Indecent: 15 Erotic Victorian Romance Story Box Set

by Lucy Wild

  ” ‘Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,’ said I.

  ” ‘Oh, never mind about that, Miss. Wilson!’ said Vincent Spunking. ‘I should be able to look after that for you.’

  ” ‘What would be the hours?’ I asked.

  ” ‘Ten to two.’

  “Now a porn business is mostly done of an evening, Miss. Homes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just after pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see to anything that turned up.

  ” ‘That would suit me very well,’ said I. ‘And the pay?’

  ” ‘Is 4 pounds a week.’

  ” ‘And the work?’

  ” ‘Is purely nominal.’

  ” ‘What do you call purely nominal?’

  ” ‘Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the whole time whilst masturbating throughout. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You don’t comply with the conditions if you stop touching yourself or move from the office during that time.’

  ” ‘It’s only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,’ said I.

  ” ‘No excuse will avail,’ said Mrs. Doris Ross; ‘neither sickness nor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your billet.’

  ” ‘And the work?’

  ” ‘Is to fuck yourself with a length of wax candle whilst copying from the Erotica Britannica. There is the first volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink. pens, and blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be ready tomorrow?’

  ” ‘Certainly,’ I answered.

  ” ‘Then, goodbye, Miss. Jane Wilson, and let me congratulate you once more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to gain.’ She bowed me out of the room and I went home with my assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good fortune.

  “Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as masturbating whilst copying out the Erotica Britannica. Vincent Spunking did what he could to cheer me up, licking my pussy until I came countless times, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for Pope’s Court.

  “Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Miss. Doris Ross was there to see that I got fairly to work. She started me off upon the letter A, using her hand to arouse me whilst kissing my neck. Once she saw I was thoroughly wet between the legs, she then he left me; but she would drop in from time to time to see that all was right with me, watching as I fucked myself with my hand, taking my time as I knew if I reached orgasm too soon, I might lose interest in continuing this endeavour. At two o’clock she bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount of climaxes I’d achieved and the amount that I had written, and locked the door of the office after me.

  “This went on day after day, Miss. Homes, and on Saturday the manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week’s work. It was the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Miss. Doris Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a time, she did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk the loss of it.

  “Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots and Anal and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and come over and over again and hoped with diligence that I might get on to the B’s before very long. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the whole business came to an end.”

  “To an end?”

  “Yes, miss. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual at ten o’clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of card-board hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself.”

  He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheet of notepaper. It read in this fashion:

  THE RED-PUBED LEAGUE

  IS

  DISSOLVED.

  October 9, 1890.

  Shelly Homes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter.

  “I cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried our client, flushing down to the roots of her flaming pubes. “If you can do nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.”

  “No, no,” cried Homes, shoving her back into the chair from which she had half risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your case for the world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the door?”

  “I was staggered, miss. I did not know what to do. Then I called at the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of the Red-pubed League. He said that he had never heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Miss. Doris Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him.

  ” ‘Well,’ said I, ‘the gentleman at No. 4.’

  ” ‘What, the red-pubed woman?’

  ” ‘Yes.’

  ” ‘Oh,’ said he, her name was Wilma Morris. She was a solicitor and was using my room as a temporary convenience until her new premises were ready. She moved out yesterday.’

  ” ‘Where could I find her?’

  ” ‘Oh, at her new offices. She did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King Edward Street, near St. Paul’s.’

  “I started off, Miss. Homes, but when I got to that address it was a manufactory of artificial members, and no one in it had ever heard of either Miss. Wilma Morris or Miss. Doris Ross.”

  “And what did you do then?” asked Homes.

  “I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough, Mr. Homes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right away to you.”

  “And you did very wisely,” said Homes. “Your case is an exceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you have told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from it than might at first sight appear.”

  “Grave enough!” said Miss. Jane Wilson. “Why, I have lost four pound a week.”

  “As far as you are personally concerned,” remarked Homes, “I do not see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some 30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them.”

  “No, miss. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and what their object was in playing this prank — if it was a prank — upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and thirty pounds.”

  “We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first, one or two questions, Miss. Wilson
. This assistant of yours who first called your attention to the advertisement — how long had he been with you?”

  “About a month then.”

  “How did he come?”

  “In answer to an advertisement.”

  “Was he the only applicant?”

  “No, I had a dozen.”

  “Why did you pick him?”

  “Because he was handy and would come in me cheap.”

  “At half-wages, in fact.”

  “Yes.”

  “What is he like, this Vincent Spunking?”

  “Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, though he’s not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his forehead.”

  Homes sat up in her chair in considerable excitement. “I thought as much,” said she. “Have you ever observed that his cock is pierced for metalwork?”

  “Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when he was a lad.”

  “Hum!” said Homes, sinking back in deep thought. “He is still with you?”

  “Oh, yes, miss; I have only just left him.”

  “And has your business been attended to in your absence?”

  “Nothing to complain of, miss. There’s never very much to do of a morning.”

  “That will do, Miss. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.”

  “Well, Watson,” said Homes when our visitor had left us, “what do you make of it all and would you like to fuck me?”

  “I make nothing of it,” I answered frankly. “It is a most mysterious business and yes, yes I would.”

  “She stood up and descended on me, planting soft kisses on my lips as her hands wrapped round me. We fell back together onto the floor and then she tugged at my trousers until they were around my ankles, bringing her mouth to my cock and sucking on it until it was as stiff as could be imagined. At this point she moved up me and grabbed my shaft, guiding it into her pussy and beginning to rock back and forth above me. I stared up at my cock vanishing into her wetness as she balanced above me and the sensation of pleasure was so strong I lasted no more than a minute before groaning with desire and spunking deep inside her.

  She brought herself to orgasm with her hand as I shot more cum into her before she finally stepped off me and resumed her seat, a dribble of my cum leaking from her pussy as she addressed me once more.

  “As a rule,” said Homes, “the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter.”

  “What are you going to do, then?” I asked.

  “To fuck myself,” she answered. “It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg that you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” She curled herself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to her hawk-like nose, and there he sat with her eyes closed and her black clay pipe thrusting into her arse like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion that she had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when she moved the pipe to her pussy and continued her thoughts. At last she took it into her mouth and tasted her own juices before she suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a woman who has made up her mind and put her pipe down upon the mantelpiece.

  “Sappho plays are on at the St. James’s Hall this afternoon,” she remarked. “What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few hours?”

  “I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing.”

  “Then put on your hat and come in me one last time. I am going through the City after, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good deal of German lesbians on the programme, which is rather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is introspective the way they fuck, and I want to introspect. Come along!”

  We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky, little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Two gilt balls and a brass cock and a brown board with “JANE WILSON” in white letters, upon a corner house, announced the place where our red-headed client carried on her business. Shelly Homes stopped in front of it with her head on one side and looked it all over, with her eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. Then she walked slowly up the street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally she returned to the porn shop, and, having thumped vigorously upon the pavement with her stick two or three times, she went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked her to step in.

  “Thank you,” said Homes, “I only wished to ask you how you would go from here to the Strand.”

  “Third right, fourth left,” answered the assistant promptly, closing the door.

  “Smart fellow, that,” observed Homes as we walked away. “He is, in my judgment. the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of him before.”

  “Evidently,” said I, “Miss. Wilson’s assistant counts for a good deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired your way merely in order that you might see him.”

  “Not him.”

  “What then?”

  “The crotch and knees of his trousers.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “What I expected to see.”

  “Why did you beat the pavement?”

  “My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are spies in an enemy’s country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.”

  The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business premises that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square which we had just quitted.

  “Let me see,” said Homes, standing at the corner and glancing along the line, “I should like just to remember the order of the houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There is Mortimer’s, the dildoist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Wanker’s Restaurant, and McFarlane’s sex doll-building depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now, Doctor, we’ve done our work, so it’s time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to lesbian-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-pubed clients to vex us with their conundrums.”

  My friend was an enthusiastic lesbian, being herself not only a very capable performer but a director of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon she sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the fucking, while her gently smiling face and her languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Homes, the fuck-hound, Homes the relentless, keen-witted, big boobed, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In her singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and her extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated in her. The swing of his nature took her
from extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, she was never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, she had been lounging in her armchair amid her improvisations and her black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the fuck would suddenly come upon her, and that her brilliant screwing power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with her methods would look askance at her as on a woman whose sexual prowess was not that of other mortals. When I saw her that afternoon so enwrapped in the sex at St. James’s Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom she had set himself to hunt down.

  “You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor,” she remarked as we emerged.

  “Yes, it would be as well.”

  “And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This business at Coburg Square is serious.”

  “Why serious?”

  “A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help tonight.”

  “At what time?”

  “Ten will be early enough.”

  “I shall be at Baker Street at ten.”

  “Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so kindly put your army dildo in your pocket.” She waved her hand, turned on her heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.

  I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with Shelly Homes. Here I had heard what she had heard, I had seen what she had seen, and yet from her words it was evident that she saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-pubed copier of the Erotica down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which she had parted from me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from Homes that this smooth-faced porn shop assistant was a formidable man — a man who might play a deepthroat game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside until night should bring an explanation.