Extract from The Old Perversity Shop

Samuel Brass was in a very different mood, both hungry and voluble, wolfing his food and swallowing bottle after bottle of porter as he talked of all manner of things, his remarks illustrated with increasingly expansive gestures. That neither Quilty nor the taciturn coachman were paying much attention to him didn’t seem to matter, and as he grew more contented with his meal and better fuelled with porter his conversation grew both louder and coarser. Sally knew the warning signs only too well, but had long learnt that the best way to cope with drunken and lecherous men was to satisfy their urges as quickly as was possibly, so when he pushed his chair back in repletion and beckoned her to come over she gave no resistance.

‘Tell me, my dear,’ he said, pulling her in with a hand on her bottom, ‘how much would you wager that I couldn’t find you a thicker filling than Mr Quilty here can provide?’

‘A… a good deal, I would suppose,’ Sally responded, puzzled, ‘only no offence, Mr Brass, sir, but I know you’re not one to loose a wager, so I’d bet not at all.’

‘Thinking, no doubt, that I had heard of some man of truly monstrous proportions?’ Brass went on, lifting his eyebrows.

‘Something of the sort,’ Sally admitted.

‘What if I were to assure you there was no such man, only the three of us here? Nor would it be a matter of money. I ask only that if I can find such a filling, you must accommodate it.’

‘Why then…’ Sally began, and hesitated, thinking of Edkin’s ordinary sized member and the tiny pink protuberance that passed for a penis on Samuel Brass, only to be struck by an awful possibility, ‘still I would not take your bet, Mr Brass, for I know your trick! Oh, but that is wicked!’

‘Wicked?’ Brass queried, grinning. ‘What is wicked?’

‘You are, Mr Brass,’ Sally insisted, ‘to even think of such a thing!’

‘What thing? You have lost me entirely, girl.’

‘You know full well,’ Sally responded, as haughtily as was possible with his hand now well up her skirts and burrowing for the split of her drawers, ‘you… you plan to put me to the horse!’

Samuel Brass burst out laughing, shaking so hard with mirth that he was forced to withdraw his hand from the exploration of Sally’s bottom and clutch his great gut at either side. Quilty also laughed, and even Edkin gave a dry chuckle, leaving Sally red faced and sulky.

‘Oh no, not that!’ Brass finally managed. ‘Not that at all, although by George it would be a sight to see and no mistake. Not the horse, Sally, not the horse!’

‘Why then… then it is not possible,’ Sally said doubtfully as relief flooded through her, ‘unless it is some trick of words?’

‘Not that either,’ Brass answered. ‘Pull up your dress, and I will show you.’

Sally hesitated, wondering if Brass had purchased some dildo of no doubt terrifying dimensions and intended to fuck her with it. Yet she had never known him to expose himself in front of other men, nor anything else that might compromise his sense of his own dignity. Only as his expression began to harden and she thought of the birch that now hung in the adjoining chamber did she give in. Struggling not to pout, and failing miserably, she turned and stuck out her bottom.

Brass began to fumble with her skirts once more, this time lifting them onto her back in one huge clump, petticoats and all. She took hold of the table, keeping the seat of her drawers showing as his podgy hands burrowed in among the voluminous folds, quickly finding the slit and hauling them wide. With her bottom bare to the room, Sally looked back over her shoulder, still puzzled as to what he was doing, and as she saw her mouth came open in an O of shock.

Brass, with his fat red face split into a grin as broad as was possible, had picked up the single black pudding that remained of their supper, a meaty tube within a skin the colour of dried blood, well over a foot long and as thick as her wrist. Quilty had also seen and gave a raucous bellow of laughter, at last abandoning his maps. Edkin was also paying attention, his single eye fixed on her and his face set in a leer that carried more of contempt than amusement.

‘Please, Mr Brass, sir, not that, not inside me!’ Sally managed as Brass prodded the tip of the black pudding between the fleshy tops of her thighs.

He didn’t even bother to respond, but twisted the black pudding a little, allowing the grease with which it was smeared to ease the passage between Sally’s thighs to her quim. She felt it touch, fat and round, like an impossibly large cock, and she let out a heartfelt sob as her hole began to open to the pressure.

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