!ADULTS ONLY! Surelick Homes Meets the Evil Dr. Phallus!

MAIZIE CAME CLEAN. Over drinks. For starters, her name wasn't Maizie. It was Miranda, Lady Miranda at that. And she wasn't a full-time Cockney talking streetwalker, either. Just a part-time one. It was a little game she and her husband, Lord John Arlet Wigwarm, had dreamed up to spice up their sagging sex life.

She would go out, once a month, walk the streets dressed as a prostitute, and entice men to go with her to the Shoreham Arms hotel, where she and his Lordship kept secondary quarters. They had a large house northeast of London, with maids, butlers, and sundry other household help at their beck and call.

At the Shoreham, hubby would be hiding in a locked closet, peeking at the action on the bed through a cleverly concealed peephole. After exactly five men had been sucked and fucked by Miranda, hubby would get his turn. They had been doing this for two years now. And, according to Lady Wigwarm, they were enjoying it immensely.

They even had a game plan when it came to the type of men she allowed to pick her up. Four of them had to be of a handsome countenance, but the fifth was to be the slimiest, sleaziest, and the most ugly male she could stomach, with the advancement of his years holding no weight in the matter. She had fucked them well into their nineties!

This facet was all her husband's idea. He felt it added a delicious aura of humiliation and degradation to the equation. Lady Wigwarm, at first, found the idea somewhat repulsive, but she ended up enjoying these pathetic creatures the most. They seemed so needy, so helpless, and they always adored her so much she felt placed on a pedestal. A goddess, if you will.

Her story finished, Homes said, "My, my, my, Miranda, or should I call you Lady Wigwarm? You fooled me completely! You not only look the part, totally, but that Cockney accent of yours is absolutely flawless. And I, my dear, have written monographs on language dialectics of all stripes." Whatsin nodded and said, "That he has, milady, that he has."

"Call me Maizie, Mr. 'Omes!" The two men laughed. "Calling me 'er ladyship gives me the bleepin,' blinkin,' bloody 'ives, guv'nor!" They laughed again.

Homes said, "Because you are here tonight, Maizie, and not at the Shoreham arms, I assume his lordship is away somewhere. Business I would guess. And, your seeming ease at handling the situation, suggests you've done this before, going out on your own. I assume you share all the steamy details with him upon his return. Eh?"

She nodded, and said, in refined English. "Oh, yes, John loves to hear every juicy detail. He's all ears, I'll say, and it gets him so randy, he can orgasm three or four times in that one evening." Then she switched to Cockney. "And 'oly 'ell, guv'nor, 'e 'as the stamina of a bloke 'alf his age!" They two men laughed riotously.

"Now, gentlemen, what would you say to some really raunchy vaginal and anal intercoursing? Eh?" She placed fingers into her pussy . . .

* * * * * *

HOMES AND WHATSIN diddled both ends of the incredible Lady Wigwarn so effectively, so fully, the woman started yelling out the Seven Deadly Sins, alphabetically, during her first violent orgasm: "Anger! Covetousness! Envy! Gluttony! Greed! Lust! Pride! Sloth! You bugger me well, you two."

Then, and impressing the two men greatly, she said it again, but in reverse, with her very next spastic orgasm: "Two you well, me bugger you. Sloth! Pride! Lust! Greed! Gluttony! Envy! Covetousness! Anger!" She then wiggled her ass, exactly four times, counterclockwise.

"Ah," said Homes. "Lady Wigwarm is using the back and forth, sing-song love language of the lonely peasants, Whatsin, who inhabit the foothills of Gokyo Ri, an 18,000 foot hill that gives one an impressive view of Mt. Everest." In further explanation, he added, "The only way she could have learned that routine, old man, was to have been gangbuggered by ten of the local townsmen. It being the custom for outsiders, and all.

"I see, Homes," said Whatsin. "And, I surmise, old man, that that would explain the utterly strange counterclockwise rotation of her buttocks. A signal to the next man in line?" He looked across Maizie's back at Homes.

"Quite so."

* * * * * *

LESS THAN an hour later, Whatsin, in full drag regalia, was standing outside the King's Arms Lager House trying to look as sexy as he could manage. I may be the bait, he mused, but there's no reason I can't be hot bait. He pursed his lips, threw his left hip way out, and swung his purse in small arcs.

Men, some in sailor suits, came and went, but after the half-hour Homes had told him to spend there, Whatsin decided to try his luck over at the Lion's Tooth Pub. He sashayed the sixty or so feet that separated the two establishments with such a feminine gait, his tutor would have been beside herself with one of the Deadly Sins . . . pride!

As he walked, he wiggled his big-bustled ass, jiggled his large ersatz breasts, and put a look on his painted face that fairly screamed out, I'm here, I'm hot, so come get me you big hairy ape! And, although the tight-fitting high heel shoes hurt and pinched his feet, he managed the trip with no pain. He had used the deep, Zen-like concentration Homes had taught him during his anal practicing.

He stationed himself outside an alley that was adjacent to the Lion's Tooth Pub. He now stood, his back to the street, and tried to see into the inky blackness of the alley. All he saw were some trash bins, and a cat. A large, cuddly looking white one. Sidetracked from his mission, he called to it. "Come over here, puss, and I'll give you a good stroking."

The cat ignored him, as cats are known to do at time, but a big drunken sailor, on his way into the pub, didn't. He went up behind Whatsin, threw an arm around his face, and placed the large hand over his eyes. "Cor, luv, get into the alley and I'll give you a good stroking!"

Phallus! Thought Whatsin. What luck. Play along had been Homes' instruction. So play along, he did. As the drunken seaman pushed Whatsin along, all the way down into the very bowels of the coal black alley, the good doctor practiced his falsetto in his mind.

"Now, dearie," the sailor said. "Bend over and hold onto that trash bin." Whatsin obliged with nary a whimper coming out of him. Play along led his thoughts.

The sailor, in a trice, pushed Whatsin's dress up over his back, and with deft, strong fingers, pulled his knickers down to his knees. The drunken seamen then undid the thirteen buttons on his regulation uniform, and pulled out his cock. In the darkness, anyone observing would have sworn the man now held a policeman's 14" truncheon in his hand. A lethal looking cudgel.

Without further ado, he guided the truncheon's large head to the entrance of the good doctor's rectum and, with one great push, popped it in. Whatsin yelped, in perfect falsetto voice, "Ouch! Ouch!"

Then he said, "I say, it's obvious to me, old thing, that you haven't heard of the efficacy of KY Jelly or, at the very least, petroleum jelly Vaseline!" Whatsin, sensing another invasion, started deep concentrating, in a very Zen-like way. Just the way Homes had taught him.

"Huh?" the sailor said, just before ramming his entire baton into the good doctor's backside, expecting more yelping. But Whatsin was on top of the game now. His inner ass didn't feel a thing. The Zen had seen to that.

He said, sounding quite childish and gleeful, "Hee hee hee, you can't hurt me!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, we'll just see about that!" He pulled back and yelled," Take that!" and plunged again. Not a peep. He repeated the maneuver. "And that!" Silence. "And that!" Plunge. "And that!" Plunge. "And that!" Plunge. To no avail. The Zen, it seemed, was Whatsin's magic shield. Feeling the raw power in him now, Whatsin said, "Sock it to me, sonny, give me all you got!"

The drunken tar, pooped out somewhat, but very impressed with Whatsin's performance, said, "Blimey, darlin,' you can take it like a man!" Whatsin smiled to himself, then wiggled his ass a few times as if in a sort of victory celebration. The high-five used by alley cats.

So the sailor pumped and the lady moaned. The sailor pumped and the lady groaned. And a white cuddly cat, sitting now on top of a trash bin, watched with its coal black eyes as the two humans pumped, moaned, and groaned away, unmindful of its meows.

Then the tar yelled out, "Thar she blows, the Queen Mum's milk!" A second later, the good doctor felt his rectum fill up to overflowing. A goodly amount squeezed out and dripped down his legs, soaking his knickers on the way. Whatsin thought of saying something, but a new sensation overcame him, making him mute.

The sailor, having spent the last six months at sea, had a stored up quantity of sperm to be reckoned with. It gushed out of him, and had soon filled the good doctor up with almost a cup of the sticky stuff. Whatsin, feeling an enormous inner pressure, now had to defecate.

The good doctor, however, had nothing in his bowels but air, which was now expelled with such great force through the almost nonexistent space between his rectum and the sailor's shaft, it came roaring out and did an excellent imitation of a large cruise ship's foghorn. Oooooooommmm!

"Holy bleedin' Cap'n Nemo!" the drunken tar yelled. "I've docked me bloomin' dickie into the Queen Mary!"

Then the foghorn repeated itself. Oooooooommmm! Then the sailor smacked Whatsin on the right buttock, pulled his cudgel from him, which allowed a torrent of sperm to flow out freely, put the weapon away, and worked on his thirteen regulation buttons.

"Cor," the sailor said. "That's one arse buggering I'll never forget!" That said, he walked briskly off. Whatsin, still bent over, and sperm soaking his legs and knickers, looked at the white cat and said, "We won't either, puss, will we now?"

The cat, as if in agreement, jumped down from the can and went over to Whatsin. It purred in greeting, rubbed up against him, and then proceeded to lick and lap at the good doctor's legs.

Whatsin, not moving a muscle, said, "Harumph! Enjoy yourself, puss. It's full of needed protein. And, it'll give me time to get my wits about me. I'll need them when I have to tell Homes that the evening produced no positive results . . . "

The End.
"From my mind, to your mind!"