by Dimitri Markotin
Of course, it caught Emerson by surprise when the young gentleman stepped into his office and up to his desk, slipped a hand behind his neck, and kissed him full on the mouth.
Emerson stood with a start, knocking papers to the floor before regaining his composure and studying the interloper’s face more carefully. “Adalia?” he asked. He looked the guest over. Her breasts must have been bound, her hair swept up into her bowler, but he was certain it was her. His Robin Hood, the burglar he had met amorously weeks prior and not seen since.
“At your service,” she said, doffing her black hat. Her smile, with her ever-so-slightly crooked teeth, lifted his heart instantly.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Two things,” she said, sweeping his remaining papers onto the floor and sitting on his desk. “One, to break you in. Bring you along tonight, show you the ropes. I’ve got a house in mind, should be easy.”
Emerson felt perverse as he stared at Adalia in her suit and trousers. She was handsome still, he realized. “Whose house?”
“Mr. Edward Stoney. Railroad designer, works for your dad. Man’s house is brimming. Ripe fruit just begging to be snatched from the tree.”
“Stoney? But he lives in the city; his house isn’t exactly a manor.”
Adalia laughed, so loudly that Emerson feared she might be overheard. “Your father poisons the whole of England with his coal and gets treated like royalty for it. I don’t mean to slight you, but let’s just say that between the two of us, I’ll be the judge of wealth, yeah?”
Emerson leaned back in his wooden chair and said nothing, pondering the situation. Her point was valid. Still, he knew that if he was caught burglarizing his father’s own employee, there would be no end to the scandal. His life, as he knew it, would be forfeit. He looked at his office, his desk, his paperwork, and his commanding view of the streets below. Then he smiled.
“For adventure,” he said, sending Adalia into another fit of laughter. He pretended as though it didn’t bother him.
“Lend me the key to the office door?” Adalia asked as she opened the top left drawer of his desk—how did she know where he kept it? —and withdrew the key herself. She walked to the door and locked it, swinging her hips with intention. She went to the windows and closed the shutters, casting the room into near-darkness.
“Now then, get me out of these dreadful clothes,” Adalia said, casting her hat to the floor.
Emerson slept poorly that night at his flat in the city. He had rented the apartment to be closer to his wretched office and had never found it comfortable. He paced and napped until 3am, the appointed hour.
He sat up groggily and laced his boots. He straightened his clothes—having forgotten to undress before bed—and put on his overcoat and top hat. “Like two gentlemen out to catch an early-morning train, we’ll be,” Adalia had told him. From his trunk he withdrew a small cigarette case, embossed with his initials, and placed it into an interior pocket. He pulled on his gloves, took his umbrella from the stand, and walked out into the early morning fog.
Adalia was sitting on the stoop outside, dressed as before except for the large briefcase she held on her lap, and soon the two made their way through the deserted streets. Occasionally they heard the clack of a delivery cart or the thud of footsteps tromping across the brick, but they saw not a soul—to the great relief of Emerson’s swift-beating heart.
“What’s in the case?” Emerson asked.
“A rucksack for you, a bit of this and that for myself. Servant of the household is meeting us; she’ll open the latch. Old Stoney’s in India right now, trying to poison up their countryside, so we’ll really have the run of the place. Take your time about it.”
After their short conversation, the rest of the walk was silent, and soon they stood in front of an—admittedly large and gaudy—row home. True to her word, Adalia’s light rap against the door was answered by admittance.
Inside, the place was as overwrought and over-decorated as a colonial tourist shop. Statuettes of all sorts depicted gods and folk-heroes of a dozen conquered people. The tall, broad entryway was papered with gold-leaf paisley and vinework, and oil paintings were hung at ill-considered intervals.
In the center of the hall stood a handsome servant woman, perhaps a decade over Emerson’s twenty-two, wearing the plain dress of her station. Her dirty-blonde hair was tied in a simple bun and she was grinning mischievously. “Do shut the door, we wouldn’t want to let some stray cat in, now would we?”
Still in shock by the crime that he was about to commit, Emerson turned and closed the door.
Adalia removed her coat, jacket, and bowler and placed them on the coat rack, then opened the briefcase and withdrew the rucksack. “You’ve a better eye than me for what’s worth what, I’d expect,” she said as she handed Emerson the bag. “Take your time. Edith and I will be in the master’s bedroom. Come and find us, later.”
Emerson sleepwalked through the home, burglarizing at a leisurely pace. He spent almost a half-an-hour in the library, glancing through books, choosing which to take, when it struck him—he was there to loot, not read. Gold candlesticks being worth more than books, he shifted his focus and made his way through the ground floor.
In the study, two locked, glass-fronted cases caught his eye. He reached into his suit pocket and withdrew the cigarette case he had deposited therein and took out the set of lock-picks he had purchased for just such a purpose. The first case opened with ease and he withdrew an enameled rosewood box.
The second lock, however, proved his master. Emerson put his case of picks down atop the cabinet and climbed the staircase in search of Adalia.
It was as he reached the landing that he heard a dull thump and a short, shrill scream. Fearful that Adalia had been betrayed by the servant, he barreled down the hall and threw open the door to the master’s chambers. Therein, he saw a sight most splendid, and more than slightly perverse to a Christian’s morals. Thankfully, Emerson was no man of God.
The dresser was open and all manner of women’s clothing was spilled across the floor, most of it near the full length mirror. Edith, the servant woman, was dressed solely in a camisole that seemed designed for arousal, leaving little of her small breasts to the imagination. Her beautiful legs and ass were entirely revealed. She was kneeling, bent forward over a low lounging couch, her face thrown up in pleasure, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes staring blankly forward. Behind her, Adalia sat on a rug in an evening dress of soft, green hues, running a thin metal dildo along Edith’s exposed pink cunt.
Upon his entry, both women turned to look over at Emerson. Adalia smiled while Edith’s mouth continued to hang open in intense pleasure.
“I was having problems with… well…” Emerson began, before his thoughts vanished entirely.
“I’m certain. Come and join us, yeah?” Adalia was still smiling,
clearly amused by the upper-class man’s discomfort. “Maybe you want to watch for awhile?”
Emerson nodded and sat down on a nearby stool. He had never seen lesbianism, although like many agnostic men he fantasized that one day he might.
Edith brought one hand to bear on her own clit, brushing the dildo to the side. “Inside me… inside me…” she said between heavy breaths.
Adalia obeyed, slipping the metal wand into Edith’s wet cunt. At the base of the dildo was a wide flare and then a bit of a handle, with its whole active length being slightly longer than a woman’s longest finger. Adalia thrust with smooth, even strokes, building quickly in intensity and strength and just as quickly tapering it off.
Edith soon began to scream in earnest, clutching the velvet cushioning of the divan in her fist, rocking up and down on her knees. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes.
A look of concentration came over Adalia’s face as she focused on the lovemaking, and she used her free hand to knead the muscles of Edith’s legs and ass. She pulled the dildo most of the way out, then moved to slow, hard strokes.
Edith ceased rocking, began shaking, and the hand on her clit started to jerk. Her voice reached a crescendo of sorts and she came, shivers running through the whole of her body. She relaxed—letting her chest fall against the couch—and panted. Eventually, she turned to Adalia and smiled. “Your turn,” she said.
Adalia pulled the glistening dildo out of Edith and ran her tongue up it once before wiping it and her hands off on her dress.
“What do you suggest?” Adalia asked Edith.
“I want you to tell me what to do,” Edith replied.
“Take off your clothes,” Adalia told her.
Edith obeyed, standing upright and pulling her camisole over her head. Her breasts were pert, her nipples small and erect. She was of average height and slender build, with thin hips and only the hint of a belly, but regardless she struck Emerson as remarkably sexual, powerful. Her pubic bush was full and unruly.
“Take down your hair,” Adalia said.
Edith did so, removing a single long pin, and her straight, brushed hair fell all the way to her belly.
“Now take off his clothes.”
Emerson sat upright, taken off guard—though not displeased.
Edith appeared prepared for the command and stepped over to Emerson. She leaned down and kissed him quickly on the mouth, her lips thin but her touch earnest and lovely. She then pulled off his jacket and vest. She straddled him briefly, pressing a breast against his lips and running her fingers up through his hair. She helped him to his feet and took off his shirt, gazing at his chest. She took great care and delight removing his pants, kneeling to do so and running both her palm and tongue quickly along the length of his shaft as soon as it was exposed.
“Now take off my dress,” Adalia said.
Edith stepped over to the beautiful burglar and stripped her, pulling off the evening dress and the ill-fitting chemise underneath, leaving only bloomers. Edith then knelt and removed those as well, quickly kissing her exposed mound.
Emerson felt a tinge of jealousy as Edith began to fondle Adalia’s lovely red cunt, a cunt he longed to touch, to fuck.
Adalia lied back on the divan and spread her legs off its edge. Edith knelt before her and kissed the inside of each of Adalia’s thighs.
“How do you want it?” Edith asked.
“Sloppy,” Adalia replied.
So Edith ran her tongue loosely all over Adalia’s cunt, running fingers chaotically and lightly across the mound, between her legs, across the lips. She took to pressing her tongue against Adalia’s clit, her head bobbing as she licked and circled, her fingers going into her own mouth before pressing lightly into Adalia.
Then Edith scooted back and knelt forward, holding up her weight with one forearm on the cushion. “I want him inside of me,” she said.
Adalia, breathing heavily, looked at Emerson and said, “In my briefcase, by the mirror, there’s a condom.”
Emerson found the briefcase buried under a pile of negligees and found the rubber condom, seam up the side, within. It was next to some sort of harness, a larger dildo, and a wind-up device the size and shape of an egg that Emerson found unfathomable.
Quite erect at this point, Emerson soon had the condom over his dick.
He knelt behind Edith, uncertain. It was a joy to watch her lick and finger Adalia, and it was equally pleasurable simply to watch Edith’s ass move back and forth as she did so, but he was nervous about being inside the stranger.
“Please,” Edith said, pulling her mouth off Adalia for a moment, “please, inside of me. Inside of me.”
Emerson drooled spit into his hands and lathered it along the length of his cock before setting it against Edith’s cunt. Edith pulled her hand away from Adalia for a moment to get the angle right, and Emerson slowly entered her.
As soon as he was inside her all of the way, she started to rock of her own accord against him, but then focused her attention back on the woman who lay naked and pleasured in front of her.
Adalia put both of her hands on the sides of her cunt and applied pressure to herself while she was being licked.
Emerson fucked Adalia, softly, as she seemed to want. Gentle it may have been, but soon he was enjoying himself immensely, pulling nearly out and making short thrusts before slowly working his way back inside of her. The smell of sex overwhelmed the smell of rubber.
He fucked her that way for what seemed a blissful eternity, balancing her pleasure with his own, running his hand across her back and his thumb down the crack of her ass. On the couch, Adalia began to moan more fiercely, breathe more heavily.
Emerson watched Adalia as her large breasts shook across her chest, her dark nipples erect, her full lips open, her eyes rolled up in pleasure. Then he looked down at Edith’s thin, long back, her ass exposed, her hair hanging loosely to the side of her head. She was panting heavily.
Adalia’s breathing grew frantic, uneven, and she reached down to grab Edith’s head and force it harder against her cunt. Then her legs tightened against the couch, her toes and fingers curled, and she came with short gasps and soft shouts, releasing Edith.
Edith pulled forward, letting Emerson fall out of her, and quickly rolled onto her back and spread her legs. Emerson guided himself into her with one hand and then supported his weight as he went back to thrusting.
Edith put her feet flat on the ground, angling her crotch into the air, and Emerson fucked her, his orgasm building. Well past the point of no return, he looked up at Adalia, who smiled at him from her place above them on the couch. Then he looked down at Edith, who was panting with deep gasps that shook her body, and he came.
Edith let him spasm and then relaxed,
dropping her legs flat on the rug.
Emerson put his hand on the base of the condom and pulled out.
“Mmmmm…” Edith said, and rolled over, onto her belly.
Emerson stared longer at her naked body as he quivered and shook. Eventually, he took off the condom and, as directed, left it on the floor.
Edith retired to the master bed, still nude, while the two burglars went to the task of looting the bedroom. Emerson was in a post-coital daze, lost as a fish on land, and mostly followed Adalia around, holding the rucksack as it grew heavy with gold and jewels.
Adalia stepped back into the ill-fitting evening gown while Emerson re-dressed, and the pair made their way back down the stairs, towards the door.
“I’ll see you out,” Edith said, following them. She came down the steps naked, still smelling strongly of sex and rubber, a smile still set in her face. She kissed Emerson passionately, then turned to Adalia and did the same. “I’m going to have to report the break-in to the police, of course.”
“Of course,” Adalia said, opening the door and ushering Emerson out of the house.
Emerson took one last, happy look at Edith and walked down the steps, back into the pre-dawn city fog.
The pair made it back to Emerson’s flat with the first of the morning light. Once inside, they emptied the rucksack onto the floor.
“I got this for you,” Emerson said, handing Adalia the rosewood box he had lifted. “I know you like music boxes.”
“Thanks,” Adalia said, “but you know I don’t keep any—”
Emerson threw his hands up to his face. “I forgot my lockpicks.”
“You can get a new set.”
“They were… they were in a monogrammed case.” Emerson mumbled this last bit. “Got to go back.”
“Too late. Police will be there already.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“Well, you can fake yourself a kidnapping, can’t you?” Adalia suggested.
“I suppose I’ll have to.”
“Nothing wrong with a good fake kidnapping. Maybe we could ransom you back? Let’s just trash up your place a bit, loot it for good measure.”
“And I suppose you couldn’t be happier about all of this, could you?” Emerson started to smile, realizing what a madwoman he had set himself up with.
“No, I suppose I couldn’t.” Emerson slid his hand onto the small of Adalia’s back. “We’ll have to get you some proper clothes, though, of course. I think you looked quite fetching in that suit.”
They packed, they looted, they ransacked, and soon Emerson and Adalia were off, in pursuit of the world.
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