Letters to and from an Imaginary Countess

My Dearest, Most Un-Flaccid Chevalier,

I have received the Emerald-eyed Sparrows and they warmed my bosom. These tasted better for some reason. I'd hate to think it was because their eyes were emeralds instead of garnets, but I daresay it's the ugly mercenary truth of the matter. A whore should never scruple to call herself a whore. If she does, it means she's an embarrassed whore, and there is nothing more embarrassing on earth than an embarrassed whore. I had my Footman's boy earlier today...well, we could stop the sentence there...but I was going to say: I had my Footman's boy earlier today take them out for assay, along with some other baubles that arrived in trinket boxes in Hands of various white-gloved couriers.

Your promise of Azores canaries dusted with cocaine and mummy extract made me weak with desire for you. Have you ever fucked on Azores canary? I have! It's just amazing, a total mindblow. One achieves an athleticism and endurance in concupiscence which would take years to achieve by standard constitutionals and calisthenics!

In other words, it's cheating. And who doesn't love cheating?

Of course, if the canaries are impure it can be fatal. There was a bad batch of canaries floating around Court three summers ago. We lost several earls and viscounts, but it just made getting a good seat for the opera at the Caterwaul Theater that much easier.

Oh, that Lady Trollop is a misery. She tried to join in an impromptu menage a trois I had fallen into in the Salon Sans Gender (you know: that tacky mirrored room that's off the Orangery? We snowballed there once, I believe). The gentlemen who were sandwiching me refused to let her join in. Because she farts. She farts improvidently. She is known to be the most gaseous member of the aristocracy for several generations and she always denies it! It's so obvious. It's a shame, because she is a Great Beauty, truly. But. Gentlemen have been known to soak their handkerchiefs in hartshorn and ladies have been known to faint.

So Lord_____ kept shooshing her away from our threesome as if she were an annoying flatulent chihuahua, and she was having none of it. She was rapidly moving towards a state of deshabille, and she began speaking whateverthefuck her people are? Cossacks? Roumanians? And while Lord______ was trying his best to get rid of the creature, the nobleman underneath me began muttering apologetically what an erection-killer this was becoming.

I was so grateful that these gentlemen had the discretion to refuse the Harpy and urge her away, as I was able to remain innocent in her eyes (so I thought!). I merely crossed my eyes and pretended to remain multiorgasmic. I did have two Stouts within me at the same time, but the uppermost desire in my mind was actually to curb the desire to laugh out loud at the improvident creature expostulating with my engaged Companions.

The good news is that Lord _____ had his whippets nearby and he whistled them over and the beasts attacked the beast as she was stubbornly continuing to shed clothes, determined to add noxious fumes to what was otherwise a fine, triune fuck.

One of the dogs leapt up and bit her on one of her odd pear-shaped tits, and she ran from the Salon whilst getting nipped in her ass, which I noticed bore a tattoo with your family crest. Hmmmm. I managed to keep the laughter in until she was just out of the Salon and someway down the hall.

But of course, whom do you think she blames now? It is a tiresome matter and I don't care to discuss it more. I'll send her one of those new Moorish dildos by way of apology. They say once you've tried Moor you never go back. I have a counterexample, but I shan't waste your time nor test your patience here.

Your anecdote of the Duel amused me heartily. This is so embarrassing. Oh how shall I say this? You killed the wrong man. That was the man standing to the left of you that Thursday, not the one on the right whom you have despatched! Oh well. Nature was surely preparing to take him anyway. And before you turn dyspeptic with worry, I assure you I have ascertained the worth of the other man and it is a nilpotent quantity. He is in the same profession as I am. We even share some clients apparently. So while I haven't spoken with him, it is quite possible I have tasted him before. Unbeknownst.

And do I need to worry that you have your spies at Court now, tattling on me? I am happy, however, that you were able to rub one out to the thought of the goings-on in the Rhododendron Quadrant. I'm glad your spies weren't there the day before, because we were celebrating Bestiality Day in the Royal Gardens.

Who knew the giraffe tongue could be seduced into human service! Peerless! No man will ever touch that Prodigy of Afric in the Going Down Department. The Duchess of Futz told me she has just ordered one for her grounds.

We all nearly died of laughter when the Earl of Pennylove was kicked by a Dodo Bird in the Utility Sack. I hear they are becoming quite rare, those birds!

Do be careful in the Hall of Lascivious Orphans. I have heard stories that some of the more enterprising orphans have a Cadaver Scheme set up with phreaky Scientists and other Dissectors around here. Cocks check in, but they don't check out, if you catch my drift...and I would hate to lose the Prodigious Organ and its charming Handler. If the stories are true, Miss Crookedshanks and Miss Dyspareunia are at the root of the Evil. They are notorious Sapphics and could care less what happens to men who patronize the Hall. I once saw through a window Miss Dyspareunia shaving Miss Crookedshank's face as I rode by in my carriage.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! Your parents are dead. Their ship foundered off the coast of That Horrible Continent. So this means you are now considerably improved in my eyes and those of the World.

This also means I look very much forward to our Sunday morning tryst. I trust you will bring the requisite props and accoutrements. I seem to recall a certain well-worn riding crop you love to lick in its full moistness. Will my favorite Rider (and mount) bring the harness as well? Also, perhaps the Curry-Groom? Now I am hungry for Quail Fetus in Aspic so I am going to go query the Servants and have them check if this whim can be gratified. Today at Court I had a lovely taffy with Nile crocodile mixed in. It was rather a salty confection, but palatable.

Looking Very Much Forward to your Epistles and Emissions, I Remain Very Much...

Your Countess

M__________________