The duel
by Anna Austen Leigh
Published by Anna Austen Leigh at Smashwords
Text Copyright © 2011 Anna Austen Leigh
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
All the characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or over. The work contains sexually explicit content.
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Also by Anna Austen Leigh
The Diligence de Lyon – an escapade published by Liquid Silver
Pilgrim for Love – published by Logical Lust
Emma – published by Smashwords
and shortly to be published
Horace and Hal – on Smashwords
The duel
a quarrel and a resolution
by Anna Austen Leigh
"I demand satisfaction."
"Then satisfaction you shall have."
The words were formal, the gentlemen's tone anything but polite. Legerdemain and Catnip had quarrelled before, but never like this. They'd disputed whether the Queen's dress was lilac or mauve; they'd debated whether the bay or the black would win the Derby last year (and in the event they'd both been wrong, losing several thousands between them); they'd even joined forces to take on the might of their local MP, and tipped him into a horse trough. This was serious, though. Even though they were both drunk, the challenge had been given; they would have to fight.
So the next morning, both Legerdemain and Catnip found themselves at a loss to know what to do. Legerdemain had sent his second, the young Marquess of Blunder, to deliver the challenge, and Catnip had accepted, rather negligently (Legerdemain thought) naming his valet, Sanderson, as second. They fixed the duel for Thursday at dawn, in St James's Park.
***
Catnip bit his lip. "Sanderson?"
"Yes?"
"There's no way to get out of this, is there?"
"Regrettably, Sir, there is not." The black servant spoke as smoothly as ever, but his eyes looked sad. He might well be looking for a new master by tomorrow evening, Catnip thought.
"I suppose I could choose a less lethal weapon."
"If you chose a blunderbuss, Sir, you might benefit from the weapon's lack of accuracy. So, of course, would Legerdemain."
Catnip smiled. "We would both miss each other. Honour satisfied, we could be friends again. It's tempting. But hang on: didn't Jemmy and Farquaharson make that choice?"
"Yes, Sir. They did. And both were killed. But of course they were shooting to miss."
"And the blunderbuss is notoriously inaccurate... No, it won't do. Apart from the fact that I don't want to die, I don't want to kill Legerdemain. Couldn't we fight with something very safe, like sticks of rhubarb?"
"I think society would not approve that, sir. It smacks of facetiousness."
"Swords are dangerous and archaic. Pistols are dangerous and modern. We must think of some other weapon. Weapon.... weapon.... Damn it! Is it too late to change the venue?"
"It would be unusual to change it at this time, Sir, but it could be done."
"Well, Sanderson, inform Legerdemain's second that I shall expect him not in St James's Park at dawn, but in Madam Kitty's drawing-room, at three in the afternoon."
"Sir? What are you planning?"
"That," said Catnip, laying a finger conspiratorially against his nose, "would be telling."
***
Everyone knew Madam Kitty's. (Perhaps it would be better to say that every man about town knew Madam Kitty's, some men of the cloth patronised it and others preached against it, and most women denied all knowledge of it – though some were in truth not completely innocent of its existence or of the kinds of amusements to be found there. But 'Everyone knew Madam Kitty's' will do, as a general statement.)
Legerdemain was already there, pacing up and down, his thin figure bent forward, his hands behind his back. His boots were new; they creaked as he walked, a slow rhythm of insidious sound. Blunder was perched uneasily on the edge of an overstuffed sofa, himself not unlike a piece of upholstery with his growing paunch and bright red face; he couldn't have been less like the older man.
Legerdemain turned as Catnip entered.
"What's the idea, Catnip? We can't fight here. It's just not done."
"Oh yes it is." Catnip smiled secretly. (There were days that the feline element in his name seemed absolutely right; and this was one of them.) "Send your second out, and I'll explain."
Legerdemain looked at Blunder, and back at Catnip. This was against the protocol, and they both knew it. He looked at Sanderson, who bowed, and withdrew.
"Go on, Blunder. I'll call for you when you're needed."
Blunder ambled out of the room. The door clicked closed behind him.
"I didn't want to fight, you know," Catnip said uneasily. "I don't know why I challenged you."
"You didn't. I challenged you."
"Oh. God, I must have been drunk."
"You were. As a Lord."
"I am a Lord."
"I know. Even if you don't use the title. But God, what do we do now? I didn't want to fight, either."
"So why did you challenge me?"
"I have no idea."
Catnip groaned. "I could kill you. Not literally, of course."
"Doesn't seem to me we have much choice."
"Oh, we do. We do. Listen. I have a plan."
Now Catnip was a great admirer of poetry, and he had always been particularly amused by the way that certain translations of the amorous Latin poets delicately avoided the Anglo-Saxon tongue. To wit, the translation of 'penis', or 'cock' or 'prick' or 'tool' to the yokel, as 'weapon', and the delightful euphemism of 'jousting in the lists of love'. And so, as he explained to Legerdemain, the idea of a completely non-lethal duel had come to him as soon as he had considered taking his weapon... as his weapon. So to speak.
"Ah, that's why we're meeting here," Legerdemain said. "But what are the rules? As many women as we can manage?"
"Not quite," replied Catnip. "That would be too obvious. The news will get around town; it's got to be something worthy of my reputation for deviousness, and yours for...."
"For what?" said Legerdemain with a threatening darkness in his voice.
"… for wit. So I suggest the only rule is that whatever we do, whoever we swive or bugger or fondle – the first one to come loses the duel."
"Clever," said Legerdemain, nodding thoughtfully. "We might make it all the more interesting by wagering a thousand or two on the results. And Madam Kitty is ready to assist?"
"With all her merry elves. And our seconds; who can join us, though their, ah, contributions will not be germane to the result of the duel."
***
They took it slowly. No point rushing into a duel of this kind; and this was the slow part of the day, half of the best people in society still in bed or at breakfast, and no appointments till seven or eight. (Even then, you wanted to be fashionably late, if you had any sense, so that both Legerdemain and Catnip ended up living vampire hours, never out in daylight in London, though in the country where there was hunting and shooting, life was lived at a different pace.) Besides, there was a lot of money riding on it; the two thousand wagered between Catnip and Legerdemain was only the start of it. Sanderson and Blunder had made bets on their principals, and other gentlemen who had heard of the duel had also put on their bets with Madam Kitty, who was to ensure fair dealing.
The young ladies could put on an excellent show. To start with, you might have thought you were in an artist's studio; each girl struck an attitude, as if for a painting.
"Emma will now show us Danae and the Shower of Gold," said Madam Kitty – a show-woman to the depths of her soul – "while Elizabeth demonstrates Ariadne, deserted on the beach at Naxos by her beloved."
Emma's upturned face welcomed the golden shower which fell into her open lap – her frock riding up to show her pretty little ankles; while Elizabeth looked beseechingly into the distance, her hair elegantly dishevelled.
"I believe Catullus, in his poem on the episode, mentions her clothes falling away?"
Legerdemain's question was quickly acted on. Elizabeth moved a little to one side, and as she did so, the shoulders of her gown fell down, exposing just a little more of her decolletage; just enough to see the tops of her nipples, rosy against her white skin, not enough to see any more.
Catnip sighed. "Your classical education was so much more useful than mine. All I remember reading is interminable battles with Gauls, and Teutons, and Druids, and how Gaul is divided into three parts."
"Very tedious," agreed Legerdemain. "I'll have to send you my translation of Catullus. Much racier."
More poses followed, first separately, then both girls together, linking hands, ending with a kiss that was described by Madam Kitty as 'sisterly' but soon became (depending on how you wished to it) either unsisterly, or quite incestuous. Emma ran her hands down Elizabeth's waist, holding her hips and pulling Elizabeth against her, then gathering up her skirts to expose her legs and the pink garters tied half way up her thigh. Meanwhile Elizabeth pulled down Emma's chemise, exposing the shadows of her cleavage, and eventually managed to pop free one of her breasts, cupping it in one hand while they kissed.
Catnip watched eagerly; without realising it, he'd started stroking the front of his breeches.
"I wouldn't do that," Legerdemain said; "you're at risk of losing the duel before we even begin."
Catnip raised an eyebrow. "If you don't get a cockstand, there'll be no duel at all."
"I think I'm in no danger." Legerdemain's voice was assured; and looking down, Catnip realised there was no hope of him enjoying a walkover – the duel would have to go ahead.
Madam Kitty clapped her hands for attention. "I think our contestants are now ready?" The men nodded. "Then girls, to action!"
Emma and Elizabeth lingered on their last kiss – meriting a slap on the backside from Kitty – before they finally broke apart. Emma looked at the two men – Catnip slight and fair, Legerdemain taller and darker. She reached out, taking Catnip by the hand, and smiled at him conspiratorially. Elizabeth, more hesitant, waited for Legerdemain to claim her.
The two girls looked at each other, and Emma nodded; it was obviously a prearranged signal, for they now both knelt in front of their partners. Slim fingers unbuttoned the flaps of the men's breeches.
"Do nothing," Madam Kitty warned them; "The girls will take care of you. We must be meticulous to ensure that each of you has exactly the same race to run, the same fences to jump, as it were."
So although Legerdemain had wanted to pull the tails of his billowing shirt out of the way, he stood with his hands at his side as Elizabeth cupped her hands under his balls, stroking them gently, and finally tracing the underside of his prick teasingly with a single fingertip till she reached the head. It was excruciating; it would have been enjoyable but for the knowledge that he was competing, that he had to hold off until after the duel. To his side, he heard Catnip muttering under his breath. In Latin.
"Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres. Quarum unam..."
"What on earth are you up to?"
"...incolunt Belgae, aliam Aquitani, tertiam..."
"Catnip, why are you reciting Caesar?"
"Because it's the most boring thing I can think of, apart from your company."
Legerdemain thought of sheep. And when that got too exciting – or rather, when the feel of Elizabeth's mouth around his cock became too much to bear – he started thinking of the estate accounts. The rents, the returns from corn sales, the taxes paid on his imports of wine... the rents... the number of candles bought each year...
"...qui ipsorum lingua Celtae, nostra Galli appellantur..."
Apart from Catnip's muttering, the room was silent. The girls, their mouths clamped around the men's cocks, had nothing to contribute to the conversation.
***
Catnip couldn't watch any more; the sight of Emma's scarlet painted lips around his member, her blue eyes looking up at him, was too exciting. He looked away, to the huge sofa where Blunder was sitting, his mouth open in amazement, his breeches undone and his prick in his hand. Sanderson, on the other hand, had stood up for a better view, and kept his dress decent – though Catnip noticed how he was holding the case of pistols in front of his groin. He must have something to hide, he thought, and grinned.
He could feel Emma's teeth gently grazing the shaft of his member; he felt his balls tighten, realised he had just seconds before disaster became imminent. Quickly, he pulled back, hearing her lips smack on nothingness as he withdrew.
"Turn around, dear. Time for something else."
Emma was clever; she'd anticipated his needs, pulling the back of her skirts up to her waist. He looked in silent appreciation at her pert arse, the pretty silken garters, one higher than the other, the contrast of blue silk and white flesh and that hint of redness between her legs. I can't get going at once, he thought, or I'll lose the duel; I need to do something...
"Come on, Catnip, some swiving is required. You're cheating."
He thought quickly, drew his hand back, slapped first one of Emma's buttocks, then the other.
"I need her warmed up, Legerdemain."
"None of Madam Kitty's girls ever need warming up."
"Ah, but it warms her buttocks – quite literally! See how they glow!"
"Get on with it. Blunder, I call you to witness; if he wastes any more time, we'll claim the victory."
Blunder, however, was otherwise occupied, his right hand now working away fast, his eyes on Emma's rosy cheeks; that is, her nether cheeks, not her (admittedly delightful) face.
Catnip took hold of Emma's waist, pulling her against him, feeling the heat of her. "Right," he said, "I'm not cheating," and felt his cock slipping against the moistness of her ready folds. A little twist to his left, and he was in, her warm flesh enfolding him. He looked at Legerdemain, whose eyes seemed distant. What could he be thinking of?
Slowly, he started to thrust into Emma, feeling the heat of her arse against him, slipping his hands round and sliding them into her bodice to feel the weight of her plump breasts.
"Come on, Legerdemain, you're falling behind. You're not cheating, I hope?"
"He is not cheating," Madam Kitty said confidently. "He is still engaged in activity of a sexual nature, albeit not in quite an identical activity to yourself. And as far as the rules of the contest are concerned, that is sufficient. Although, I might say, I should find it more interesting if he were to vary his programme a little, as you have."
Legerdemain looked down; Elizabeth was nibbling on the very head of his organ. He touched stroked her fine hair, noticing as he did so that she had left stains of bright red lip paint where she had kissed and sucked. At last he sighed. Nice as this was, Madam Kitty had a point.
"Stand up, Elizabeth. Pull your dress up, so I can see your legs. Higher. Higher still. That's it."
She was facing him, her skirts pulled up to expose her legs, her silk stockings and sparkling jewelled garters, her white belly, and the fair hair that covered her quim. It was a splendid sight, the fairness of her complexion contrasted with the dark blue of her dress; but he had no time to contemplate it, for within the rules of the contest, he had to engage. Taking his cock in his hand, he stepped forward. Even though Elizabeth was tall, he had to bend his legs a little to lodge the head of his cock in the right place; then, thrusting forwards, he was in, moving very slowly, feeling her flesh slide and slip around him.
But it wasn't easy, with nothing to push against; he had to pull her on to him, and that left him no free hand for exploring her breasts or toying with the golden curls that fell over her shoulders. Something had to be done. Putting his hands under her backside, he picked her up bodily, and while still lodged inside her, carried her over to the dining table that had been pushed back against the far wall, and lay her on it. The table hadn't been cleared since yesterday's supper; silver plate, crockery, wineglasses hit the floor as he set her down, and seeing the remains of a trifle, he amused himself by dousing the the very tips of her nipples in cream, and licking it off.
Now he could step back a little, and watch his cock distending her nether lips as he moved slowly, regularly, forwards and back. Pulling all the way out for a moment, he took his cock in his hand, and rubbed the head of it up and down her slit; she moaned, and arched her back towards him. He pushed back in, feeling her warmth close around him; slow strokes. He heard the long-case clock chime four; they'd been at it an hour now. He matched his strokes to the pendulum; tick, tock, in, out, slow and methodical and unexciting. He hoped, at least, it would be unexciting. He wanted to come; but he wanted to win far more.
Catnip meanwhile had bent Emma right over; she was holding on to the back of a chair, her dress thrown right over her head, and he was ploughing steadily, though his mind was cast far back now to his earliest writing lessons in an attempt to keep his cool. In his mind, streams of rounded letter 'a's succeeded each other, than the coldly hissing 's's, engraved on a slate with a scratchy sound that set his teeth on edge; but somehow, when he came to dotting the 'i's, it seemed to speed up, and he visualised huge splodges of ink, and one thing led to another as each 'i' rose up like an erection on the page... he realised his mind was running away from him, and back to the schoolroom he went, this time muttering the six times table to himself as he thrust himself into the girl; "five sixes are thirty, six sixes are thirty-six, seven sixes are... er..."
"Forty-two," came the answer from the other side of the room. "Your mathematics is as bad as your Latin."
Emma was wriggling now, as Catnip had loosed her breasts from her bodice, and was squeezing her nipples gently; she was pushing against him now, upping her rhythm as her own crisis approached. He had to hold her hips still so that he could continue his slow rhythm, and not be pushed over the edge himself.
He looked over to the sofa, where Blunder had been joined by one of the maidservants of the house, who was joyfully pumping his cock. Blunder's stupid, well-intentioned face was transformed by his wonder, and he muttered "Zounds! What a comely wench!" as his hips jerked suddenly and he began to jet his seed into the air and over the poor girl's hands.
"An hour and a quarter," said Madam Kitty, looking at the silver watch she'd taken out of her reticule. "How long can you continue? If you take up the room past six, I shall have to cancel this evening's entertainment."
"It will be paid for," said Legerdemain.
"La! That's not what I meant. But it seems to me you need some extra stimulation, or you will wear my poor girls quite out."
"Look at it another way," said Catnip. "We are men of great determination, skill, courage – and imagination. Your girls are lucky to have us."
"I must admit to feeling quite jealous."
"You need not be," said Legerdemain. "I regret my own second is .. temporarily incapacitated; but could not Sanderson provide you with some entertainment?"
Madam Kitty clapped her hands together; her delighted smile made her look twenty years younger. "That is indeed a most delightful idea. Sanderson?"
Sanderson rose; "As you will, madam." But his broad grin belied his formal words.
"We shall take this armchair. Both our duellists can see it clearly, and it will be comfortable enough for us. Would you sit?"
Sanderson settled himself in the gilded chair, flinging the tails of his coat over the arms. Fixing his eyes on Madam Kitty's face, he opened his breeches, letting his cock loose for the first time.
"I take it this will be required, madam?"
"It will indeed."
To the men's considerable surprise, Madam Kitty stripped off her expensive gown, leaving only a thin silk shift to cover her body. She was twenty years older than the girls, but she hadn't run to fat; she was still lithe, her flaming red hair and dark green eyes giving her a mysterious appeal. Her back turned to Sanderson, she sat on his lap, slowly settling herself on him and exhaling with contentment once she felt him securely inside her.
Sanderson allowed her to ride him, leaning back, his eyes closed, his arms laid limply along the arms of the chair. Only a lopsided smile betrayed his enjoyment.
Madam Kitty had planned her entertainment well; both Catnip and Legerdemain enjoyed a fine view of her front, her full breasts bouncing a little as she rode up and down, and Sanderson's dark cock exposed one moment, hidden the next. Her nipples were hard now and tight like walnuts under the silk, and Sanderson's cock was gleaming with her moisture.
"Sir, will we be long?"
"As long as it takes," Catnip said. "And longer, if I can."
Legerdemain was still fucking Elizabeth on the table, her legs splayed wide; but he thought he could do with a change. Quickly withdrawing and flipping her over, he rubbed his cock a couple of times in the cleft between her buttocks, teasing her by pushing at her tight rosebud before finally burying it in her quim once more. Now he could add a slap to every stroke; right, left, right, left, watching her buttocks glow, feeling her wriggle a little every time to try to avoid the smack.
Catnip, seeing this, decided he too might make a change. Emma was already bent over, so it was easy to slip his cock out of her, pull her head towards him, and simply switch ends. She was no longer in any mood for subtlety, but took him all into her mouth, sucking greedily, and for a moment he doubted the wisdom of this move; would he find it too stimulating? But he noticed Legerdemain was moving faster now, too; he wouldn't have to last very much longer, and the long restraint would make his final enjoyment that much more memorable.
Madam Kitty and Sanderson were shifting about, Kitty sitting in the chair with her legs over the arms, displaying her beautiful red-fringed quim, so that Sanderson could kneel before her, like a worshipper of some primitive goddess. The sight inspired Legerdemain to further acceleration of his stroke, and Catnip began to reckon up his winnings already.
Two thousand. Invest that at interest of four percent, in consols let's say, and that would give me an income of... work it out, four percent of two thousand is eight hundred... and doing the arithmetic was helping him keep his head, control his rhythm, and stave off the inevitable. How delightfully appropriate, that thinking about the winnings would actually help him win!
He looked at Sanderson again. The valet's breeches were at half mast now as he thrust into Madam Kitty once more, no longer with the lazy enjoyment he'd shown earlier, but with the desperation of a drowning man swimming for shore. Madam Kitty began to cry out, her voice thick and dark with pain and pleasure; and suddenly, Sanderson withdrew, and, stroking his cock twice with his right hand, sprayed a fountain of spunk into the air.
But this was only a diversion from the duel; and at just this moment, perhaps incited by the climactic screams of Madam Kitty, Elizabeth started to struggle against Legerdemain, crying out as her climax ripped through her body, impaling herself again and again on Legerdemain's prick. Legerdemain must be finding it difficult to maintain his sang-froid; Catnip thought of how Elizabeth's quim would be squeezing Legerdemain's member, how extremely difficult it would be to resist such stimulation.
So he was not surprised when Legerdemain pulled out of the weeping girl. He was a little amused, though, when Legerdemain suddenly grabbed a butter dish from the table, and started anointing his now massive prick with rancid butter.
Legerdemain noticed Catnip's observation, and proudly, almost theatrically, displayed himself to his friend.
"Admire it Catnip! How strong, how firm, how upstanding my member!"
"Enough poetry, Legerdemain. You're supposed to be fucking, not spouting poetry."
"So indeed I will," Legerdemain promised, stroking his cock as he walked over to Catnip and Emma.
What came next surprised Catnip very much more than the incident of the butter. As Catnip looked down to see his cock thrusting in and out of Emma's mouth, he felt Legerdemain grab his hips – and suddenly, he felt his friend's cock press against his arse, then, greased by the butter, slide into him to its full extent.
That was surprising; even more surprising was how good it felt. As Legerdemain thrust quickly, he saw his cock pull out of Emma's mouth, and suddenly he was spurting his seed high in the air and on to the white expanse of Emma's bosom, and he realised he'd lost, just as Legerdemain shouted with triumph, and reached his own climax, shuddering against Catnip's back.
***
Not everyone heard the whole truth of the episode. It wouldn't do, after all, for Catnip to admit to having been buggered; and Sanderson maintained all his life that even though the rules didn't say anything about it, Legerdemain's tactic had been at the very least unethical, if not downright cheating. But on one thing both the friends agreed; that enjoying the 'little death', as they called it, had been a far more suitable way of ending their quarrel than taking their chances of really dying – and that they might well enjoy similar escapades in the future, without the necessity of quarrelling first.
About the Author
Anna Austen Leigh gave up working as a financier to become a full time writer. She publishes historical and fantasy erotic romance and is currently enjoying subverting the world of Jane Austen by giving it a strong sexual undertow.
Anna Austen Leigh's blog can be found at http://erotic-history.blogspot.com.