Trask's tale, continued

Det: Clara Hughes, daughter of Samuel Hughes, currently studying Sometics under the tutilage of Professor Emeritus Wayland P. Singh, Cambridge University. No need to repeat your previous run ins with these two. Somehow, all your stories line up and you are damned lucky her father wasn't more displeased. 'Rilla Nectar possession is illegal now, you know.

Trask: Well, good thing he didn't then, isn't it? Now listen, I'm going to tell this to you straight: I really didn't do nothing that wasn't wanted with that little jezebel. She set this all up, somehow. So I go into the Aetherworks, expecting to find that mudblood tinkering with something and warn him that Miss Vandermeer was suffering from hysteria, dangerous, and armed, and needed to be apprehended.

"Miss" Hughes is there instead, dressed like a whore. She told me the girl was upstairs, and that she had to sedate her. I was relieved that, even despite our colorful history together, she was willing to help me. Hell, the little slut even gave me back my, well, Lisette's pistol. What I didn't know, was that she still felt an ache for me that just hadn't been resolved yet. Having been traumatized by the days events, I didn't catch her little cues at first. She wasn't wearing a petticoat, just a corset and a loose white shirt that fell open to show me her bubbies when she leaned forward. She was even wearing riding boots like the Spankers do.

Now, you've seen Miss Hughes. You mean to tell me that you'd have passed up on that? She started telling me how much she regretted not being able to fulfill her infernal desires for me during our last encounter, the nectar notwithstanding. So, I step forward as she is leaning against her worktable. I put my hands around her waist, and push her up so she is sitting on it before getting that corset off in record time. Man, her tits are nice. Too bad they are attached to a lying hussy! Anyway, she's all wrapping her arms around my neck as I'm working her skirt up when she shakes her head no, and says that she doesn't want to make love, she wants to get fucked.

Now, part of me should have been wondering why two lovely ladies would make the same demand of me in the same day, but when a girl as gorgeous as that hops off the table and pulls her skirts up, you just aren't thinking with right head. So, I take my position behind her and she looks over her shoulder with a wicked grin. "Not there." she says, her hand around my manhood, and guides it up away from her cunny.

She whimpered as I started to work my pink sausage into her bum. It was so tight, I ended up having to have her suck it for a bit, you know; get some lubrication. She was all writhing and swiveling her hips, working herself onto it as I pushed forward. Let me tell you, I've had my prick in a lot of bums, but the sight of her perfect ass swallowing me is almost worth all this hassle. I reached around and started pulling on her nipples with one hand, and pushed her down to the table with the other. I held her by the back of the neck, crushing that nice tits against the splintery wood, and drove it so far into her that I was jumbling up her breakfast.

Now, I don't know how many lasses you've taken up the Greek road, but let me tell you they all appreciate a good spanking to go along with it. So while I'm starting to pick up my pace, I began smacking that nice, round ass of hers. She didn't say much, just took it again and again with a mouth hung open in a silent moan. Her whole body was quivering as I fucked her. Now, for a woman who likes that, they like a little bit of dirty talk to go with it. Nothing too bad, just enough to get em in a real dirty mood. So I was saying stuff like "Take it! Take is like you did last time!" She perked up at that.

"What do you mean like last time?" I she asked, unable to lift her head on account of me holding the back of her neck. I'm just hammering away at her, my mind on the sensations. God, those riding boots were nice on her.

"What, like last time, you know. Though I must say this is a bit easier without Singh watching us." I could feel her tensing up. I think she might have been about to cum, if that theory is true that women can have orgasms. So I keep fucking, really going to town on her perfect bum, smacking it, really mashing her face into the table like she wanted, and refreshing her memory.

"You was all hot and bothered, and Singh had already popped you. I came back with your father, but it was already too late. He had you tied up with some contraption doing a number on you, blindfolded and gagged. Singh and your pops exchanged money, and for my part in it, I got to take your darriere for quite a rowdy round of snake-in-a-cave while they watched. Don't tell me is the first time you've heard of The Naive Apprentice? Oldest game in the book."

Sensing she was about to raise objection, I pulled her wrists behind her back. I wasn't about to have churned all this batter in my balls all day without putting it in the oven. I pull out of her bum, and slide it home in, what I would like the record to show, an incredibly wet cunt. She moaned loudly between the whimpers as I took her hard from behind. So it was then, when she was all "stop! no!" and I about to unload in her when that curry eater shows up. I'm all hunched over, shooting my reserves into her as she is writhing and squirming. At this point, I'm blind and deaf to the world. I'm just fucking the cum out of her, sending it oozing onto her legs, dripping down those nice boots, making little puddles on the table and the floor, when just like that, I'm out cold. I have no idea what he hit me with, but I'm a right tough bastard and he dropped me with one blow.

Det: So you and Ms Hughes have had relations in the past?

Trask: What? No. I just said that to get her riled up and frisky. Singh doesn't need anyone else's money. You know who his mother is?

Det: Ahh. Alright. So it wasn't a mid-coitus ravishing, just a bit of dirty talk to spice things up.

Trask: Yep. That's it.

Det: Mr Trask, your family ties notwithstanding, you are in what the Americans would call "a world of shit." Once Miss Vandermeer is able to give an official statement, we'll proceed on whether to file formal charges. If you insist on filing charges against Miss Vandermeer and Mr Singh, you'll need to stay in town. If, on the other hand, you choose not to involve not one, but THREE of the most influencial families on this continent in a very shameful and degrading interrogation process that will no doubt lead to a very public and scandalous trial, you would be free to move about until statements have been collected and presented to the Constable. In the meantime, I strongly suggest you retain legal council, perhaps from New Calcutta. In fact, a train is leaving tonight. Do I even have to tell you that you should be on it?

Trask: (did not say anything, but nodded in acknowledgement)

Detective's notes: This is biggest pile of rubbish I've ever heard. The pistol was purchased from Thomas Galipatra, a known fence and smuggler, who admitted to the sale in exchange for leniency for a gambling charge. Miss Hughes even produced a Cinematon recording that she wisely chose to make to document her side of the story. While the events displayed on it were taken from the balcony and do not show her face during the initial encounter, they are clearly on display when he turns her around, and are not the expressions of passion, but rather of disgust.

I've worked more complex cases in the past that turned out to be one of these "Gambits" that the well-to-do seem so obsessed with. One involved an unwed young woman, a highwayman, a servant boy, and a Rajah-dog that, upon investigation, was an elaborate ruse by the woman's father. The highwayman informed me that they brag about how outlandish of a scenario they can come up with. For all our sakes, let us pray that THAT isn't true.