The Exhilarating Tale of Sir Walter and Miss Pennyworth
“Ah Miss Pennyworth, a good morning to you,” said Sir Walter Wyles-Smithe.
“And too you, Sir Walter,” said Miss Pennyworth. She closed the door to the long but narrow law office and hung her outer jacket on the coat rack. “I thought you were in the Fifth Circle for another two days.”
“The trial was adjourned, I’m afraid. Missing witness don’t you know. That’s the demonic courts for you; frightfully disorganised.”
Miss Pennyworth nodded and settled into her seat behind her desk. There was a large pile of papers waiting for her, but first she opened the large leather bound appointments book and flipped to the week’s page. She trailed a long manicured finger across the lines.
“It seems you have no court appointments for the remainder of the week. Has the Fifth Circle rescheduled yet? We will need to book the time.”
“Not yet, I’m afraid.” Sir Walter idly pulled at the collar of his starched white shirt and scratched his neck. “I expect a runner within the week with the revised summons. And drat this rash. All the sulphur in the Fifth Circle will have me scratching for days.”
“Very good,” said Miss Pennyworth. “I will make a note.” She lifted an ornate fountain pen and wrote a short message in her tight copperplate script. “Will you be taking clients until then?”
“Anything interesting?”
“The widow Hera is suing the executor of her husbands estate for a controlling stake in the Fillenbank Gas Works.”
“Pedestrian twaddle.” Sir Walter waved a hand like a Thespian on stage, the motion not directed at anyone in particular save perhaps the shrunken monkey head on the wall, sandwiched between two bulging books of case law. “Am I not a barrister of the Triple Crown? Have I not practiced before the courts of man, god, devil and beast? Have I not prosecuted the parties unnameable and sued on behalf of those unmentionable? Give me succour, woman. Succour!”
“Very good, Sir.” Her fountain pen made a tiny mark. “The Sixtieth Street Murder—”
“Poppycock!”
“The Rumble appeal before the House of Earls?”
“Mere gutter work!”
“The Ambrosia Tax case before the Exchequer’s Court in Session?”
“Perhaps, perhaps, but no. Tax law is a young man’s game.” Sir Walter leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh. He idly hefted a book of law from his desk and drew his fat thumb across the heavily embossed letters. Blackstone’s Commentaries on the Laws of Hell, it read, a foundational tome in his craft.
“The Right Reverend Burning Gates is suing Heaven under its resident Person-hood of His Serene Worshipfulness, the Ambassador Plenipotentiary the Archangel Jegudiel.”
“Ah, ha! That is more like it.” Sir Walter sat bolt upright and slammed his copy of the Commentaries down onto his desk with a bang. The impact set the spun glass tea-set on a nearby worktable ringing. “The drama of the judicial stage. To weave the chains that bind men, gods, demons and angels alike. Who is defending?”
“His Serene Worshipfulness, the Ambassador Plenipotentiary the Archangel Jegudiel has retained Belloin Potts of the Chambers Potts, Black and Discord.”
“Potts! Potts!” Sir Walter almost shook in his chair.. His already ruddy face grew red with fury. “I wont have it, I say. I won’t have it. Never will I share a courtroom with that man, not after what he did in ’42. The bond between Pupil and Master is sacred. Why, the very structure of pupillage itself. And he burned it down!”
“Very good, Sir.” Miss Pennyworth frowned slightly as she made another small note. “Would you be willing to advice Mr Jacobs on the case?”
“Oh I suppose I might.” Sir Walter made a rolling motion with a hand. “Experience must give a few sage words to youth. But that wont take much of my time. No, it seems to me, Miss Pennyworth, that I must amuse myself for the remainder of the week.”
He once more took up his copy of the Commentaries and leaned back as he idly skimmed a passage concerning the ancient privileges of Earls in the Upper Barrows of the Fourth Circle. It failed to keep his interest and he finally looked back up at Miss Pennyworth.
“Were are Jacobs, Mewl and that boy Fletcher?” he asked.
Miss Pennyworth looked up from breaking open a wax sealed document. It bore the mark of the High Court. “Mr Jacobs is preparing his closing remarks for the Blackshire Case. Mr Mewl has taken Mr Fletcher to visit Redgate Prison.”
Sir Walter muttered an inaudible nothing under his breath and once more returned to his book. It didn’t last long and yet again he turned his attention to Miss Pennyworth. His eyes narrowed just a fraction.
“What are you wearing, Miss Pennyworth?“
Miss Pennyworth coloured slightly. “It is the newest fashion, Sir.”
She wore a tight white dress shirt, cut to fit her figure. It clung tight to her large breasts and hugged her flat stomach. The ‘V’ of the high pointed collar bared the exposed skin of her neck. Below the shirt she wore a tight skirt that ended a little below her knees.
Her auburn hair was twisted into a tight bun and held in place with a pair of large hair pins. Ruby earrings glittered on her years, almost the exact same colour as her make-uped lips.
“Newest fashion, right, right.” It was Sir Walter’s turn to colour slightly, a distinct crimson cast coming over his corpulent face. Slowly, so as not to be noticed, he reached into his suit jacket’s pocket a withdrew a small cheap volume, barely more than a pamphlet really, bound in cardboard. It smelled of sulphur and in letters only a slightly different colour than the cover it read, ’Six Words to Control a Vixen.’ He’d picked it up as a lark in the Fifth Circle but now... He shifted in his seat as his member stirred in his breeches.
He slipped the volume between the pages of the Commentaries and turned to page one. His eyes devoured the words in a way they hadn’t legal text since his own long gone pupillage days.
Finally he said, “Miss Pennyworth, you look frightfully hot. Maybe you should undo a...” Dare he?” “A button?”
Her eyes flashed and her pen skittered, making an ugly black mark. “Sir Walter, that is a highly inappropriate comment. You know very well I am engaged to the Baronet Wellesley’s son.”
A hot flash ran over Sir Walter’s face and he started to sweat. He tugged at his collar and pushed on. “I only say because I am feeling very erinaceous lately.” That was the first word in the book: erinaceous. Now he just had to hope.
Slowly Miss Pennyworth nodded. “Of course, Sir. I apologise. I shouldn’t have assumed such an improper character to your words, and it is very hot.“
Her fingers rose to her neck and fiddled with her topmost button. The pearl disc popped free and her tight dress shirt opened an inch.
Sir Walter gobbled in the sight. The curve of her throat was now completely bare. And was that? Yes it was, just a hint of cleavage. His heart hammered in his chest and his member grew so hard it made sitting dreadfully uncomfortable.
Hands shaking slightly, he turned to the next page of ‘Six Words to Control a Vixen’ and started reading.
It took Sir Walter almost half an hour to grasp the second word and during the time Miss Pennyworth worked her way through more of the piled paperwork. Her pen made a scratching-squeaking sound as she inked another bill of credit.
Sir Walter’s lips were dry. He licked them and tried to speak. His voice came out like a frog’s croak, and not a noble frog either, such as the one he’d represented in the famous case of Crumb-snatcher v Puff-jaw.
He coughed and said, “Miss Pennyworth, might I trouble you for a glass of water?”
She looked up and smiled. “Of course, Sir. I will get it at once.” She stood and walked heel-toe to the small kitchenette. Sir Walter’s eyes stuck to her shapely rear as she did.
“And a snifter of the good port while you are about it!” he called after her.
Miss Pennyworth returned shortly a few minutes later, carrying a glass of water and a cut crystal goblet containing a splash of port. From the slight iridescent cast to the colour, it looked to be a gift from the parties unmentionable. The other gentry were known for their skill in such things.
She leaned forward and placed both on his desk. As she did, he had the perfect opportunity to look down the neck of her shirt and just caught the swell of her breasts. His shaggy eyebrows went sky high and he dabbed at his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief.
“You still look frightfully hot, Miss Pennyworth,” he said. “Perhaps another button?”
She froze in place, hand still on the port goblet, and Sir Walter hurried on.
“And you have been seeing to your jentacular duties I trust?” There it was, word two.
“I,” she said, voice hollow and a little dazed. “I think... I mean yes, Sir. I will see to it at once.”
She stood upright and flicked open another button. There was a noticeable looseness to her dress shirt now. If only she’d still been leaning forward... Oh what Sir Walter might have seen. Still, there was the next word.
Sir Walter chugged down half the glass of water, swigged the port and took to the next page of his book with a hunger he’d seldom known. Miss Pennyworth returned to her desk and paperwork.
The third word took longer still for Sir Walter to grasp and it was nearing lunch by the time he was done.
He looked up and saw Miss Pennyworth still at her desk. Her shirt hung loose off her shoulders but still hid all the tantalising titbits beneath.
The time for caution was over. This was no Benstein v. McJerry to play careful legal battle before a watchful judge. This was the Crown v. the Justice Guild and the moment to wow the jury.
“Miss Pennyworth,” he said in his best commanding voice. “If you are going to let that shirt fall off your shoulders I simply insist you remove it entirely. Lamprophony has no place in this office, you hear?“
That pronouncement phased Miss Pennyworth and she sat unmoving for perhaps half a second. But when she did start moving it was everything Sir Walter could have dreamed.
“Of course, Sir, you are right,” she said and her hands started down her shirt. Button after button popped and then she slid the entire garment off her shoulders in a single fluid movement.
Sir Walter quivered to such a degree that an onlooker might have worried he’d been overcome with a case of dyspepsia. Of course if the onlooker could also have seen Miss Pennyworth they would have quite understood.
Miss Pennyworth sat prim and proper in her chair, working through another document. It bore the mark of the Church. The one thing out of place was that she was now topless. The only thing covering her above her waist was a peach coloured brassiere that cupped and held her breasts. And those breasts. They appeared so large and firm, like ripe melons. Everything else was pale bare skin, only now revealed to Sir Walter’s hungry eyes. His member was a bar of the hardest steal from the Frankish Ironworks.
More, he must have more.
He took to the forth page of ‘Six Words to Control a Vixen’ and finished it in record time. He looked up just in time to see Miss Pennyworth getting ready to leave for lunch.
“Stay a moment!” he said, voice high with panic. Miss Pennyworth turned with her coat in hand and smiled at Sir Walter. She was topless, only that marvellous peach brassiere shielding her breasts.
“Yes, Sir?” she asked.
“I, I,” he said, mind racing. He must make her stay inside but he must also see more. “Miss Pennyworth,” he said, the solution coming to him in a flash. “You still look far too hot. I fear you must be sick. You simply must stay inside. Come, sit. I will get you a glass of water. Take off your brazier and lie back. You have been positively pauciloquent today.“
“Yes.” Miss Pennyworth nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are right.” She turned away from Sir Walter and hung back up her coat. He saw her hands reach around her back and unfasten a cunning catch which held the brassiere in place. The garment fell away and then Miss Pennyworth turned around.
Sir Walter felt like he’d been punched. He swayed on his feet. He could see everything.
Miss Pennyworth’s breasts stood proud and high on her chest. They were milky orbs and topped by small hard nipples of the most extraordinary colour.
His hands shook as he hurried to the kitchenette and poured a glass of water. Much of the cold liquid splashed onto his hands.
“Thank you, Sir,” said Miss Pennyworth as he returned and handed her the glass. She’d taken his words to heart and leaned back in her chair. The position curved her back, pushing her breasts even higher and making them seem even larger. Her ruby red lips opened as she pressed the glass to her mouth and drank the cool water.
Sir Walter walked stiffly back to his desk, picked up Blackstone’s Commentaries on the Laws of Hell (and its secret hidden companion) and started on the fifth page and fifth word.
Ill-fortune struck and his quick progress on the fourth word was not repeated on the fifth. It was some hours before he felt confident to advance his game. Miss Pennyworth seemed content to wait, laying back in her chair. The frequent glances Sir Walter shot at her magnificent bosom probably accounted for some of his slow progress. They way it rose and seemed to swell with every breath... Just the thought made him shudder with unseemly desires.
When ready he looked up and gave a kindly smile. “Miss Pennyworth,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”
Again the odd fuzzy look. “I think so, yes, Sir,” she said and started to rise.
“Stay, stay,” said Sir Walter, waving his hands. “Your health is very important to these chambers, and I will not have you compromise it. Lay back and still like a gabelle, and let me examine you.” Again he licked his dry lips and wished he’d not finished his snifter of port. “I may need to touch you to make sure.“
“Of course, Sir,” said Miss Pennyworth and smiled, ruby red lips curving up. “I trust you.”
In jerking motions, he stood and rushed towards Miss Pennyworth. His hands tingled with excitement. In his haste he slammed his shin into an ornately worked umbrella stand (a gift from the dragon Fow) and spent a minute cursing the large and small gods alike under his breath as he hopped about. The law office was long but narrow and much of that narrow space was taken up by desks and shelves, both overflowing with law books and other assorted trifles. While hopping he narrowly managed to avoid upsetting a wobbling pile of moth-eaten court records, just succeeded in dodging the boy Fletcher’s work table and did set the robing stand wobbling before he caught it.
Finally, though, he made it.
Sir Walter stood over Miss Pennyworth, the shadow of his full frame casting dark marks over her lilly white skin. Her bare breasts were there, rising and falling slowly with her breathing. There was something terribly obscene to it. Here Miss Pennyworth was, in the office of all places, naked from the waist up. And below the waist, fully clothed! The contrast made it even more forbidden than had she been fully nude.
He licked his lips and reached down.
The first touch was like lightning. Sparks shot up his fat fingers as he closed his hands around her breasts. They was so soft and smooth. The sharp nipples scraped against his palms. His member strained against the lacing holding his breeches closed, so hard it hurt.
Miss Pennyworth’s lips opened in a tiny ‘O’ as he squeezed. The mammary flesh felt like the clouds of heaven, the perfect mix of firm pertness and wonderful softness. He took her nipples between his fingers and rolled the nubs. Miss Pennyworth moaned softly, the sound escaping her lips like a house breaker the scene of a crime.
Sir Walter shook where he stood, eyes closed. It was only through an effort of will that he escaped spending himself in his britches.
When he recovered he made a half embarrassed cough. “Well, um, yes, Miss Pennyworth, you do still seem rather hot. You just stay there for a bit longer. No straining yourself I say.”
Miss Pennyworth’s eyes were glassy and she didn’t respond. Sir Walter took that as acquiescence and hurried back to his desk. The sixth word. He must have the sixth word. He only narrowly avoided hitting the umbrella stand a second time.
‘Six Words to Control a Vixen’ was a cheaply printed volume, the type small and smudged in places. This last was made worse by Sir Walter’s sweaty hands, which left pale inky fingerprints on the margins of the pages. Sir Walter pored over the sixth and final page. He ignored everything else, even the occasional quiet moans and whimpers that came from Miss Pennyworth.
It was nearing closing time by the time he thought he had a good handle on the final word and just in time too.
Miss Pennyworth was showing signs of stirring and she wore the dearest frown on her face as she looked around.
“Miss Pennyworth,” said Sir Walter, “I believe I have concocted the cure for your illness.”
“You have!” she said, a bubbly happiness washing over her face. She sat up fully and turned to face Sir Walter, naked breasts on display. “How wonderful. I should hate to continue feeling ill.”
“Quite.” Sir Walter swallowed. “Now I should warn you that this cure may seem unorthodox, but once you have taken it, you will feel completely better. I dare say this entire day will seem like a half remembered dream.”
“I’m sure it shall be as you say, Sir.”
Sir Walter pushed his chair away from his desk and turned it to face Miss Pennyworth.
“Oh and one last thing, Miss Pennyworth. Syzygy. Now come and get your cure. You must suck it from my member. It is the only way, I assure you.“
Heart hammering in his chest, he undid the laces that held his breeches closed and finally freed his aching cock. It sprang up, fat, long, hot and hard.”
Miss Pennyworth’s eyes set upon the purple head and her breath caught. Slowly, very slowly, her delicate tongue left her mouth and licked her red painted lips. She stalked forward, heel-toe, heel-toe. The motion set her dress covered hips swaying like a metronome and her bosom shaking. She stopped a foot and a half before Sir Walter and knelt. The motion was like falling silk, all fluid grace.
Her thin delicate hands came out and took Sir Walter’s cock. It jerked at the touch and Sir Walter let out a hum of pleasure. The difference in colours was stark. Miss Pennyworth’s hands were pale and white, while Sir Walter’s member had a ruddier colour.
Like the cruellest tortures of the Orient, Miss Pennyworth lowered her lips and planted a kiss on the head of the cock. Sir Walter jerked at the contact as a bolt of Olympian lightning shot down his cock and grounded out somewhere deep inside him.
She spread her lips, the painted flesh pulling over the head, and dropped the cock into her mouth. It went deep, so very, very deep. Her lips closed tight part way down his shaft and then her tongue went to work. Gods great and small, high and low, that tongue. It worked around the head of his cock like the feathered touch of an angel. Sir Walter’s member felt alive like it hadn’t for many a year, perhaps not since those first desperate experiments with the maids as a boy.
When Miss Pennyworth drew back, a red ring circled Sir Walter’s cock where her lips has sat. Miss Pennyworth licked those lips and her tongue suddenly seemed far, far bigger than it had only a few minutes ago.
“I like my medicine,” she said in a husky voice and gobbled Sir Walter’s cock down again. It disappeared into her throat and she started to hum. The vibrations resonated in her throat and set Sir Walter’s member alight with sensation. She started to bob up and down. Her hands came up and cradled his old heavy balls.
It was incredible, wonderful, the best thing Sir Walter had ever felt. He leaned back in his chair, taking heaving breaths as his body shook. And all the while Miss Pennyworth continued her ministrations. He watched her tight auburn bun bob up and down. He felt her mouth perform erotic worship on his most private of altars. He could feel the muscles of her throat as they clenched and massaged him.
And then it all became too much.
His body shook. His eyes scrunched shut. “Miss Pennyworth,” he gasped. “Miss Pennyworth. I do say— I do say—” And then it was too late.
His balls clenched in Miss Pennyworth’s cupping hands, his member stiffened and he spent his hot potent seed deep in his secretary’s throat. He shot and shot. Miss Pennyworth sucked and sucked. In that moment time seemed to stop even as it dragged out forever.
And then it was over.
Sir Walter collapsed back into his chair, utterly spent. Miss Pennyworth spent a few final seconds sucking his cock and then pulled back. A ribbon of iridescent saliva connected her lips to the rapidly deflating member, but she caught it on a finger and sucked the digit clean. She moaned slightly as she did.
“I think, Miss Pennyworth, you are fully cured,” said Sir Walter between gasping breaths that felt ready to break his ribs. “Now, put your shirt back on before you catch a chill. You don’t want to succumb to another illness, do you?”
Given the slight curve to Miss Pennyworth’s lips and the wanton spark in her eyes, perhaps right then she very much did. Especially if it came with a second dose of the cure.