The horse and carriage hurriedly swung through the gates of the estate, and quickly rattled on up the driveway of a large and impressive estate, which lead to a suitably large and impressive manor house with large and impressive windows, and a large and impressive door at which stood a distinctly small and less-than-impressive man, who seemed to be waiting anxiously for the carriage to arrive.

With a loud and slightly over-theatrical ‘woooooah!’, the cabbie drew the vehicle to a halt outside the doors of the house (both of which were large and impressive, lest we forget) and touched the brim of his hat in greeting to the concerned man in the doorway.

“How is he?” enquired the small man, nervously toying with a bowler hat in his hands.

“Not good, I’m afraid mate,” the cabbie replied, hopping down from his seat. “‘E seems delirious, frankly, mumblin’ and mutterin’ away to himself, so ‘e was. An’ he’s been sick at least three times on the way ‘ere.”

“Oh dear,” the worried man replied, running a shaky hand through a mess of blonde curls atop his head. “That does not sound good at all. Not at all.” He put his bowler hat back on his head, and a look of grim determination crept over his face. “Well,” he sighed, “let’s get him out of there, then.”

The cabbie nodded solemnly, and pulled open the door of his cab to allow its passenger to alight. No-one emerged. The two men exchanged worried glances, and just as they stepped forward to investigate further, the passenger suddenly sprung forth from within the carriage, loudly proclaimed something about aliens, before completely missing the steps of the cab and landing in a heap on the stony ground below. The two men looked at him with a mixture of pity and disgust.

“It is as I feared,” observed the small, blonde man sadly. “His lordship is completely and utterly drunk again.”

“I demand the immediate execution of both the cabbie and his ruddy unfriendly cab,” I mumbled from my undignified position on the floor, for it had been my handsome form which had sprung forth from the hansom cab.

The blonde man hurried to my side. “Are you quite alright, milord?” he enquired, trying to help me up.

“Unhand me, Botter!” I roared at my man-servant (for it was he). “I am not incapapapapable, you know.”

“Yes, milord,” Botter replied, stepping back and watching as I slowly and shakily got to my feet.

“There,” I beamed triumphantly, swaying slightly in the moonlight. “A cake of piss.”

And then I’m afraid to say, dear reader, that your noble and entirely humpable narrator lost his footing and fell to the ground once more.

Botter rolled his eyes, and came to my side once more.

“Good night, was it milord?” he asked as he helped me back to a state of absolute verticality. “It certainly seems like there was plentiful alcohol on supply, at any rate.”

I disentangled myself from my man-servant’s grasp, teetered slightly, but thankfully remained as gloriously erect as my mighty manhood in the company of a room full of harlots.

“I may have partaken of a tipple or twenty-three,” I finally replied. “But I am not pished.” I added. “By God, Botter, you truly do have a face like a horse’s arse, you know.”

“That’d be because that IS a horse’s arse, milord. I’m over here.” Botter responded. I rubbed my eyes and saw that I was indeed addressing the backside of one of the cabby’s horses. I tipped my hat and turned back to face my man-servant.

“Are you sure everything is alright, milord?” the oik continued. “Only you were shouting something about ‘aliens’ as you stepped out of the cab a moment ago.”

“Aliens!” I repeated, my eyes widening in terror. “Egad, yes! I was surrounded by them! Dozens upon dozens of aliens!”

“Aliens, milord? Really?” Botter asked.

“Yes, Botter! Aliens! You know….foreign types. Foreigners. Everywhere, they were. Everywhere!”

“Oh, I see. Well, you were at a party at the Indian Embassy, milord. I’d imagine there would be some foreign faces there.”

“And foreign bodies!” I remarked. “Some rather delectable foreign bodies, now that I think about it,” I recalled, stroking my luxurious moustache as I reminisced. “Although that damned ambassador seemed to take umbrage with me when I asked his wife to demonstrate all the positions from the Karma Sutra upon my person. Quite a humourless cove, that one.”

“I see, milord,” Botter nodded.

“PISS!” I bellowed suddenly, lurching forward.

“Pardon?”

“Piss! I desperately need to piss, Botter!”

“Oh, well if you just wait a moment, milord, we shall get you inside and – “

“Buggeration!” I roared. “There’s no time for all that flim-flam. I’ll simply relieve myself in a bush over there,” I said, pointing a shaky finger.

“Milord, you have a perfectly serviceable toilet, you know…” Botter began.

“Arse gravy!” I interrupted, staggering over to the bushes. “What is the point of me having this large and impressive estate if I can’t relieve myself in it once in a while, eh?”

“Very good, milord,” Botter sighed. “I shall just pay for the cab and meet you back in the house when you’re done.”

I grunted in response and continued to make my way falteringly to my makeshift lavatory. Once there, I spent a good few minutes wrestling with the damned buttons on my trousers, but as I went to unsheath my Lord Palmerston I was stopped in my tracks by something apparently moving through the soil below.

“What in the name of Satan’s scarlet scrotum is that?” I asked myself, peering closer into the dark. At once, I saw it move again, and this time got a glimpse of the mystery interloper. It was long and green, and looked to all intents and purposes like a large snake, wriggling through the soil of my flowerbed.

“Well I’ll be damnmnmned,” I slurred, as I peered closer. “Some sort of pervert snake hoping to get a peek at my tally whacker, I’d wager. Well, we shall see about that!” I exclaimed, searching about for a rake or a hoe I might deploy in the disposal of said invertebrate. But my quick search revealed nothing, and upon turning back to the garden I noticed the creature had vanished. I shrugged my shoulders and resumed my efforts to urinate, at which point the snake-like beast shot out from the ground, wrapped itself around my neck, and lifted me a good thirty feet into the air.

I could tell then that this was no common or garden snake with which I was dealing.

“Unhand me, sir!” I shouted at the foul creature. However, my request fell on deaf ears, for the beast possessed neither hands nor – as it subsequently transpired – ears.

From my vantage point, I saw my man-servant dash over to assist me, but another tentacle shot out from the bushes and caught him square in the stomach, sending him flying backwards into a distinctly unconscious heap. Ruddy good help, I noted sadly, is so hard to find.

I could feel the creature’s tentacular grip around my neck tightening as it thrashed me around like an overenthusiastic dominatrix (the best sort, I find) but to my alarm I now found myself being reeled in towards its gaping maw. Truly this time I was heading for the French kiss of death: the petite mort of oblivion.

But then: salvation! There was a sudden rustling in the bushes and a cry of “Take that!” With a dreadful howl, the creature released me and I plummeted to the ground, landing on my arse in a pile of compost. From my undignified vantage point I watched in admiration as my rescuer proceeded to despatch my alien assailant with clinically efficient swordsmanship.

Then my saviour stepped forward into the moonlight and to my utter astonishment she was revealed to be a woman!

“Great heavens, ma’am,” I cried, “How can I ever thank you?” (Although I have to say my mind was already considering the possibilities – now that I could get a glimpse, I could see she was a most becoming filly.)

However, she would not meet my eye.

“Sir,” she said, “Your pistol appears to be cocked.”

I was nonplussed at this, for I had no weapon on my person.

“The meat is … on the counter,” she continued. “The worm is out of its lair. Jack is out of his box. Master Willy is waving hello – ”

At last I understood. She was, in her elegant way, referring to my penis, which was still on display and treating her to a sneak preview. I reluctantly tucked it away again, for the time being at least, and hauled myself to my feet. I bowed to her and attempted to recommence intercourse.

“So to whom do I owe this lucky escape from almost certain death?” I said.

“My name is Elizabeth Darcy, Mrs Elizabeth Darcy.”

Great heavens, I realised, this must be the wife of that old fart Fitzwilliam Darcy! Which would make her one of the notorious Bennet sisters! Five-in-a-bed, here we come, I thought. But I had to make conversation first.

“How did you come to be so adept with a weapon?” I said “Surely that is man’s work, is it not?”

“I have been trained by a Mr Wickham,” she explained. “He is a Lieutenant seconded to the Department of Unusual Affairs. He hunts aliens. Like this one.”

She looked down at the mass of severed tentacles.

“By jingo!” I ejaculated. “Are there more of these things?”

“I fear ’tis true. We have won a battle or two, but the war is not yet over. One day, someone will write a great book about our adventures so far, but there may yet be many sequels. As well as vignettes such as this one – although no doubt there will be debates amongst the aficionados as to whether it is a true part of the canon.”

“Madam, you talk in riddles!” I exclaimed. This was getting needlessly post- modern.

Elizabeth sheathed her weapon and looked about her consiprationally. “I fear I have said too much, sir,” she whispered. “If I tell you any more, I fear I may have to kill you.”

“Ha-ha!” I chuckled, enjoying what I thought had been a rather witty bit of banter, but the deadly serious look on the pretty woman’s face quickly told me that this had been no joke. I coughed and swiftly changed the subject. “Madam, I could not help but notice the energy and verve with which you tackled the giant, thrashing tendril. If you would be kind enough to join me in the house, I am sure I could offer you a similar experience with my very own ‘trouser tendril’, if I may be so blunt.”

The woman’s jaw dropped, not in amazement at the generosity of the offer, alas, but in disbelief that I had even chosen to breach the subject of possible intercourse. “Sir!” she exclaimed, indignantly. “I am betrothed to another, in case you were not aware!”

“I am well aware, m’dear,” I smiled. “You can bring him along, if you must. I am always game for what the French call….wait, what is it? Ah, yes – ‘three people humping’.”

*You filthy brute!” rejoined Elizabeth, before punctuating her displeasure with a swift boot to my nether regions. I fell to my knees, my hands clutched to my battered ball-bag.

Elizabeth grunted satisfactorily, then turned sharply on her heels and stalked off, muttering under her breath something about men and how they were worse than any foul being from outer space, and then she was gone as quickly as she had arrived.

My man-servant Botter, having by now regained consciousness, hastened over to me once again. “Milord?” he said, somehow managing to turn a single word into an enquiry with the ruthless degree of economy so typical of his class.

“First the tentacles,” I squeaked, “and now my testicles. What a woman! I do believe I am quite, quite smitten.”

“Who is she? What did you say to her? What happened, exactly?” asked Botter, helping me to my feet.

“Let us just say this,” I said, as we hobbled back to the house. “I have my pride, and that dear lady suffers no prejudice…”

Fin.

Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy features in the new paperback novel ‘Mrs. Darcy versus the Aliens’, penned by the scurrilous scribe of the age, Mr. Jonathan Pinnock. For further information about the book, and to read an extract, do please visit the webbed-page at www.mrsdarcyvsthealiens.com

Finally, you may purchase her new adventure from the British and American tendrils of the almighty Amazon corporation. Huzzah!

For the previous chapter, please click HITHER.

MORE DAYS passed as I continued my convalescence, nursing my poor mangled manhood back to health after it was so cruelly injured by a wicked, wicked whore a couple of weeks or so previously.

At one point, a doctor paid me a visit to check on my progress, but soon had to seek medical help himself, after he gazed upon my proud Lord Palmerston, and promptly passed out through the shock of having seen such a mighty organ. You would think a medical man would have seen it all, but then again I cannot deny that I am a most impressively endowed specimen.

My man-servant, Botter, continued to fuss and fret over me, like some kind of hideously malformed nurse-maid. Back and forth he went, bringing bowl after ruddy bowl of soup, explaining that it would help me ‘get my strength back’. I tested his theory by hurling the umpteenth bowl directly at his head, which smashed satisfyingly upon his wretched bonce. “It seems you are correct, Botter,” I chortled as my man-servant dashed off to tend to his facial burns.

When not hurling broth at my man-servant, I kept myself amused by continuing to trawl through the huge sacks of post regularly delivered to the house. I was eagerly anticipating a reply from Mr. Startleburst Phingerphuckk, whose wife had gone missing, a case I had agreed to take on even while confined to my sick-bed. That is how astonishing I am, dear reader.

There were all sorts of letters in the post that week, from Nigerian businessmen offering me hard cash in return for my banking details, to advertisements from apothecaries claiming they could make me ‘last longer in bed’. I snorted. I had already been in bed for a fortnight, the ignorant arse-pipes.

There were some far more interesting items of mail, however, such as this fascinating missive:

I’m writing to bring to your attention a matter of great importance. I do not wish to alarm his Lordship during his convalesce but I’ve come to believe that your country may need you.

Lady Ann of Euphrania

I made a note of the sender’s name and the return address. I would have to let this good lady enjoy my magnificent balls one day.

The next letter also raised my spirits somewhat:

You seem so familiar. Have we met before? Was that you on the beach in Kiribati? I was, I have to admit, a little beyond drunk at the time, so I can’t be sure.

Crystal, fellow adventurer.

I tore open another envelope.

It has come to my attention that you have been gravely wounded by a former employee of mine. I run a respectable business and do not tolerate such action.She went out on her own to get business for herself, because of that and your treatment she has been relived of her position.

PS: In my haste I forgot to tell you the name of my establishment, it is Russian Belles. We maybe prostitutes but we are ladies.

Next came an offer of aid:

News of your injury has spread quickly throughout London. Indeed, the very lack of your presence among the ladies of the night these past few days has lead some to wonder as to your early demise. If indeed your Lord Palmerston has been mangled by an irate member of the world’s oldest profession, I shall be happy to design a harness of sorts to at least make you more ambulatory during your convalescence with a minimum of pain. If there is a contagious element to your affliction, that likewise can be treated with a my patented formula injected by a very large needle, driven directly through to deal with the matter at its source. Such treatment is not for the faint of heart, of course.

Dr. Darien James Mason

And so I continued to rifle through the mail-bags, seeking more correspondence from Mr. Phingerphuckk, but there was seemingly nothing to be found. But then I found a rather bulky-looking envelope, which seemed to contain more than a letter inside. My curiosity piqued, I tore it open.

Out fell a lock of hair, and a rather menacing note:

A FriENd.

- Lord Likely.

To Be Continued!…

Write To Likely And Appear In The Next Chapter!

Yes, dear readers, you read that correctly! Compose a letter to his lordship, and if it passes muster he shall read it out in the next chapter of this exhilarating epistolary escapade, along with a hyper-link to a webbed-site of your choosing should you be successful, as those lucky people in this week’s chapter were! It can be whatever you like, declarations of love, sales-pitches, requests for his services or letters demanding his blood – just write, write, WRITE, DAMMIT!

Send your missives to hislordship@lordlikely.com, or leave them as a comment below! We look forward to hearing from you, chums!

A Brand New Astonishing Adventure!

THIS TALE commences with your not-at-all-humble narrator incapacitated after sustaining a particularly nasty injury in the field of combat; to whit, I recently found myself in a heated argument with a tuppenny trollop over the matter of payment for what I considered to be her rather lacklustre services.

As one may baulk at paying the bill for a lukewarm and foul-tasting meal, or as one may refuse to hand over money for a knackered and useless old nag, so I had refused to remunerate this harlot for providing nothing more than rather pedestrian and unexciting intercourse. The prostitute had taken a certain umbrage with my decision, and so we found ourselves in a heated exchange (which, ironically, was far more passionate than the love-making which had preceded it) before the whore chose to end the impasse by firmly grabbing my tumescent tally-whacker and twisting it with such force that I now fear that any children I sire in the future shall undoubtedly be born with a terrible limp.

And so you find my glorious self cooped up in bed in the Likely Estate, unable to partake in any of my usual pleasures due to the sheer, agonising pain emanating from my poor, paralysed Lord Palmerston. A terrible state of affairs, I am sure you will agree. More terrible still when you consider the fact that this left me in the company of my complete arse-pipe of a man-servant, Botter, who was fussing over me as if I were an injured sparrow or something, and tried raising my spirits by regaling me with God-awful stories about his youth in the East-End, accompanied by soul-crushing renditions of his favourite Cockney sing-alongs. I would have twatted the bounder and told him to eff off, were it not for the fact that any sudden movement caused a searing shockwave of pain to ripple through my body from my marmalised manhood.

When not having to endure Botter’s woeful working-class whimsy, I made an effort to pass the time by reading through some of my correspondence. Being an Astonishing Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action, I receive quite literal barrow-fulls of fan-mail and letters, much to the continued annoyance of my whining, moaning old cock-smear of a post-man. Usually, I would be much too busy getting drunk or fornicating to pay the mail much heed, but in my current state I finally had the time to attend to these bulging sacks of mine.

‘Twas a mixed and varied collection of correspondence, it has to be said. There were hundreds of requests for marriage from many a love-struck spinster, nude photographs of nubile young ladies (which caused a twitch in my loins that bought about more searing pain, so I had to discard those letters rather quickly), the occasional blood-soaked missive from deranged criminals threatening to cause me harm and venomous letters from enraged husbands and boyfriends, threatening to send deranged criminals my way to cause me harm for my having laid with their significant others. Some people really are much too uptight, I mused.

Then there were countless tedious pamphlets and leaflets trying to sell me some completely unnecessary service or product or other, such as this startlingly misdirected sales-pitch:

Sir,

Do YOU wish to last LONGER in BED? Does you LADY demand more SATISFACTION in the boudoir than you are able to provide due to an EMBARRASSING INADEQUACY in your GENITAL AREA? Is your FLACCID and LIMP penis the cause of much SCORN and DERISION? Are you not REALLY a MAN?

Well, FEAR NOT, for with DOCTOR COCKFOSTER’S patented PENILE ERECTION KIT, you will now be able to remain fully engorged for longer, and thus able to satisfy your special lady again and again and again, without WORRY!

Thanks to our innovative system of PULLEYS, LEVERS and STEEL GIRDERS, your much-maligned member can remain PROUD and UPSTANDING for hours upon end, finally putting an end to your end’s abrupt endings.

Do not DELAY! Send a cheque for ONE HUNDRED guineas to: Doctor Cockfoster, Cockfoster’s Cock Fosters, Cockfoster House, Cockfoster Forest, Cockfosterham. Do it TODAY, lest you forever more remain a PATHETIC, ENFEEBLED MOCKERY OF MASCULINITY!

- Dr. Cockfoster.

I sighed and shook my head sadly. Truly, this Doctor Cockfoster had failed to do adequate market research before sending out this clap-trap; I have no problem remaining firm and terrifically turgid…although I had to concede that in my current condition, my poor pump-pistol could barely even support a semi-semi. I sighed again, scrunched up the letter and hurled it aside. That particular pamphlet had served only to depress me further, confound it.

However, the next missive raised my spirits somewhat:

Dear Lord Likely,

I write to you in the hope that you may be able to come to my aid, as I am at my wit’s end and know not what other course of action to take. Having heard of your considerable skills and talents in the field of deduction and crime-solving, I believe that only you can possibly help me at all.

I smiled. Appealing directly to my ego is a sure-fire way of grabbing my attention. I read on.

This being the case, I ask for your assistance in tracking down my darling wife, Daphne Phingerphuckk, who has now been missing for some three days, and I fear that she may have been abducted by undesirables…such awful thoughts whirl through my mind when I consider what atrocity could have befallen her that I am quite unable to sleep, and grow increasingly sick with worry.

If anyone can trace her and bring her back safely to me, it is you, your lordship. Please do say that you shall assist me, I shall ensure that you are handsomely reimbursed.

Sincerely and fretfully yours,

Mr. Startleburst Phingerphuckk.

I lowered the letter and pondered for a moment or two, and then snatched up my note-book and pen, and scribbled out my reply.

Dear Mr. Phingerphuckk,

Your recent call for help has touched my noble heart, and my bulging wallet. I would, of course, be delighted to aid you in the relocation of your dear wife Daphne, for to do anything less would be criminal.

However, I must inform you that a minor inconvenience has befallen me of late (I shall not go into detail, but should you ever be in London Town and chance upon a sordid strumpet named Sandy Straddleton, I advise you to steer clear and instead thrust your todger into a half-eaten melon, for it shall have much the same effect as plunging it into her fetid, disease-ridden mimsy).

But while I now remain bed-bound as a result of my misfortune, I see it as no obstacle to investigating the mystery you present before me. Indeed, the idea of solving such a riddle from the comfort of my bed-chamber offers me something of a thrill and a challenge, to which I obligingly rise.

In short, yes, Mr. Phingerphuckk – I shall TAKE THE CASE!

- Lord Likely.

…To Be Continued!

Write To Likely And Appear In The Next Chapter!

Yes, dear readers, you read that correctly! Compose a letter to his lordship, and if it passes muster he shall read it out in the next chapter of this exhilarating epistolary escapade, along with a hyper-link to a webbed-site of your choosing should you be successful! It can be whatever you like, declarations of love, sales-pitches, requests for his services or letters demanding his blood – just write, write, WRITE, DAMMIT!

Send your missives to hislordship@lordlikely.com, or leave them as a comment below, or contact his lordship via such social-media spots as Face-Book or the Twittering Device.

We look forward to hearing from you, chums!

]]> http://lordlikely.com/archives/adventures/the-likely-letters/the-likely-letters-part-one/feed 5 http://lordlikely.com/archives/adventures/our-mutual-fiend-adventures/our-mutual-fiend-part-three http://lordlikely.com/archives/adventures/our-mutual-fiend-adventures/our-mutual-fiend-part-three#comments Sat, 18 Sep 2010 19:51:41 +0000 Lord Likely http://www.lordlikely.com/?p=1382

(Illustration with apologies to J. Mahoney).

To read the previous chapter, please click HITHER.

“PLEASE SIR, can I have some more BRAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIINNNNS!” the diminutive demon repeated, as it leapt up at me, jaws slavering, eager to feast ‘pon my noble form. I, however, was reticent to feed the poor at the best of times, let alone with my own flesh, and so I  managed to grab the child by the arms, and hurl him away from me, leading him to crash noisily into a pile of rubbish at the end of the alley-way.

“Hmph,” I said, as I dusted myself down. “I’d wager I’d have been too rich for that urchin’s tastes anyway!” I quipped, wittily.

“Oooh, me ‘eart!” gasped Bella Butterlegs, the harlot with whom I had been hoping to spend some quality nookie-time. “Gave me quite a start, I can tell you.”

“Never fear, my dear,” I smiled, as I assisted her to her feet. “I do believe that is the last we have seen of that little toe-rag!”

“‘E’S GETTIN’ BACK UP!” screeched Bella, right into my lordly lughole. I spun around, and sure enough the blasted boy had managed to recover, and was slowly making his way to us once more, braying for brains.

“Persistent little blighter,” I mused, readying myself with my walking cane. I waited for the shambolic spectre to get within striking distance, and then with all of  my (quite considerable) might, I bought my cane sharply across his legs, forcing him to tumble to the ground. As he lay sprawled on the concrete, I delivered another powerful blow to his shins, which shattered with a satisfying crack. That would certainly put him out of action for a while, I thought.

“There, there, my dear,” I whispered to Bella, who was quite clearly shaken up by the whole affair. “The nasty young devil shan’t be bothering us any – ”

“E’S STILL COMING!” shrieked Bella, pointing behind me. And lo, the damned lad was now crawling across the ground towards us, his hunger for our grey-matter as undiminished as ever.

“For cock’s sake!” I exclaimed, and then I swiftly drew out my pistol and shot the bastard boy clean through the head. The creature howled, and collapsed face-down on the ground, completely still. I slowly moved up to the body, and gingerly prodded it with my foot. There was no movement whatsoever.

“Did…did you see his face?” Bella sobbed. “I don’t fink ‘e was ‘uman, you know. He looked like somefink from me night-mares!”

“I sincerely hope he wasn’t human,” I replied, holstering my pistol. “Else I shall be in an awful lot of trouble.”

“Oh, yer lordship!” Bella wept. “This ‘as been awful! I want ta go home, now.”

“Jolly good idea, m’dear!” I brightened. “A spot of rumpy-pumpy will help us forget this whole business!”

“I’m sorry me lord, but I ain’t in the mood no more. Just please take me home, sir!”

I cursed under my breath. Not only had I nearly had my beautiful brain torn from my skull by a lower-class wastrel, but now I was not going to get my end away either. Just my arseing luck.

However, being the gentleman that I am, I agreed to see that Bella got home safely. But as we left to seek out a hansom, an ominous creak emitted from the dark of the alley.

“What in the name of twattery is it now?” I sighed, peering into the shadows. I could make out that a door had swung open, but nothing else of import. I pondered the possibility that the noise had perhaps come from a cat (a terribly arthritic one, I reasoned), but suddenly, to my horror, another dozen or so monstrous children poured through the doorway, shuffling and groaning, arms outstretched, their voices crying for brains.

This was more than a little inconvenient.

However, just as I was about to re-equip myself with my pistol, a voice suddenly barked out from behind me.

“Sir, m’am, you may want to get down – NOW!”

For some reason, I found myself obeying this blunt order, dragging dear Bella down to the floor alongside me. As she huddled close to me, I looked up at the oncoming  horde, and watched with astonishment as a series of sharp blasts rang out through the darkness, and then one by one, the fearsome fiends’ heads exploded in a shower of flesh and bone.

As the last, lifeless body slumped to the ground, I picked myself up off the ground and turned to face our mystery saviour.

“Well thank you, sir,” I said. “That was some rather good shooting, I must say.”

The figure stood, head bowed, his large hat covering his face in shadow.

“Well thank you, Likely,” the man replied, tugging at the brim of his hat. My heart sank. That accent. American. NOW I recognised that voice.

“Think that’s the second time I’ve had to save your limey ass, huh?” beamed Evan Hellsinger, raising his head, grinning like the cocky little scrote-ball he was.

And just when I thought this night could not have got any worse…

- Lord Likely.

Continue on to Part Four…

* APOLOGIES for the delay in getting this latest chapter to you so tardily, friends. My scribe, Mr. Fanton, esquire, has recently found some sort of gainful employment, and has thus been occupied of late. Needless to say, I have flayed him for his insolence, and our schedule is slowly resuming. Please do bear with us! Many thanks!

IF YOU enjoyed this chapter (and who COULD NOT do so?) please consider donating via the button below. All your contributions toward the running of this webbed-site, and the feeding of my scribe, Mr. A. D. Fanton, are gratefully received and allow us to keep astonishing you week after week! MANY THANKS!

WHO WOULD have thought that when I started chronicling my Astonishing Adventures three years ago, that they would prove so popular that I would still be sharing them with the world to-day?

Well, that was a trick question – EVERYONE would have thought that, of course! My tales are cocking well ASTONISHING, after all!

From their not-at-all-humble beginnings in the very first paragraph of the very first chapter, my adventures have galloped along at a frantic pace, thrusting thrills into the eyeballs of my readers with unrepentant glee! And as they have progressed, more and more readers have come aboard for the ride, my readership swelling in size like my own proud Lord Palmerston. Huzzah!

And so we find ourselves at the present day, where I luxuriate in my most opulent surroundings, with thousands upon thousands of readers hanging ‘pon my every word like gloriously-feathered birds hanging ‘pon the branches of a mighty oak, during a breathtakingly beautiful yet overwhelmingly powerful thunderstorm!

I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, and from the heart of my bottom, for continuing to accompany me on these excellent and erotic escapades. Whilst I doubtlessly bring the adventure, ’tis you all who make them truly astonishing.

Thank you.

Now! Onto the celebrations! As you can see from the handsome poster above, there are plenty of spectacular events in the offing! So let us eat, drink and be very merry over these next three weeks! AND BRING ON THE DANCING GIRLS!

….

Ah, yes. They’re still recovering in the dressing-room. I had to…ahem…go over some moves with them earlier. Ah, well!

Let the party commence, nonetheless! Please do say hello, and help yourself to a beverage or nine! HUZZAH!

- Lord Likely.

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7:00am, 29th of January, 1891.

I AWOKE in a place that was, I am fairly certain, completely different to the place I had been in mere moments ago. Furthermore, I was quite sure that I had been in a conscious state the last time I had checked, so what in the name of cockery was I doing waking up now? When had I gone to sleep?

“WHAT THE TOSS IS GOING ON?” I bellowed to the ceiling. “WHERE AM I?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” came a woman’s voice from behind me.

“Apparently so,” I replied. “But I don’t recall having gone to bed, and there’s the problem.”

“Mmm,” the voice replied, quite disinterestedly, I felt.

“Look, who are you and where the hel -” I raised myself off of the couch upon which I’d been lying, and turned to face the lady in question. “- lo, my dear!” I finished.

Oh! How my heart skipped a beat, while my proud Lord Palmerston stood solidly to attention.

The lady was a completely ravishing creature,  dressed in a rather luxuriant, crimson-coloured ball-gown, which seemed to be completely at odds with the rather austere and sterile surroundings we were currently in.

“Hello,” the lady replied, pushing a curl of red hair back behind her ear, while busying herself with reading a stack of papers in her hand.

“So,” I said, getting myself unsteadily to my feet. “What is a fine creature like you doing in a hole like this?” I raised an eyebrow. “Of course, that is what the ladies usually say to me, but in this instance I’ll – ”

“What the fuck were you thinking, Likely?” snapped the lady, slamming her batch of papers onto a nearby desk. “You nearly blew the entire operation for us, you lousy SHIT!”

I stepped back, quite literally taken aback by this sudden, extremely unladylike outburst from such a distinctly ladylike form.

“I…I beg your pardon?” I stuttered.

“Boondoggles,” the woman said abruptly.

“I…I’m sorry to hear that, m’dear. Maybe you should get some talcum and – ”

“That’s my name, you idiot,” the lady sighed. “Felicity Boondoggles. I work for the Criminal Underworld Neutralisation Team.”

“Criminal Underworld Neutralisation Team? You mean CUN – ”

“No!” Felicity cried, putting up a hand to stop me. “Our official acronym is CTUN. We can’t use our actual acronym any more. When we used to have our initials in large letters on the wall outside, we were nearly charged with ‘dwelling inside an obscene publication.’ So…it had to be changed, for decency’s sake.”

“Oh. Pity. I rather liked the old name, rather rolled off the tongue…”

“Look, Likely. I’ve got no time for your small talk,” Felicity barked at me. “Let me just explain to you how you got here, what happened to the last few hours of your day, and how you almost COMPLETELY ballsed this all up…”

- Lord Likely.

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So there we were: Lord Loathsome, murderous villain and knob-end of the highest order, and myself – Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and all-round ruddy fantastic fellow indeed, facing off against one another in the bell-tower of my old school, St. Bumthrusty’s.

Loathsome, being the utterly indefensible weasel that he is, had already gotten the first blow in, sending me flat on my back, leaving me now looking down the troublesome end of a pistol pointed at my handsome face by the cad himself.

Meanwhile, my dithering man-servant, Botter, had gotten himself kidnapped by Loathsome, and was currently manacled to the inside of the school’s mighty bell, facing a gruesome pummeling from the bell’s clapper when six o’clock came around, which was in less than four minutes’ time.

Truly, things were looking distinctly shit-coloured for your noble narrator.

“Where shall I shoot first?” sneered Loathsome. “Shall I put a hole right through your face? I am sure the incredibly vain Lord Likely would not approve of that….no, wait! I have a better idea! Why don’t I blast your precious cock-end right off? Let us see how popular you prove to be without a penis, eh?”

Luckily for me, Loathsome’s inane prattling had bought me sufficient time to regain my breath, and so as he pointed his pistol at my proud Lord Palmerston, I swung a leg up and kicked the weapon from his hand, sending it ricocheting off of the school bell, before it disappeared down the hole below.

“Bastard!” hissed Loathsome.

“Lord Bastard, if it is all the same to you,” I retorted as I clambered to my feet. “Now, shall we proceed? I am rather keen to kick your posterior into next week.”

“Gladly,” replied Loathsome, and then he charged at me.

Despite having been rather winded from Loathsome’s earlier assault, I managed to deftly dodge the cad as he lunged at my good self, and delivered a most powerful punch to his face, which sent him crashing to the floor.

With Loathsome momentarily out for the count, I scooped my cane up off of the floor and headed behind the school’s bell, where there was a rather large and rather complex clockwork mechanism, which I assumed operated the bell when the clock struck the hour. After deliberating whether or not my man-servant’s miserable life was worth ruining a perfectly good cane for, I decided that seeking new help would be far more bother than seeking a new stick, and so thrust the cane inbetween some of the cogs operating the machinery. There was a low moaning sound as the cogs tried to continue turning despite the presence of my rigid rod, but happily, my cane held firm, and the entire mechanism ground to a juddering halt.

As I proudly surveyed my excellent handiwork, I was suddenly sent tumbling to the ground once more as that nefarious prick, Harold Loathsome, snuck up on me and swept my legs from beneath me. I was getting rapidly tired of being acquainted with the floor so regularly, and so kicked the swine in the knee, and then booted him in the chin. The cad fell to the floor like the sack of shit he so clearly was.

“You shall pay for your loathsome acts…Loathsome,” I declared, rather inelegantly.

“Oh really? And who is the real villain here, Likely?” Loathsome coughed as he struggled back up from the ground. “Is it really me, just because I murdered a few people? Or is it you, for creating me by bullying and mocking me through all of my school years?“

“I would have to say it is you who is the real villain,” I reasoned, quite reasonably. “Yes, yes. ‘Tis definitely you, no question about it.”

“Well, then…I shall feel no remorse about sending you to your grave then,” Loathsome exclaimed, and then he was suddenly brandishing a knife, which he tried to plunge into my chest. I put up an arm to block such a move, and then roared in pain as the blade entered my limb.

“You cocking piss-hole!” I yelled. “That really rather stung, you know.”

With Loathsome’s knife still protruding from my stricken arm, I grabbed the fiend by his lapels and then hurled him against a nearby window, which had been boarded up for reasons unknown. The wood splintered as Loathsome’s body slammed against it, but before he could recover I was upon him again, grabbing him by his lank, greasy hair, and slamming his head into the remaining boards.

“This…is…for…ruining…a…perfectly…good…suit!” I cried, each word punctuating a fresh attempt to batter Loathsome’s bonce against the wood. “And…this…is…for…ruining…a…perfectly…good…arm!” I continued.

Loathsome, somewhat bleary and bloodied by now, somehow managed to struggle free from my grasp, and then he took me by my injured arm and flung me against the window. The rest of the wood broke apart, and I was left half-hanging out of the glassless window behind. I felt a chilly, autumnal breeze across my face, and saw the considerable drop waiting below. However, I had no time to observe the view before I was pulled back in by my enraged nemesis, who spun me around to face him.

“This is it, Likely!” he cackled, an evil smirk upon his lips. “This is where we must part ways, I’m afraid. I would say it has been a pleasure to see you again, but frankly, it has not!”

I tried to think of a witty retort, but I was beginning to feel rather queasy and light-headed as my precious blood seeped from the wound in my arm.

“You wanker,” was all I could manage, before Loathsome pushed me back out of the window. As I fell backwards, however, I grabbed Loathsome’s wrist, which took the cove quite by surprise.

And then we fell together.

I awoke with a start, and saw nothing but sky. Where was I? What was going on? Was I in Heaven?

I moved my head to the left, and saw Loathsome lying next to me, seemingly unconscious. Clearly I was not in Heaven, then. Was I in Hell? Curses, I thought. I knew all that masturbating would catch up with me one day.

I slowly sat up, wincing as pain shot through every muscle in my body. Once I was sat upright, I saw that I was not in Hell, either. I was sat outside St. Bumthrusty’s, surrounded by a group of shocked onlookers. Clearly, I had not been out cold for long.

“What are you doing down there?” a voice cried from above. I gingerly looked up, to see Inspector Spunkleford looking down at me from the bell-tower window from which I had just plummeted.

“What are you doing up there?” I shouted in return.

“I came up to help you out!” Spunkleford yelled.

“Well, better late than never, I suppose.” I replied.

“What?”

“Oh, never mind! I shall talk to you when you get back down here!”

“What?”

“I said…”

“Never mind, Likely!” Spunkleford echoed. “I shall talk to you when I get back down there!”

I rolled my eyes in disbelief at the detective’s deplorable dimness, then all of a sudden I found Loathsome back upon me, his hands wrapped firmly around my throat.

“I”m not finished with you yet, Likely!” the wretch snarled, his grip tightening. “I shall not be finished until you are finished!”

“Fucking hell!” I gasped. “Why are you not ruddy well dead?”

“I shall not rest until I’ve completed my life’s work, and ended the life of the Lords Likely!”

“Luh-Lords?” I wheezed.

“Why yes,” Loathsome grinned, his grip as solid as steel. “After I have wiped you off this earth, I shall go after your father…”

“I…I think yuh-you’ll find muh-my father’s already duh-duh-dead, Loathsome!”

“Oh no, Likely. No, no no. He’s very much alive, at least for the moment. I saw him in – “

Suddenly, there was a loud cracking sound, and Loathsome’s eyes rolled upwards in their sockets, and then he slumped off of me, unconscious once more.

“Apologies for the delay there, Likely,” said Spunkleford, standing in front of me, proudly brandishing his truncheon. “We took a wrong turn and wound up in the toilets.”

“Spunkleford, you anus!” I coughed, as air filled my lungs. “That bloody cock-bag was about to tell me where my father is!”

“Oh,” Spunkleford said, evidently crestfallen. “Um, sorry, old boy.”

“Well, I suppose you did mean well,” I said, as Spunkleford helped me to my feet. “I shall refrain from kicking you in the plums this once.”

“Jolly good!” Spunkleford brightened. “By the way, did you ever find Botter?”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, as I remembered that my man-servant was still shackled to the inside of the school bell. But then I also recalled the amount of uneccessary worry he had caused me, and decided that leaving him where he was might serve as a clear reminder that he should not get kidnapped again. “Yes…yes I did, Inspector. He is fine, we can retrieve him…later. Much later.”

“Oh, well, huzzah!” Spunkleford cheered. “Well then, I sppose we should get you to a hospital, eh?”

“Not right now, my dear inspector,” I said. “Right now I think I would very much like to have a rather more intimate school reunion with that delightful young lady I met earlier…”

Spunkleford raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“By that I mean I plan to pump her roughly,” I added for clarity.

Spunkleford shook his head in weary resignation, and I staggered off to get my noble end away.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Come one, come all, and celebrate the Likely Bicentennial!

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“Well bless my soul! Is that little Lord Likely I can see? What an unexpected surprise!” beamed Professor Ventricle, my old biology teacher, as he entered his classroom wherein I was currently ensconced.

“The one and the same, sir,” I replied. “Although I am no longer little, I hasten to point out.”

“Indeed…indeed..” Ventricle replied. “And…um…who is this with you, may I ask?”

“Oh, her?” I said, indicating to the delightful Lizzie Flapkiss, whom I had artfully seduced into accompanying me to the classroom. “Why, this is Miss Elizabeth Flapkiss.”

“Ah, yes,” Ventricle said. “Used to have a face like a cat’s anus, as I recall.”

“That’s right.”

“Good…good…may I just enquire as to what Miss Flapkiss is doing bent over my desk with her buttocks exposed to one and all?”

“Well, Professor, I am afraid to report that Miss Flapkiss has been terribly ill-behaved, and thus I have decided to punish her by giving her six of the best, and soundly thrashing her behind with this cane, here.”

“I’ve been terribly naughty!” panted Lizzie.

“I see, I see. Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” Ventricle mused, stroking his long, thin, grey beard. “I am still slightly confused, though, Likely.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Well, why are you also thrusting your penis roughly into her arse-hole?”

“Ah, yes. Well, that is to teach her a little humility, my dear Professor.”

“Really?”

“No, not really. To be quite frank all I am actually doing is having rough, kinky sex with an extremely attractive bit of totty.”

Ventricle nodded. “Ah-ha! I thought as much, to be honest. You do not spend thirty-two years as a biology teacher without recognising the act of intercourse, you know.”

“Indeed not,” I concurred as I continued to thrust deeply into Lizzie’s back passage. “I cannot fool you, Professor!”

“I must say, I am very glad to see all of my lessons did not go unheeded. You yourself seem to have an excellent knowledge of biology.”

“I pride myself on being exceptionally intimiate with all parts of the female form,” I smiled, as I refocused my attentions on pounding the hell out of Lizzie’s anus.

Ventricle chuckled gently.

“Ah, but where are my manners?” I gasped, mid-thrust. “I am sure young Lizzie here would not mind tending to your own todger with her mouth and lips…”

“Not at all, not at all,” smiled Lizzie.

“Oh, how frightfully decent of you,” Ventricle remarked, positioning himself in front of Lizzie’s head, and unbuttoning his trousers.

“Think nothing of it,” I remarked, resuming my own erotic exertions.

“So,” Ventricle continued, as Lizzie took his flaccid flesh-pole into her mouth. “I presume you are here for the reunion?”

“Partly,” I answered as I watched my Lord Palmerston slide in and out of Lizzie’s filth-tube. “However, it seems I have found myself embroiled in another great adventure, as I am currently trying to track down the murderous fiend who has already taken two lives here at St. Bumthrusty’s.“

“Ah yes, a terrible business. Terrible,” sighed the Professor. “Tell me, do you suspect anyone of this foul play?”

“Indeed I do, indeed I do,” I began, but was interrupted by a knock at the classroom’s door, and then a young gentleman in his early twenties entered, carrying a tea-tray.

“Excuse the interruption, Professor,” said the chap. “I bought you some tea.”

“Thank you, m’boy!” beamed Ventricle. “Likely, meet Hedgerow, my laboratory assistant. He’s a frightfully good stick, tremendously helpful.”

“You are most kind, sir,” Hedgerow responded, placing the tea-tray down on one of the desks. “Would your guests care for some tea as well, Professor?”

“Likely? Cup of tea, dear boy?” asked Ventricle.

“Why not?” I replied.

“Jolly good. And Lizzie?…”

“I’m fine thank you professor,” Lizzie replied, taking a momentary pause from her cock-gobbling duties. “I’m not thirsty at the moment.”

“Fine, fine. Just two cups of tea then, Hedgerow!” chirped Professor Ventricle. Hedgerow nodded, and set about preparing the beverages, while Ventricle urged me to resume my account of the day’s events.

“Yes, well, I strongly suspect the murderer to be a former pupil from the school,” I shouted, in an effort to make my voice heard above the sound of my balls slapping loudly against Miss Flapkiss’ arse. “I believe it is one Harold Loathsome.”

“Loathsome…Loathsome…” mused Ventricle as Lizzie continued to slurp greedily upon his scholarly sperm-stick. “Can’t say the name rings a bell, to be honest.”

“No matter. I’m sure I shall apprehend him nonetheless, and save the day once more. Ah, thank you Hedgerow,” I said, as Ventricle’s assistant passed me a cup of tea. Hedgerow smiled, and as he leant over to give the professor his tea, Lizzie stretched out a dainty hand and slowly began stroking the lad’s groin.

“Oh-ho!” I remarked as I sipped my tea. “It seems like Miss Flapkiss has a thirst for more penis!”

“So it does!” agreed Ventricle. “Go on, Hedgerow! Don’t be embarrased! Join us, won’t you?”

Hedgerow looked a little unsure for a moment, but then he seemed to come round to the idea, and soon enough he had dropped his trousers and was enjoying some fine hand-relief from the lovely Lizzie.

“So, Likely, where do you suppose this Loathsome chap is now, then?” Ventricle asked.

“I imagine he is close by, biding his time before his next attack,” I replied, gently inserting two fingers into Lizzie’s increasingly wet vagina. “However, so far all my attenpts to track him down have proven rather fruitless, I am afraid to say.”

“GERALD!” screamed a new voice, which rather served to put me off my stroke. We all turned our heads to see a rather thin, middle-aged woman, her blonde hair pulled up into a rather tight bun. She was stood in the doorway, looking less than impressed with Professor Ventricle’s current leisure pursuit.

“Oh!” exclaimed Ventricle. “Veronica! How delightful to see you…”

“Don’t you Veronica me, Gerald.” snapped the lady. “You were supposed to meet me outside the school fifteen minutes ago, remember? We are supposed to be going to visit my mother!”

“Blast it!” Ventricle said, slapping his forehead. “I completely forgot, darling. I am so sorry…”

“It simply will not do, Gerald,” Veronica huffed, crossing her arms. “I”ve been sat outside in a cold cab, waiting on you, when all the time you’ve been in here getting your love-pump licked by some strumpet or other.”

“Lizzie Flapkiss,” smiled Lizzie, as she prepared to move her mouth from Ventricle’s shaft to that of Hedgerow.

“Hm,” sniffed Veronica.

“Excuse me, madam!” I interjected. “Maybe, while you are here and all, you might like to partake in our friendly little foursome?”

The lady stared at me for moment, then relented. “Well, I suppose I have come all the way up here,” she said, unbuttoning her jacket.

“That’s the spirit!” I grinned. “You can squeeze in here, if you’d like to tongue Elizabeth’s mimsy for a while.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” Veronica consented, kneeling down beside me. “I find the taste of quim most agreeable.”

“Splendid. I’m Lord Likely, by the way,” I said, tipping my hat.

“Veronica Ventricle,” replied the professor’s wife, as she maneuvered herself under Lizzie’s mossy mound. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Cup of tea?” offered Hedgerow, stretching across to the tea-tray while young Elizabeth sucked upon his nob-end.

“Mmmm,” consented Mrs. Ventricle, her mouth otherwise occupied.

“One lump or two?”

“I’ll take both,” chuckled Lizzie, taking Hedgerow’s scrotum into her mouth.

“My wife doesn’t take sugar, Hedgerow,” Ventricle said, as Lizzie furiously worked away on his tallywhacker with her spare hand.

“Cream?”

“I think I may well do so at any minute,” replied Ventricle, and surely enough he subsequently did just that.

Hedgerow, meanwhile, finished preparing a fresh cup of tea, and placed it beside the Professor’s wife, who acknowledged the generous gesture with a muffled ‘thank you’.

“Likely,” continued Ventricle. “I’ve been thinking…about the school janitor…”

“Whatever helps you get in the mood, my good man!”

“No, no, no…you misunderstand. Last week we took on a new janitor here at the school, after the previous one died in a mysterious raking accident.”

“Raking accident?” I repeated, my interest piqued.

“Yes. It seems the poor fellow accidentally fell on his own rake seventeen times whilst clearing up some leaves last week.”

“Oh dear.”

“Indeed. Then the unfortunate man accidentally hurled himself into the furnace. One day later, we had a new janitor…a rather quiet, blonde-haired chap…”

“Oh! Oh! OH!” I exclaimed.

“What? What is it, Likely? Are you getting an idea?”

“No, my dear professor, I believe I am about to ejaculate.”

“Allow me!” chimed Mrs. Ventricle, disengaging herself from Lizzie’s flaps and angling her face towards my throbbing Palmerston.

“Many thanks indeed,” I said, doffing my hat while I spurted forth arcs of silken man-paste into Mrs. Ventricle’s waiting mouth. “Actually, Professor, I think there may be something in this janitor business of which you speak…tell me, when did you last see the new chap?”

“It must have been about an hour or so ago,” Ventricle recalled. “He was talking to a fellow I didn’t recognise at all…small fellow, wore a bowler hat, seemed quite wretched…”

“Botter!” I cried, as Mrs. Ventricle gleefully swallowed my noble nut-cream. “Buggeration! If this new janitor is indeed Loathsome in disguise…then my man-servant may be in mortal trouble…”

I paused as fear gripped my entire body.

“…or he’s already dead.”

Silence descended upon the room.

“Now, what say we all swap positions here, and have another bash?” I beamed.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Botter Beware!

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