my hansom, with me in it, of course!
I cried for my driver to pull in, for further running was a mere waste of carriage and horseflesh, for plainly we were caught but my man, lashing and swearing, evidently did not hear me and my rig thundered on, horses' steel shod hoofs striking sparks from the cobblestones.
Now came fog and again clear air and the carriage of Lord Haversock was now abreast of mine, his driver inching it over to lock hubs with my rig.
Were we to lock hubs, his heavier hansom would send mine toppling-and inside might be my corpse when people came to inspect the ruins. “Stop, stop!” I screamed. My driver again apparently did not hear, but my horses themselves now took a turn in this stupid midnight game of
My hansom snapped to a bone-crushing halt just as the hind axle of Lord Haversock's carriage smashed in toward the front hub of mine, ready to send me and mine toppling. But his wheel missed because my carriage skidded to a halt, and there we were with my teams rearing and farting and balking, and the carriage of his lordship skidding also to a stop, blocking the street ahead.
I had only one thing left: try to bluff through, pistol or no pistol. I alighted. I called up to my driver. “Do you have a weapon?”
“Only my whip, m'lord.”
“Use it if it is necessary.”
“I use nothing,” the bastard cried, and leaped from the box, leaving the lines dragging. He wheeled and ran into the gloom, the coward-and I was alone, facing Lord Haversock's pistol.
I glanced about hurriedly. Not a fagon, not a loose cobblestone-nothing I could get my hands on. I unbuckled my belt, then noticed my man's whip lying three feet distance.
I snapped my belt buckled again, scooped up the whip, sent its lash trailing behind me, and stood ready for the assault as Lord Haversock, pistol still in hand, came from his coach and advanced toward me, crouched over and with beady eyes probing me.
Then he stopped ten feet away, pistol still level, and called my name, and I gave him recognition, too.
“M'lord, what is this?” he asked.
“I don't know. I heard your carriage roaring through fog. I feared bandits and robbers so I ordered my man to whip up my horses but your steeds are the fleetest I have ever witnessed outside of the thoroughbreds that run at Epson Downs, my friend.”
He peered at me, then asked, “Where is your driver now?”
“He fled, the coward. And when he ran, he ran out of my employment, also. I'll shoot him if he comes back… had I a pistol, which I have not, for I am without arms, m'lord.”
“Where have you been and where do you come from, m'lord.”
I hesitated, for where I had been and from whence I came definitely were out of his business, but then I thought it best to be open and candid, for his question was put for a good reason.
“I have been visiting my brother on Landing Arch Lane. We played whist until late-too late, in fact.”
“I see,” he said carefully. “And because of robbers you whipped up your teams. You ran from no more than possible thieves, I would be led to understand?”
“You understand correctly, Lord Haversock. Now may I ask a question of your personage, m'lord.”
“Certainly, m'lord.”
“Who do you seek and evidently you seek him or her with a pistol to kill some particular person.”
He seemed suddenly aware that he held the pistol. He put it quickly under his broad Indian silk sash of bright red. My heart settled down and a few tons of lead left my shoulders.
He made a tough, hard figure, outlined there by flickering kerosene street lamps. I knew he had made quite a war figure in India where he spent some years for the Crown. Perhaps it was in that faraway land that he acquired a taste for assholes over cunts?
“I have made a great error, m'lord.” He bowed from the waist. “I shall make no effort to explain. Were I to explain my movements I would violate the trust of one near and dear to me.” His words, although apparently casually spoken, still held a stern vein of steel. “I merely bid you goodnight.”
“Goodnight, my lord,” I said, also bowing.
He turned sharply then, as a soldier on close drill, and he stalked to his cab, halting just outside the door held open by his whip. “You saw no other cab-or rider-while we merrily chased the hell out of each other?”
I saw an opening. “Indeed I did,” I fabricated.
He shot his question at me. “Where was this? And was it a cab or a gentleman on horseback?”
“It was at the intersection of this street and Willowbrook, which should be about six blocks behind us. The man was on horse. He rode fast. He seemed to be fleeing from something or somebody.”
His heavy brows rose. I could imagine him naked behind his wife's fair buttocks, his cock in her asshole, his big hands gripping her small waist just above her hips as he delivered his semen into her rectum.
My prick started to erect. Would there be any way to sneak back and again plant my knob in the fair cunt of the lovely Lady Haversock? Discretion told me that was impossible, but my erection still lingered.
“What makes you think he was in flight?” Lord Haversock asked.
“He rode with all speed possible. And he was buttoning his shirt as he passed in front of my carriage. He seemed to be dressing in the saddle, if such a thing were possible.”
“Ah, so I see, m'lord. By now he would be far gone, would he not?”
“He would indeed be, Lord Haversock. Evidently he is the man you look for. May I ask why, at this hour of the morning, you seek him?”
“You may ask and be damned, but I won't answer!”
And then his lordship stepped hard into his carriage and the driver rolled his rig away, leaving me standing in the street with my whip still in hand, my teams breathing heavily behind me, my heart again steady and my mind already running ahead to the question:
I would somehow get in contact with her soon. Or would she send for me? Time would tell. I climbed to the box of my hansom, realizing that I had a very fierce erection.
My cock called for a cunt around it, hairy and soft and warm, my testicles resting against a fair female asshole. I drove hurriedly home. I aroused my groom who took my sweaty horses.
“Where is your driver, m'lord?”
“I don't know. He ran away. Bandits attacked us in Charing Cross Lane.”
“You escaped unhurt, m'lord?”
“Yes, but no thanks to my driver. If he comes back tell him that if he stays I will kill him.”
“That I shall, m'lord. He deserves death for deserting his master. But I fear you'll not see him again on these premises.”
I stalked to the house, my erection pushing against my trousers, the lust for a female pounding me. I stopped within the door, one hand inside my trousers fondling my penis.
It had been a foul night for a cocksman. I had had my bulb pushing against a maidenhead and had been cheated of breaking the veil, in addition to almost being shot and killed.
But my uncle had said there would be such days. He also had encountered such
But the fair Lady Haversock still lived, I guessed, and that was what counted, for she as a person didn't count but she, as a cunt, did definitely amount to something to me.
But she was in her estate and I was here in the dark holding my prick, and my big bed was empty. Or was it?
I hurried to my bedroom. I stopped just inside the door, sniffing the air. I have my uncle's nose for cunt, but this room held none. I rang the bell.
Soon the little maid arrived carrying a taper, her long white nightgown hiding her curves and splendid buttocks.
“You rang, m'lord.”
“Yes, I desire a woman for my bed.”
She looked at me over the flickering candle, completely awake now. “This is unusual, m'lord, that you return
