17 April 2008
Getting to Grips with Her Ladyship
April, 1857.
“Your ladyship, I have decided I would like to commence my investigations by seeing the body,” I remarked, as I leaned casually against the banister of the stairs.
“Well, good,” replied Lady Rydeham-Harde. “At last, some progress.”
“Of course, when I say ‘the body’, I mean ‘your body’. And when I say ‘seeing’ I mean ‘pumping.’ To whit, I wish to ravish you, your ladyship.”
Lady Rydeham-Harde’s face dropped in astonishment, and then before I knew it she lunged forward and slapped me hard across the face.
“Please, m’dear, surely we should adjourn to the bedroom before we commence the rough stuff?” I said, rubbing the side of my face.
“The very impertinence! Just who do you think you are?” she screamed.
“I am Lord Likely,” I replied casually.
“Well, Mr. Likely, I don’t know if making lewd advances towards recently bereaved women is part and parcel of your investigatory technique, but I for one shall not abide it! The very idea, sir! For shame! Just you wait until my husband hears about this outrage…”
I sighed. It seemed that this filly would be particularly difficult to tame.
“What is all the fuss, dearest?” came a voice from up the stairs.
“Hubert!” cried Lady Rydeham-Harde. “Oh, my dear Hubert!”
I looked up to see a small, bald man, wearing thin, round horn-rimmed spectacles standing at the top of the stairs. If a hamster was to ever start wearing suits, then it would be indistinguishable from the gentleman currently descending the stair-case. To say he was meek would be an understatement, akin to claiming that The Black Death was just a slight flu.
“What ails you, dearest?” said Lord Rydeham-Harde, as he joined his wife at her side.
“This…this awful man, Hubert! He made some particularly filthy remarks about me! Horrible, dirty, depraved remarks!”
“Oh dear,” said Hubert. “What a shame.”
“Is…is that all you have to say? Hubert, this man made untoward advances towards your wife, and all you can say is ‘what a shame?’ Are you not even going to attempt to defend my honour?” yelled Lady Rydeham-Harde.
“Um, well, he is considerably taller than me, dearest,” replied Hubert, nervously readjusting his spectacles upon his nose.
“HUBERT! I thought you were going to be more of a man from now on!”
“Well, I…I am trying, my dear. I…I am still taking the medicine…”
As a full-blown argument broke out between the Lord and Lady of the house, Inspector Spunkleford, Botter and I decided to leave the quarreling couple to it, and ventured back outside.
“Confound it, Likely!” barked Spunkleford as we stepped out into the cool night air. “Your damned libido has nearly ruined our investigation before it has even begun! We shall have to work doubly hard to find any favour with the Rydeham-Harde’s now.”
“I do not apologise for being a man, with a man’s appetites,” I replied haughtily.
“Hmph,” snorted Spunkleford. “Well, at any rate we shall have to begin the investigation with due haste. Come, let us go and visit the crime-scene, and see what clues the poor maid’s body may offer us.”
“But of course,” I said. “But maybe first I should go and quickly tend to my Lord Palmerston. My brief physical interaction with her ladyship has left me harder than a concrete dildo.”
“She slapped you, Likely,” Spunkleford reminded me.
“Indeed. And powerfully arousing it was too!”
“Damn it, Likely, I shall not let you delay us any further! We are going to the scene of the crime right now, you hear? RIGHT NOW!”
“Not even time for a brief hand-shandy?” I offered, but Spunkleford’s furious glare made me reconsider, and so we departed to view the body of the recently-deceased maid.
“Oh, it is terrible. Awful. Horrendous,” I wailed, dabbing at my eyes with a handkerchief, as I beheld the horribly mutilated form of the Rydeham-Harde’s murdered maid. Despite the fact that she had been horrifically savaged by a creature or creatures unknown, despite the on-set of decay, and despite the family of worms which had taken up residence in one of her eye sockets, I could still see what a stunning young lady she must have been in life.
“I know, Likely. Such a senseless waste of a human life,” Spunkleford replied, patting me gently on the back. “Be strong, old man, be strong.”
“It’s a shocking waste of a perfectly pumpable vagina,” I nodded, sadly. “Here I am, with a raging hard-on, a beautiful girl laying in front of me, and I am powerless to act upon my desires. If only I had cracked one out before we got here, then – “
“Ah, good! I see you are dabbling in detective work now!” spoke somebody behind us. It was Lady Rydeham-Harde, who regarded me like one might regard a piece of excrement found in one’s caviar. “I suppose there is a first time for everything.”
“Your ladyship, a pleasure to see you again,” I smiled. “My offer is still open, you know.”
“And my legs are most definitely not,” sniffed Lady Rydeham-Harde dismissively.
“So, your ladyship,” Spunkleford said, trying to diffuse a repeat performance of our earlier conflagration. “Tell me, who discovered the body?”
“It was my gardener, Grimes. He was tending to the lawn early on Saturday, when he stumbled upon my poor maid’s body. I think it must have been a…” Lady Rydeham-Harde trailed off. “Mr. Likely, what on Earth is that in your pocket?”
“Hmm?” I said absently, before realising that her ladyship was referring to my aroused member, which had created a rather impressive tent in my trousers.
I had to think fast. I did not want to create further conflict with her ladyship by revealing that I was in possession of a thundering, great love-rocket whilst in the vicinity of her dead maid, but then again maybe her ladyship would be so impressed by the size of my excitement, that she would quickly offer me upstairs for a spot of ‘how’s your father’.
Oh, what a sticky situation I now found myself in!
- Lord Likely.
- His throbbing erection.
- His pistol.
- A Bust of Queen Victoria.
- Nothing, it is just a trick of the light.
- Something else (enter your own suggestion!)
What Should His Lordship Say Is In His Pocket?
( polls)
This time, we have even left you the option of entering your own suggestion, so if you can think of a better course of action, do not be afraid to speak up, and thrust it proudly in the thin, black box above!
You have until 21:00 hours PM(GMT) on Saturday the Nineteenth of April to cast your vote.
POLL UPDATE! Due to an extremely tiring day lounging around and quaffing glass after glass of champagne, I will not be updating my journal until Sunday night. As such, the poll has been extended until 16:00 hours pm (GMT) on Sunday the Twentieth of April. So there is still time to cast your vote, dear readers – time you would be wise to employ RIGHT NOW!
As an added incentive, one randomly-selected winning voter will be rewarded with a gratuitous link to their web-page in the next thrilling installment. But please note – we shall only be able to award said prize if you let us know which action you chose!
The last randomly-selected winner, who has thus earnt a free hyper-link placement upon his lordship’s journals, is…
Congratulations to you, m’dear!
Now choose wisely, dear readers…his lordship is in YOUR HANDS now.
Gloria Fidelis | Offbeat Chronicles | Austin Girl
Fatal Hilarity | Diary of Fools
Other places of interest:
Digital Sickbag | New! gaup
The Carrotty Kid
The Best Bit of the Internet (R.I.P)
The Clay Pigeon
