then she imagined a cascade of hot mercury filling the very depths of her body. Twice, three times, four times he pumped his seed into her, and her grateful flesh; wrapped tightly around his shaft, received it all like a rare and costly gift.
For a good hour or more they held each other close, listening to the subtle and secret sounds that the old house made around them; timeless and ancient as it was, Miranda imagined it as a living thing in whose protective heart they dwelt, safe for the moment from the uncertainty and anguish of their future.
Hours later, after her lover had fallen into a sound sleep, Miranda extracted herself from his warm embrace and cautiously moved off the ungainly mattress of old books. She noticed that one of these had been knocked onto the floor by their lovemaking and lay open. Therein, by the rapidly failing candlelight, she read the words of Swinburne.
