Very

“Very grateful,” Set replied, being extremely conscious of the fact that all the brigands gathered by the campfire needed to do was to look in their direction for the both of them to find themselves far up shit creek without anything even vaguely resembling a paddle.

“How very?” Cassandra insisted, offering Set an impish smile that served to remind that her incredible rack, and her husband’s subsequent politely homicidal rage weren’t the only reasons that had made that night in the Egyptian wing so memorable.

“We’d both sleep for a week afterwards,” Set clarified, his cock swelling both from the prospect of getting to fuck Cassandra silly again and from the increased libidinousness of the smile that she was sending his way.

Judging from the speed and the ease with which Cassandra untied his bounds, Set ventured a guess that the busty brunette hadn’t spent all her life in the higher circles of London society.

Moments later, the two of them had slipped off into the darkness, with Set leading the way and Cassandra following close behind as Set did his best to convince himself that sporting wood wasn’t a good excuse for not scanning his surroundings for any potential dangers.

“Right,” Set stopped and said once they had managed to get to a point where there was a healthy distance between the Witherbone encampment and their current position, turning around and pulling Cassandra towards him, giving her just enough time to let out a startled yelp before engaging her in a fiery kiss.

Kissing back, Cassandra wrestled tongues with Set and rubbed herself against him as she felt his cock press against her juicing pussy and his hands roam up and down her body to give off the impression that he didn’t quite know which part of her that he wanted to fondle first.

During a brief lull in their kissing, Cassandra had the chance to produce a lustful giggling at how Set practically tore open her short-sleeved shirt to bare her huge boobs, which he soon had his hands on so that he could rub them together as the two of them resumed their passionate kissing.

Next, Set was made to release a deep sigh due to how Cassandra took a step back and placed her hands against the underside of her ginormous breasts, as though she was offering them up for him to play with.

“You know,” Set deeply regretted what he was about to say, “I’m going to have to take care of Nigel first...”

“Not really, I put something in his evening tea that’s bound to give him ten to twelve hours of good, solid, ****-induced sleep,” Cassandra replied, showing absolutely no regret about having **** her husband, not that Set blamed her for it, “but I suppose that you should do something about his thugs.”

“Yes,” Set grinned back, his heart warming at the thought of Witherbone waking up tomorrow to find himself all alone in the middle of the jungle, with no one around to do his dirty work for him.

“Hmm,” Cassandra let out, and Set felt a pang of dread when she ran her hand over the butt of her holstered pistol, “I could have sworn that you’d try to steal this while we were kissing...”

“And leave you defenseless?” Set was aghast at the implications of what Cassandra was saying. He might be a warped and twisted sort of gentleman, but he was still a gentleman.

“Honey,” Cassandra once more adopted the sort of radiant smile that would have mere mortal men passing out at first sight of it, and widened her stance as she placed her hands on the point where her wide hips met up with her narrow waist and thrust her bared, massive chest at Set, “don’t you know by now that I’m never defenseless?”

Chuckling softly, Set let out a “Wait here,” and disappeared off into the jungle on his own.

“I must say, Maxhingo, that I’ve begun to perceive the ethical implications of what we’re currently doing to be really rather disconcerting.” One of the two natives currently searching the jungle together for any signs of Set and Cassandra said to the other, speaking in their native tongue. It had been a few minutes since someone had noticed that the bound stranger and Mrs. Witherbone had gone missing while Mr. Witherbone laid passed-out in his tent.

“Really, Thaxla, is this really the time to stage a two-man panel on the issue of morality?” Maxhingo asked back, just as the two of them noted an angry parrot with a few feathers missing on one of its wings nestle down in a nearby tree.

“And at what point would you like us to have this discussion?” Thaxla replied with a pointed question of his own, “Quite honestly, Maxhingo, we’re hired to act as guides, and all of a sudden we’re tying people to trees, in compliance with the quite possibly deranged decisions of a man who somehow manages to combine a highly palpable, utterly revolting effeteness with all the sadistic crudeness of a proper brute.”

“Yes,” Maxhingo thoughtfully replied, softly running his hand against the small bone that was pierced through his nose, “I must admit that our actions earlier today did in fact leave a bad taste in my mouth. And besides, Nigel is such a silly name...”

“And isn’t all that enough to make you wonder what we’re still doing here?” Thaxla stopped dead in his tracks, and the two natives looked at each other, both of them knowing that a vital decision would soon have to be made.

“We’re still getting paid for it though,” Maxhingo observed, instantly regretting that he’d brought material concerns into what was a discussion about purely moral considerations.

“Oh yes, if we leave now, we won’t get the other half of all those glass-beads and firewater that that silly bugger offered us,” Thaxla tried his best not to make Maxhingo think that it was at his expense that he was being sarcastic, “Honestly, that sort of payment is just downright insulting.”

“Yes, quite,” Maxhingo nodded his head and fidgeted a little with his spear, “I suppose we’d better go find the others then, and hope that we don’t run into any of old Nigel’s goons. I imagine that that would result in a rather awkward conversation, don’t you?”

“Yes, it’s a good thing that white people are too dumb not to get lost in the jungle at night.” For all his focus on leading a moral life, Thaxla was still a dirty racist bastard, which his poor sense of humour tended to attest to.

“Excuse me, chaps” Maxhingo suddenly heard someone say from behind him, just as he felt some pat him on his shoulder. Naturally, he turned around, only to have his face be violently introduced to a substantially sized stone, which then added injury to injury by falling down to land on one of his unprotected feet even as he’d begun plummeting towards the grassy, muddy ground.

“I say!” Thaxla announced, sounding rather upset at having just seen the stranger that he’d helped truss up earlier that day knock out his friend. He didn’t get to do much more than that before Set had gone on to punch him quite hard in the face, causing him to spin round and drop his spear before collapsing onto the ground to join Maxhingo in the realm of the temporarily ****.