Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Ambrose Horne and the Disobedient Chambermaid

Another excerpt from a yet-to-be published Ambrose Horne adventure.

"I apologise, my dear," Ambrose said softly. Or, at least, he thought he spoke softly. "What was that you were saying?"

From her position stretched across the eminent detective's lap, her naked pink buttocks poking pertly out from the raised folds of her disshevelled skirts, his companion of the evening presented him with her most scornful pout. "I said, if you are going to spank me that hard, you could at least have the decency to listen to the slaps." She reached out and, rather more roughly than a woman in her position ought, snatched at the thin cord that stretched from Horne's ears, to the tiny box-like contraption in his breast pocket. A cacophony of sound erupted from two miniscule buds... they looked so much like nipples, she thought to herself, albeit disturbingly white nipples... as they ripped from Horne's ears.

Horne glared at her. "I was listening to that."

"Well, you should be listening to this," she replied and, reaching behind her, she delivered a resounding slap on her own bare bottom. "What is that noise-some device anyway?"

"Tis but a trifle that I concocted in my spare hours," Horne told her. "I call it an iPod... think of it as a portable gramophone, with neither disc nor crank nor even horn." He paused, sensing that his words were already bemusing the poor simple woman. "And much more besides. A marvel of the modern age, as I'm sure you will concur."

And, somewhat more brusquely than he intended, he stood and the poor girl tumbled to the floor. "And I will have you know that, although I currently employ it, as you say, for 'noise-some' pursuits, it is also an aid in manifold other tasks too. A portable library with neither librarian nor silence, a portable cinematograph, with neither projector nor audience...Plus," and here he puffed his chest proudly out, "I myself can be found within the myriad marvels that are concealed within."

And, with a few deft swirls of his finger, he called up from within the miraculously minute bowels of the device, a written account of his own adventures - "published," it seems, as though it were a book, but so unlike any book she had seen before that the very sight sent her swooning to the floor.

"It is the devil's work," she whispered as she regained her senses a few moments later.

"It probably is," Horne answered slowly. "But I would wager that scoundrel Holmes would sacrifice his own grandmother to Beelzebub for so signal an achievement as this. Now, if you would reassume the position, I believe that a certain amount of punishment still awaits you."

"I do hope so," the girl smiled softly. "And maybe while you spank me, I will investigate your iPod further. Do you have any Motorhead?"


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