Dunyazad: Tale the Third

A Victorian Adventure, involving a Treasure and a Jinniyah, plus sex, violence and brandy. (Author's note - Part 2 ended with a cliffhanger – again. You may want to start at the beginning.)

*

I was trapped. From behind I could hear heavy footsteps, as I desperately tried to think of a plan. And then I was distracted by a new horror ... my clothing begin to crawl over my body. My cloak seemed to grow, while in contrast my shirt began to constrict my chest. My trousers grew as well, and, too late, I clutched for my crotch as I felt them drop away. Directly, the policeman was upon me, while under my now voluminous cloak I gripped empty shirttails when I should have held a handful of bollocks. What the ...?

The man stared down at me and then with a look of bafflement peered up the wall, saying, "Where did he go, little one?"

I gaped back, trying to take in what had just happened to me, and then heard Dee's voice as thought close at hand, saying, "Answer him, fool!"

"He went up the wall!" I said in a high simper. That route was obviously impassable, so I added, "It was uncanny!"

After a glance up, the peeler took a closer look at me. I wore a similar cloak, but ... no. He walked to the end of the alley looking more closely for another way out, while I hastily stepped out of the trousers which were tangled about my ankles, and out of the now oversized boots, and kicked it all aside.

"He's very handsome," said the voice in my head. Damn me if I didn't agree, though I had never been drawn to men or boys. As for the previous night, well, I myself had provided the body. This was entirely different.

"No, it is not," said Dee. "Look at the bulge in his breeches," she added, as he slowly returned. "He likes you!"

"He likes

you

," I retorted. And yet, while in her form I could feel her powerful urges, in spite of myself.

"Eh?" said the still baffled policeman – I must have spoken aloud.

"I'm frightened," I ventured – not entirely untrue. "Who was that man?"

"Well, Miss, he's a right villain, he is. Tore a man's throat out with his bare hands. Foreigner, of course. We'll catch him, though, never you fear!" – this with an arm around my shoulders – "Can't say I've seen you hereabouts, before. You're new to the game, then, are you?" He began to lead me deeper into the alley. Then he backed me against the wall, and I saw that he had released his affair from its bonds.

"Vile toad," said Dee's voice, "Shall we kill him?" Somehow, I had no doubt 'we' could do so. "But he's clean, and he has a sizable linga," she mused. Under the cloak I now wore only a shirt, and my hand stole up to my borrowed cunnie. I found it wet with anticipation, and I wondered at the urges I felt. I determined to let Dee take charge, and so absolve myself of the responsibility. Yet she would not or could not accommodate me, and so I stood stupidly motionless.

My clean-cocked constable grew inpatient. "Are you straight in from the country, then, girly? Hasn't anybody told you how to earn our protection?"

With this he pulled open my cloak and, grinning to find my legs bare, took hold of my bum cheeks and lifted me up. I was now suspended over his weapon, my back still against the wall. And, God help me, I wanted it so badly that I whimpered as he lowered me back down. He impaled me in the one movement, and then began to pound, wedging me against the wall. He clearly intended to finish his work quickly, and I suddenly realized that I was not having that. I clenched his member tightly inside me, just at its base. Very tightly - for I had inherited the knack of using Dee's form along with her urges. As I did so, I stared into his startled eyes, and gave him a less than pleasant smile. And then, when his imminent explosion was quelled, I urged him on to satisfy me. Confused, he stepped away from the wall, and began to thrust more slowly, while I held his neck and matched his movements with enthusiastic bounces. It was now my turn to seek a quick blaze of passion. I could feel it well up in me, stronger with every passing moment. He had continued to fall back, until it was his own back to the opposite wall, and I drove myself home and milked him up and down, inside me, using the muscles of my pussy sheath. Even as we each reached our peaks together, I gathered his hair in my hands and slammed his head against the wall. He slumped slowly down until he was sitting insensibly at its base, with me still straddling him.

"Is he dead?" I asked, aloud, but even as I did so I could feel the pulse beating in his still-hard pole, deep inside me.

"Not dead," agreed Dee, "but fucked witless, in so far as he has any. Mmmm ... yes, quite thick, he is, my wanton lover, but time we were off!" I had without thought begun to bounce again on his still gloriously firm cock. "When he comes to his meagre senses we should be gone. He will long remember us, though – and perhaps be more cautious when accosting peasant girls!"

After several more long strokes for luck, I clambered off him, and then scooped up my breeches and boots from the shadows nearby. Folding them under my cloak, I stepped over the legs of my most undignified lover before walking back out onto the main street. The other rozzer loitering across the way stared at me with some suspicion. He was no better at his job than my new friend, for he must not have seen the initial pursuit, else he would have joined in. Probably he was left to surmise that the other had slipped away specifically to sample my charms, and had not even thought to share. I gave him a coquettish toss of hair and continued away as quickly as I might without tempting him to give chase.

Only when I was several streets away did my pace slow. I paused and caught my reflection in a shop windowpane. Dee's enchanting face looked back at me. Now the fog of lust and shock and fear had passed, and still here I was, against all reason, a young woman standing in a thoroughfare of London. Even after all that had gone before, I found it hard to credit. Shifting my burden slightly, I slipped a hand inside my shirt to probe my chest. I trembled as I touched a nipple and felt it harden.

"Lovely, is it not?" Dee spoke again at last.

"Yes!" I returned, aloud. A woman turned to give me an odd look. Until I could get the hang of responding without use of my lips, I would look like one of those unfortunate loons who wander about the town conducting heated arguments with empty air. "Yes," I repeated, more quietly, and shook my head in awe.

I began to walk again, feeling this body from the inside – the heat of the sun on my face and the silky run of my hair on my neck - the friction of my shirt on my nipples - the roll of my hips and the stretch of my buttock and thigh muscles as I walked - the pleasant soreness of my pussy, which still ebbed warm love fluids down my bare legs - the fabric of my cloak riding my shins and ankles - and on down to my bare feet on the worn pave stones. All (well, nearly all) were sensations I had ignored for years, now made fresh and sensuous. I knew that Dee was enjoying my immersion as much as I was, but I was in no way troubled by her presence in my mind.

I was well on my way back to my new residence when Dee began to speak again. "While you were yet sleeping, my lord, I set out to learn something of our situation. I approached the church in which we fought. The placed was sealed, of course, and buzzed like a hive with angry men. I was able to lure one of them away and ... press him for information." I tried to imagine this interview and failed. "The black clad ones are desperate to lay hands on you, but the loss of eight of their number has made them careful."

Eight? One in my hallway, and the two I'd shot - so she had destroyed even more men than I had supposed in that awful crypt. I shuddered, despite myself.

Dee politely waited for my thoughts on the matter to play out, and then continued. "The death of the first one, in your previous dwelling, they reported to the city's prince who has dispatched his own men" - the constabulary, that would be - "with your description in hand. The streets are watched."

I spun around, expecting a dark figure to be at my very heels, and heard the unsettling sound of Dee's laughter in my head. "They seek you, not me, remember? And it was you they think has disappeared up a sheer wall. They feared you enough before. If they dare search at all, it will be on the rooftops for the next while. And now," she concluded, "we should stop here."

I had come up to a shop of finest women's clothes. I stepped inside, still mulling over the information she had collected, and was brought to attention by the owner's squawk of indignation at such a ragged street urchin entering his premises. I surprised myself by dropping my bundle and casting aside my cloak, then stepping forward so that my shirt opened fully to reveal my proud breasts, and of course everything else. Lifting a small fist, still with my ornate ring, I pointed at him and I announced in the most imperious of tones, "I have been attacked and robbed, sir, and it is your privilege to re-equip me suitably." To my even greater surprise, he averted his gaze and mumbled apologies.

I was soon trying on a dress of the latest fashion, the more elegant for the fact that it lacked the stays and supports usually added to supplement nature. With inordinate pleasure gazing at my new reflection, I had soon modeled and selected a stack of similar garments.

The shopkeeper brightened visibly when I gave the address to which the bulk of my purchases were to be sent, along with the clothing I had worn and carried into the shop. Clearly he felt vindicated in his response to my demands. I gathered that the ladies of that establishment (which was known as 'The Catacomb' for its back entrance) were regular clients, whose bills were paid a good deal more promptly than those of the local nobility.

Once outside, Dee resumed the conversation in my head, and passers-by stepped well clear of the mad, muttering girl – even if I was now fashionably attired. Dee informed me that we were now co-owners in the Catacomb. Evidently she had paid a literal fortune. She assured me that we now enjoyed the absolute loyalty of the talented little manager, whom she had promoted to become our partner.

"And you will be amazed at what George conceals under his breaches," she added by further explanation. I felt our cunnie moisten at the thought. "The little one, Jane, is likewise entirely and without reserve at our service," she went on. And again a little twinge below, as I remembered Jane's embarrassed demeanour this morning.

"Just so," Dee agreed. "I have also improved the guard - there was a servant's entrance that was not watched at all. Now, the big lad Peter is in command." I was now positively leaking, as ghosts of her memories of

that

interview filtered across.

"Because," she continued, "the other thing I learned from the man I questioned – before death released him - was that our foes are led by a certain Lord Oakley. It seems the man is a regular visitor to our new home." That unpleasant news got my attention back to business. "Do not worry – as I said, you no longer fit the description of the man he seeks." She laughed. "And our own men are now prepared. If this Lord should return, we shall dedicate the dungeon to its true use."

Gad - she'd had a busy morning before I struggled out of bed. "There is much yet to do," she continued. "Tomorrow we must block off every other entrance to the vault. Luckily Peter was a – how do you say it? A sapper in the army. A curious word," she mused, "but the sap does indeed flow in him." I could feel my cunnie positively throbbing by now. "Today he will get us the black powders with which we may collapse the tunnels." When I failed to respond intelligently to this, she added, as though to a child, "We must block the passage which leads back to the church, to help protect our treasure. Then we will begin to move some of it."

I hadn't even considered that we had a tiger by the tail. Not only were the previous guardians hunting me – which was bad enough. They would also be looking to secure the trove itself. And how were we to carry away such a mass of stuff in secret?

Dee, following my thoughts, spoke again in my head, "George tells me that the moneylenders in your London have strong vaults – we will cache some in each of them. And then – you will see what powers gold can buy!"

This was planning far beyond my own feeble horizons of sex, ale, and more sex. However, there was no time at present to explore just what powers Dee had in mind, since we had by then arrived at the main entry to our new lodgings. As she had warned me, I (having become her) was treated with full deference as employer when I stepped in the door. There were more sturdy lads at the entrance than I remembered on my way out (although I confess I now seemed to have a sharper eye for such things). As I passed one of the many mirrors I caught sight of the more mature, sophisticated Dee who was known to the staff. I hadn't even felt the transformation.

Jane admitted me (or, if you prefer, us) into the suite. "Good afternoon, M'lady ..." followed by a faint gasp as she saw my new frock, "Oh! You look so beautiful!" She flushed, evidently thinking herself a little forward.

I laughed, and performed a spun, my skirts lofting to flash a great deal of leg. Jane clapped her hands in pleasure and I did it again, admiring myself in yet another tall mirror. It was my turn to blush – here I was behaving like a giddy schoolgirl.

Then inspiration struck me. With Jane's help I undid various strings and stays and pulled the dress over my head. Naked now, I held it out to the girl. "I think it would look better on you," I suggested. "Try it on."

She hesitated only briefly, and had soon exchanged her own garment for mine.

"Perfect!" I exclaimed. "It's yours."

By now Jane's face was aglow, and she scurried off, saying she would draw a bath for me.

You will observe that I was becoming altogether too comfortable wearing this excellent body. I noticed the same thing, and wondered - perhaps it was time to switch back. But was I even able to go back? I still knew so little - perhaps we were now one for good! Yet the idea was somehow not so dreadful, at that.

Dee didn't see fit to enlighten me. Instead, her voice said, "Go ahead – she's waiting!"

A soak did sound inviting. I went into the bathing room, to find that I had misconstrued the situation, for Jane had set aside her new gown and boldly climbed into an already prepared bath. I could barely see her for steam and bubbles, but the freckles on the bits I saw matched the constellations on the copy of Jane whom I had rogered the night before. She bit her lip and watched me hopefully as I entered. I was aware that her relationship with Dee had developed considerably while I slept, but apparently she was still uncertain whether such innovation on her part would be accepted.

You will say that I was a wolf in sheep's clothing, but in fact I already felt like the woman I appeared. O rather, the girl. I caught sight of my reflection in the steamy mirror and found I had subtly shed years since I had re-entered the suite, and now looked like Jane's sister. I gave her a smile of approval, and shrugged off my slip. She in turn grinned with relief and anticipation as I stretched to display myself. I then picked up a sponge and carefully climbed in to the warm bubbles, imperiously presenting my back to be scrubbed. The regal effect was undermined when a wicked whim took me and I splashed backwards with both hands.

I was rewarded by choked laughter and then by a drizzle of warm water as Jane wrung out a sponge on my head. There was soon as much water on the tiles as in the tub, as we splashed and wrestled. The little minx was slippery and quick.

After a brief flurry of splashing and dunking we clambered out of the tub at last. We towelled one another dry and skipped naked into the adjoining salon, which Dee had already redecorated to her taste, with animal skins and soft cushions strewn about. Jane flopped back into the midst of them, landing in a sunbeam with a sigh of comfort. I slipped down beside her and as we basked in the afternoon sun, she chatted.

It seemed that she and her older sister, Ruth, were the daughters of an Irish merchant. When the old man died, the girls fell on hard times and Ruth had come to London to seek her fortune. Against all odds she had found it, by coming to work at the "Cat". She was now one of the house's most sought-after courtesans, with her own salon on the floor just below us. By and by she had summoned Jane to join her – the place apparently employed many extended family members. It also owned the building directly behind, which held comfortable staff accommodations above a row of shops – one of which, as I had suspected, held our discreet back entrance.

Although Jane was no virgin, she was occasionally marketed as one; however, Ruth had not brought her sister to learn her profession, but rather to provide her with marriageable skills. Given society clothes and manners, and a newly minted pedigree, many of the Cat's girls had gone on to find a suitably wealthy match. Occasionally, a smitten patron assisted in this deception; more commonly they entered the ranks of the respectable by becoming the ward of an upright parson or retired army officer. There were a number of discrete gentlemen available to introduce their orphaned colonial-born nieces to society, taking payment for this service in bartered trade.

As we talked, the heat made us drowsy. Her story fell off to a murmur, and then stopped – I nearly nodded off myself. I let her sleep for a while, and then began to run my fingertips over her skin, just brushing the tiny hairs that were red sparks in the sunshine. She murmured as I gently traced a pattern into the abandon of freckles. Slowly, I felt her stir and respond. Her small body seemed to radiate tension as my touch rambled from place to place. Her nipples had hardened to little spikes and her thighs began to creep apart as though of their own will. I glimpsed the shimmer of dew between them and lowered my head to lap up the honey leaking from within. Fully awake now, she put her hands on my head, her fingers wrapped in my long hair to hold me in place. Her orgasm, when it came, wracked her whole body.

She quickly recovered and insisted on returning the favour. Imperiously she pushed me back onto the pillows and hunkered down between my thighs with a show of high purpose. Then the little rogue proceeded to tease my clitoris with the point of her tongue. I played along, squirming myself closer, trying to increase the contact. She retreated at the same pace, until at last she relented and began to lick me in earnest. At the same time she reached under her chin to explore my cunnie. First one finger and then two were inside me, quite literally swirling up my passion. And then, while twisting to reposition herself, she slipped and lurched forward. Of a sudden her whole hand was inside me. Her tonguing stopped abruptly, and she gasped as my cunnie clamped tightly on her wrist.

"Oh, Lord! I'm so sorry," she said, helplessly.

"No, no, it feels good – give me more!"

Tentatively she slid her thin arm deeper, until the bend of her elbow was resting against my outer lips. I was by that time well into a prolonged orgasm. At last amidst a mixture of laughter and tears I struggled out the single word: "Enough!"

She extricated her arm with some difficulty – my new cunnie being reluctant to let her free. After, we rested another long while, cradled in one another's arms. Finally I stood and went to look about for some refreshment. Nothing seemed at hand, and I returned to see Jane sitting up and preening herself in the mirror. I laughed and snatched up a flywhisk from a nearby shelf, intending to flick her with it. I hesitated, though. The thing was unusual, with a thick black leather grip and a long fountain of hair nearly the same colour as my own. It was Jane's turn to giggle, when she saw my confusion.