04 February 2008
Lord Likely is Swallowed Whole
May 1st, 1851.
Mr. Harry Flashman and I picked Botter up off the floor, where he was lying, sobbing, in among hundreds of shards of broken glass; and then the three of us dashed off until we were a safe distance away from the Crystal Palace and our three pursuers.
“Bloody hell, I fear I may be getting to old for this excrement,” I puffed, as I disentangled myself form my moping man-servant, at which point I noticed that the wretched urchin had bled upon my finest suit, an act I felt to be entirely discourteous.
“Botter, you have bled all over me!” I shouted. “Look! Look at this! I shall have to get this professionally cleaned, now, you useless cock-end!” To further reiterate my great displeasure, I twatted the blubbering bastard firmly across the head with my cane.
“My God!” roared Flashman. “The little toad has gotten some of his blood on me, as well! You swine!” Flashman cried, booting Botter up the backside.
“Honestly Botter, this is the very height of bad manners, you know!” I said, sternly. “Oh, come man, do stop weeping so. Pull yourself together!”
“I…I’m sorry, milords,” Botter whimpered. “I didn’t mean you no disrespect. I’m just too preoccupied at the moment…I…I think Glyn has lost an ear!” Botter held up his tawdry crystal pig which he had purchased earlier, and which was now, indeed, missing an ear.
“Oh, will you forget about your wretched swine, you wretched swine!” I yelled. “I am extremely close to shoving that stupid pig so far up your arse you shall be shitting crystals for a month.”
“Sorry, milord,” Botter murmured, cradling the pig in his arms mournfully.
“So what do we do now, yer lordship?” Flashman inquired. “We can’t show our faces back in the palace again, or else we’ll be tossed in jail.”
“Please, do refrain from putting the words ‘tossed’ and ‘jail’ in quite such close proximity,” I replied, peeking around the corner of the building behind which we had taken refuge. I could plainly see the entrance to the Crystal Palace, now guarded by four rather burly-looking police-men. I pondered upon our predicament awhile, until an idea popped up in my magnificent brain.
“Mr. Flashman,” I said, turning to the captain. “How good are you at play-acting?”
“GOD BLESH THE QUEEEEN, SHE LIKES TO KEEP ‘EM KEEN!
SHE ONLY DOES IT ONCE A YEEEEAR,
AN’ SHHHE TAKESH IT UP THE REEEEEAR!”
This was the awfully ribald singing of Mr. Flashman, as he sauntered up to the entrance of the Crystal Palace, pretending to be completely under the influence of alcohol. While I could not condone his terribly disrespectful lyrics, I did watch his act, whilst safely secluded behind a nearby hedge, with much admiration. The fellow staggered about convincingly, swinging his arms around wildly in a show so believable I almost forget he was pretending. Clearly, Mr. Flashman had some quite considerable experience at adopting a guise.
The act succeeded in completely fooling the police-men, who pounced upon Mr. Flashman with some gusto, demanding he be silent. A tussle ensued as Mr. Flashman tried to resist arrest, at which point I snuck back into the palace while the officers were otherwise preoccupied.
Once back inside, my first point of call was to re-examine the crime-scene, to see if I could find any clues as to who stole the Koh-i-Noor Diamond. I examined the display, where the fake diamond was still on show, but could not find so much as a hint regarding this new mystery. I sighed. This was turning out to be a very long and exhausting day.
“Can I help you, sir?” spoke a female voice. I looked up from my investigations to be greeted with the beautiful sight of a gorgeous Indian woman, one of the three beauties who had eluded my grasp earlier that day. I went stiff with delight.
“I am quite certain you can, my dear,” I smiled. “I take it you are with the Indian contingent here at the exhibition to-day?”
“That is correct, sir,” the lady said, nodding gently. “I have come here with my husband, who has helped to set up the display for the diamond.”
“I see, I see,” I said, trying to look thoughtful but in truth my thoughts were elsewhere – in particular they were busily contemplating the woman’s heaving bosom. “So, ahem, you have been here all day, have you?”
“Yes, sir,” the woman smiled, her ruby-red lips parting softly as she did so.
“I see, I see,” I said, while my mind decided to consider the woman’s exquisite curves. “Did you perchance witness anything unusual; say this morning, before the exhibition opened its doors?”
The woman looked furtively about, and then leaned in closer and whispered to me in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
“I did see something a bit unusual, yes!” she hissed, as I took in her intoxicating scent and inviting cleavage.
“What tit…what was it?” I stammered.
“I dare not say, sir, for it is not my place to spread such rumours!”
“Nonsense! You can tell me! I shall make it worth your while…”
The woman seemed to perk up at this. “Really?”
“Really. I trust you are acquainted with the Kama Sutra?…” I grinned mischievously.
“So, what was this unusual event which you bore witness to earlier then, my dear?” I asked again, minutes later.
“Mmmmfffggh, ggggrrffffghh, mmmggggrrrhh,” came the muffled reply, as the Indian beauty busily tended to my tumescent todger with her mouth.
“Honestly, my dear, has no-one ever told you that talking with your mouthful is a most disgusting habit?” I asked.
“Sorry, sir,” the lady replied, withdrawing my Lord Palmerston from within her mouth.
“Luckily for you, I do not hold truck with such antiquated notions of etiquette. Please, proceed.”
“My word, that really is first-rate fellatio, you know. So, as you were saying, my dear?…”
“Mmmmnggggh mmmmrrrggggn, rrr hhhhw rrrt wwwrnnn hhhhrrrvvvvn rrrrn rrrr rrrrmnrr“, the filly continued as she nosily slurped upon my manhood.
“You saw a man hovering around the diamond exhibit?” I repeated, proving to be rather adroit at deciphering the muffled attempts at conversation. “And pray tell, who was this cad?”
“I hnnk rrt wsss rrrrt rrrrntlrrrn rrr rrrrks hrrr rrrr mmmmrrrggggssste,” the lady replied.
“That fellow who works for Her Majesty?” I said. “Do you mean that cad who looks like a rather unpleasant crow? The bounder who has been trying to arrest me all day?”
“Well, he was probably just checking over the display, to make sure it was all ship-shape for Her Majesty to visit,” I reasoned.
“Rrrs, rrrrt mmmg rrrskd rrrrrf he cuud mayyyyk rrrr rrrryyymmnn orrrrf phrrrr crrrrngn. RRRRT mmmms grrrrrn fffrrrrr arrrn hurrrr.“
“Well, bugger me!” I said. “That’s not an instruction, by the way, madam. You carry on with what you’re doing. He took the diamond off to be cleaned, you say? And it was gone for an hour? That is most interesting, most interesting indeed! Thank you my dear!” I added, as I finally shot my lordly load into the back of the female’s throat. “I think you may well have set me on the trail of the culprit. I am much obliged to you!”
“My pleasure, sir,” said the delightful creature, as she daintily dabbed at her chin with a handkerchief.
“No, no, the pleasure was all mine,” I winked, doffing my hat. “Now, if you shall excuse me, I must away, for I must apprehend this scandalous cur!”
“Are you sure there shall be nothing more?” the Indian beauty asked. I stopped and turned around, stroking my magnificent moustache.
“Well, I should like to offer you a very generous tip,” I beamed, “but you have already had one firmly lodged between your lips.”
The woman smiled weakly, but was clearly crestfallen. I could not blame her, really. A mere taste of my wondrous self is never really enough, after all.
“Well,” I said, removing my coat. “It would be rude not to explore the rest of the Kama Sutra together, would it not? Besides which, I have a few additions to that fine tome I have been meaning to try out. Have you ever tried the Slippery Eel, or the Harlot’s Spinning Top, I wonder?…”
- Lord Likely.
Lord Likely’s Thought for the Day: In a bid to encourage greater discourse amongst his loyal readers, his lordship has decided to pose a question to one and all, which may be discussed in the comments section of his journals. Today’s poser is as follows:
Which is your preferred sexual position? The Lewd Butler? The Saucy Raincoat? The Australian Sheep-Dip? Share your preference with his lordship, in the comments section below.
In Memoriam: This adventure is written in tribute to George MacDonald Fraser, the author of the Flashman books who died recently, aged 82. It is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights, but simply to pay homage to Fraser’s excellent work as a writer.
For more about Fraser and Flashman, read Mr. Andy Fanton’s article ‘Flash Men and Likely Lords‘.
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