stickler for virtue, Lawrence, pseudo or otherwise. On the other hand, if I am enticed to a scene of passion and happen to change my mind, I do not expect my escort to restrain me if I choose noninvolvement.” “Indeed,” the baronet said flatly.
“Indeed,” I said quite firmly. “One should not dream of behaving otherwise,” Sir Lawrence said. “It would be an insult redeemable only on the field of honor. Who-I speak entirely theoretically-would seek to create a duel to settle the matter?”
“My brother James,” I said dryly. “Oh,” he said. “I don't at all feel brotherly, Victoria. Well, then,” he continued, “perhaps I had best return you to Brighton. There's no telling how I would behave with so beautiful a woman as you after night fell-” “No,” I interrupted desperately, “I really don't want to go back, Lawrence.
You are a man of reason, I think, and of exquisite manners. Besides-”
I grinned impishly-“I'm terribly hungry.” The baronet nodded and increased the pace of his team. “That kind of hunger,” he said, “belongs to the belly and must be served if we are to be preserved.”
He smiled broadly. “You will forgive me, Victoria, if I anticipated your needs-I had my chef prepare you something of a feast. It is a kind of British smorgasbord.” I laughed merrily. I felt completely at my ease. With my gloved hand I touched the high cheekbones of the baronet. “Will you,” I said, “denude me of my gloves, Lawrence?” He glanced at me sharply. “Never,” he said, “of your gloves, Victoria.” In the sharpness of his glance I saw the end of man, but it was so sensitively portrayed that I refused to accept its import. But I was becoming restless again-we had been jouncing along for a very considerable time-I had got bored with comparing the Cornish countryside with that of Sussex. The topography of both were very similar. Sussex had more lush greenery, the hedges here were thicker and taller, the gardens were more luxuriant and the surrounding countryside more rolling than that of Cornwall's. Apropos, when Sir Lawrence glimpsed Merlin House in the distance and drew my attention to it, it resembled nothing so much as Quistern House-even to a background which included a maze. As we jogged closer it became clear that this was simply another Georgian structure. Still, these old houses often had stately galleries which frequently led to exhibition chambers where there might be highly costly paintings.
Again apropos, I remembered how my father tried, childishly, to oppress his son with the weightiness of the human condition. Mathew Quist-Hagen had said, “I had a gallery full of masterly canvasses that I and my agent ransacked Europe for, but they proved to be too much a drain on the exchequer. Consequently, I disposed of most of them for the Quist-Hagen estate. The proceeds from the sale of these paintings will be divided equally between you two, my daughter and my son. Now we will forget the entire matter.” My mother's face had screwed up to a point where she had had to erupt into tears, and the Marquis of Portferrans had crossed quickly to comfort her… The baronet's deep basso intruded on my memory. “I believe we're here, Victoria,” he said, and he handed me out of the carriage and up the steps of Merlin House where Lawrence's butler stood obsequiously, greeted his master and held open the white door. It was night, and the gaslights warmly beckoned us in. I had not been that long gone from Quistern or Hagen houses not to miss the luxurious interiors. However, I took breath in hand and moved past the butler, whose name was Scample. Then, appearing with a monstrous bark, a great Dane leaped upon Lawrence, lapping at his face with his massive tongue. The baronet laughed, “All right, Loki, I've come back and I've brought a lady with me.” “So we see,” another voice said. It belonged to Lawrence's valet, whose name was Tiddings. “But we do warmly welcome you back, don't we, Loki?” The dog paid Tiddings no heed, he was again on all fours and waiting massively and patiently for whatever his master wanted.
Something curious was happening to me now as Sir Lawrence informed the housekeeper, Mrs. Bailey, to ready a bedroom upstairs for me. Mrs. Bailey then expressionlessly informed me where the nearest bathroom was situated. I immediately occupied it and began my toilet.
The curious thing happening to me was that my scalp had begun itching as soon as I had become aware of Loki, the great Dane. The cause of the sensation was so obscurely curious, however, that I dismissed all possible motivations, at which point the itching of the scalp ceased.
I could then attend to my face… When I came downstairs, Sir Lawrence was energetically pacing the great dining room with Loki. All the dishes of that evening's dinner were on the round table.
“I've taken the liberty, Victoria, of dismissing the servants for the evening-there are certain times when one wishes to be untrammeled…” He ran his fingers through his gray hair, thereby further disheveling it but making it more appealing than ever, more boyish and yet more manly-a most peculiar combination. Nevertheless, my pulse remained steady. “You wish to compliment me, Lawrence,”
I said, “not only for my acting.” “Oh, but your acting is devilishly good, devilishly.” We had sat ourselves down and were making salients in our redolent steaks. Once Sir Lawrence had disposed of the bulk of his meat, he felt inclined to lean back in his seat and to address me with what might be called authoritative intimacy. I enjoyed the attitude but foresaw the ruinous flaw of despotism in it.
“Yes,” he said, eyeing me with avidity, “devilishly good acting, Victoria. But you know, of course, that you will never be a star…”
“How do you conclude that, Lawrence?” “There is a certain charismatic effect that the really great thespians own-” “That I don't have.” “You don't have it regardless of the sex of your focus. Your particular hypnotic has its effect on the male only.”
We argued that back and forth until we finished our repast and Lawrence turned to the whisky decanter. Loki was lying on his side at the fireplace. “With soda?” Sir Lawrence asked. “Please.” He poured the spirits and handed me my glass. Then he took one for himself and sat down at the fireless fireplace near Loki, his free hand stroking the dog's neck. “Why did you bring me here?” I asked. “Because, darling Victoria, I've developed quite a passion for you. I've seen you in the theatre half a dozen times in as many days, and I should like to rid myself of this obsession.” “If I am an obsession to be got rid of, I think you'd better return me to my hotel.” “Very well, Victoria.” But I did not move. I stood rooted to where I was standing. “What are you doing to Loki?” I whispered. “Nothing I haven't done many times, Victoria. Are you ready to leave?” “Many times?” I echoed. “Yes,” the baronet said.
“Loki likes it. But come, Victoria, we must go. I'll get Scample to bring round the coach-and-four-” “No,” I said. “No.” I hardly dared breathe. “You've changed your mind?” Lawrence asked. “Yes,” I said. What the baronet was doing was fingering the long massive member belonging to Loki, and I was fascinated. More than fascinated-my pulse, for the first time in a very long time, had begun to race. The dog whined as his penis slid out of its cylindrical enclosure-a shiny scarlet penis that Lawrence squeezed gently, after which the lubricant-gleaming piece glided back into its chamber. If my skin were like milk, then it was presently more skimmed than milk-I must have been ghastly. I could not tear my eyes away from the repeated process. Again the dog's crimson member appeared on stage and Lawrence once more squeezed it. Loki whined, and the piece was returned to its housing. The process continued faster and faster. Back and forth went Loki's hind quarters and saturated scarlet column at a dizzying pace, Lawrence's hand less and less gentle. The dog's whine rose to a pitch where it could not be heard by the human ear. I was drenched in sweat-and I tore my dress open to the bodice so that my breasts sprang out and I could offer their nipples, after I stooped down to all fours, to Loki's idling tongue which lapped at them, the roughness of the dog's tongue a savage pleasure even as Lawrence whipped up the bottom of my dress and skirts and poked a thumb into the chamber of chambers-I thought I should go mad. Gone-totally dissipated-were the faintest thoughts of Hugh Kinsteares. Loki's tongue and scarlet penis and Lawrence's thumb had completely buried the young blond lad-and I was experiencing a revival that no Baptist meeting had ever done for me. Staring at Loki's genitals, not daring to lift my head for fear I would miss the spurt of the sperm that I hoped Lawrence would direct at my face, I bespoke myself to the baronet in a hoarse rasping voice. “Lawrence-” “Eh?”
“Where's your own machinery? I want it.” “In due course, my dear. Your patience will be thoroughly rewarded. You are enjoying the present state of affairs, are you not?” I was inarticulate. I groaned. “Good,” the baronet said. I could hear Loki winning again, and then this giant of a gray-haired man chuckled, giving the scarlet column a final squeeze and pointing it at my face, upon which Loki's semen catapulted, the creamy glutinousness streaming down my features. I stood up and divested myself of the rest of my clothes, not giving a damn if Lawrence were naked or not. I secured one of the throw rugs and sat back on my haunches on the rug-I wanted no frozen arse. Then I proceeded to smear the dog's sperm on as many parts of my body I could reach while Sir Lawrence regarded me amusedly. “I'll need more,” I said. “Well, then, milady, go and get it.” Again I arose and crossed to the fireplace where Loki lay on his side, his own machinery temporarily quiescent. I put an end to that-I put an end to it because by now I was absolutely inflamed and I realized I could fuck till dawn and produce a baker's dozen, at least, of orgasms.
