Haze
#1 of Adult short stories
It was midday. Even while at its zenith the sun had been forced to give up in disgust. London was smothered. Curling, yellowish smog clogged the streets and alleys. Greatness came at a price. The capital was suffocating amidst the fumes of it's own endeavours. Factories worked day and night with their fat chimneys belching smoke. Thousands of boilers seethed and vented. They drove the clanking, oscillating and reciprocating heart of the Empire. Hobbes de Sevigny was still in awe of the dirty, soot darkened heart of the British Empire.
The fog was so thick that the shops below Hobbes' rooms in Bond Street had been forced to light gas lamps. Miniature lighthouses dedicated to commerce. With his arms behind his back the young Bernese Mountain Dog peered out into the murk with golden eyes. Despite the vantage point his rooms offered he could not see the crowds below from his window. He could hear them though. The drone of voices and the click of shoes on flagstones and cobbles. Every now and then a cry or wail went up from one of the passers by. The thieves were making the most of it. Pockets were picked, purses cut and bags snatched. After perpetrating their deeds they eluded capture by darting into the fog. Escaping down narrow gaps between buildings or behind stalls. Gone like wraiths into the opaque, dingy yellow shroud.
Somewhere overhead the baritone droning of a skyship set the glass rattling within the wooden window frames. Hobbes tugged his pocket watch out by the chain and flicked it open. The noon mail packet out of Southampton would be late again today. Doubtless the captain was having trouble finding the right docking tower without the benefit of landmarks to guide him.
Hobbes had first seen London on a morning such as this in November of the previous year. It would be more correct to say that he should have seen it. Then, as today a dense fog had concealed everything. Wharves, warehouses, churches, St. Paul's, the Tower. Everything. He snapped shut his watch and returned it to the pocket of his waistcoat. A knock at the door drew his attention.
Stood at his door was a Jeeves. Immaculate in a butlers uniform the clockwork figure jerkily held out a white gloved hand. Held tightly between the fingers was a letter. Hobbes sighed as he took it. The porcelain faced butler silently doffed his bowler hat and turned away. With awkward steps that set metal knees out too wide compared to a normal person the construct began climbing the staircase. Heading for the rooms above the canine. The rooms where the landlady dwelled.
Shutting the door the canine bit his lip in worry. He cast his eyes upwards. He did not need to read the letter to know its contents. He was behind with the rent. Again. Hobbes set the unopened letter on the mantelpiece. It had been a year since he crossed the Atlantic. Since leaving America things had not gone exactly to planned. Back home he was a talented chemist with a booming yet limited business. He had reached the limits of learning that the colony could provide. London was the home to the Royal Alchemical Society and the only place he could continue his education. He just had to do something to set him apart from the other thousands of applicants to the RAS. Setting himself apart was proving difficult. Experiments failed. Ideas he thought were new and exciting had already been presented. Materials were expensive as was the time wasted in trying to put together something to impress the old masters who selected which hopefuls were worthy of apprenticeship. Worthy of sponsoring.
Adjusting his shirt and waistcoat the dog puffed out his chest and strode to his workbench with determination and a sense of grim purpose. Coiled tubes of glass, beakers, copper , stills, electrodes and clockwork centrifuges toiled away. They had been for hours. Chemicals of lurid hues bubbled and squirted back and forth through the intricate networks. Heated here, cooled there. The dance of fluids was never ending. The dog chewed on his lip and rubbed the back of his head. He needed results. Perhaps increasing a little current through the concoction at the fifth stage would hurry the reaction along.
Above the fretting chemist Mrs DeLeon sat at her writing desk. She was half way through a letter to her sister. She frowned. Money worries of her own were heavy on her mind. The watchmakers had been late with their rent again and the less said about the increasing level of debt piling on the shoulders of the young man downstairs the better. He was a nice boy. Young, head still filled with dreams and the promise of a bright future. Like all silly Americans he seemed to think that hard work and determination could open any door. The plump rabbit knew better. She signed the letter, sealed it with wax and affixed a stamp. She handed it to Jeeves. Nothing happened. She glanced sidelong at her mechanical servant and sighed. He had wound down again. She really needed to get his mainspring replaced. Pulling the key from her pocket she unfixed the porcelain face and swung it open on its hinge. Stuffing the key into place she wound the construct as tight as she could. Moments later he was jerking off towards the post office with a letter bound for Australia. If he hurried he could still make the early afternoon packet. If he wound down in the queue he would probably end up travelling with it.
The widow pursed her lips and drummed her fingers on the table. The lapine was feeling rather bothered by events. Firstly her corset was too tight. The wretched thing pinched more and more. It was her own fault of course. A rather good bakery had opened up on a nearby street and their cream cakes were simply marvellous. She fond it hard to say no and so she didn't. The weight she had lost in her years of mourning was fast returning, padding her brown furred hips, rump, belly and bust. The other issue was the rent owed by the lad downstairs. One more month. She would give him one more month to come up with the money or she would summon a bailiff. Then again she had said that last month. She rubbed her temples. She was never good at squeezing people for money.
A dull thump beneath her feet made her jump with a gasp. A fit of coughing arose from beneath the floorboards and the sound of breaking glass. Evidently there had been some kind of chemical catastrophe in progress below. It was not the first. She hoped that it was nothing that would stain the wallpaper or burn through the carpets. The last thing she needed was the cost of stripping and redecorating his lodgings. She clapped a hand over her eyes in exasperation at the sound of a window being thrown open. The poor fool. It would not clear the air. It would just let the smog in. Another fit of coughing proved her right. The window banged closed. She smirked and bit her lip. Perhaps she could wait another month. The lad was trying so hard.
Inspector Jenkins stood before the door to Hobbes' rooms and frowned. Purplish smoke was seeping from under the door. It was slowly filling the corridors and stairwell. It was rather sweet. A bit sickly really. The highland terrier twitched his moustache back and forth in disapproval. He rapped again on the wooden door. He had come for a prescription, not to be gassed by some new fangled perfume. He did not like having to resort to the chemist but Mrs Jenkins was getting rather lonesome and his continuing little problem could no longer be camouflaged beneath a heavy workload. He knocked again. A little more urgently this time. Suddenly the door swung inward and a hacking, coughing figure stared at the police officer with wild eyes. A moment later and the door slammed shut. Jenkins looked down. In his arms were at least five pounds worth of ointments, salves, preparations and tonics. The lad had not even asked him for money. The inspector coughed. The blasted purple fog was making his eyes water. Perhaps he was supposed to try them all, find which one worked the best and return with money. A set of samples...yes. That was what it was. Samples. With a quivering nose he filled his pockets and headed in the direction of his home. Within five minutes he was sprinting.
Mrs DeLeon awoke with a headache that came from the dank pit itself. A punishment for the sin of drunkenness. Her skull felt several sizes too small and pulsed evilly. Jeeves clattered in deafeningly with a tray of tea, toast and boiled eggs. She moaned as he set it on her bedside table. Mutinously she rolled onto her front and covered her head with the pillow. Then she gasped in pain and rolled onto her side. Her knees were scuffed raw! She sat up to rub them and winced. Her backside was agony as well. Bruised and tender. Had she fallen before coming to bed? She did not remember doing so but then again that was the idea as far as gin was concerned.
After breakfast she dressed gingerly in comfortable and baggy clothing. Thankfully her corset had vanished and she was in no mood to seek it out. She grinned. Had she fulfilled her wish to toss the uncomfortable thing on the fire in a fit of drunken courage? Perhaps she was secretly a gin fuelled suffragette. She giggled at the thought of her chained to the railings before parliament. She rolled her eyes. Even with a backside as wide as hers the old men of state would never see her through all the fog.
Feeling a touch delicate but worlds better the plump widow sallied forth from her bedroom. Jeeves was knelt on the rug before the extinguished fire on his knees. He was scrubbing away with brush, water and soap. That must have been where she fell. Most likely she was down a glass and hefty measure of gin from the decanter. She left the construct to its work and slipped out in her hat, shawl and with a shopping basket under her arm. Pastries would not buy themselves and she needed a few other things. Headache remedies for one.
Outside her lodgers rooms all was chaos. The door was open and a seething crowd of men and women were being angrily herded into a queue by an exhausted and red eyed Mr de Sevigny. It seemed that half the constabulary in the city were in attendance. She nodded to her lodger and the young dog smiled sheepishly at her. Her cheeks suddenly erupted into a blush. The reaction surprised her. She tugged her hat forward and hurried out.
"...and so she must have told him he could pay in other ways..." Mrs DeLeon snapped her head round as the watchmakers assistant suddenly ceased his conversation and paled. She frowned at him. Then she saw that his master was smiling at her knowingly from within the shop. The two young men outside nodded to her politely. Inside the master winked. Her blush spread from her cheeks to her inner ears. It was proving to be a rather surreal morning. She stepped onto a passing omnibus. As it chuffed and rattled along the road she settled into a seat and closed her eyes. She began to daydream.
Muscular buttocks worked with never ceasing rhythm. Tightening and loosening. Wet sounds of lovemaking. Gasps, moans, growled words of pure lust. She was bent over the back of a sofa. He was crouched over her soft furred back. He had one arm on her hip. The other was hard at work on her bosom. Strong fingers tugged and twisted at her thick teats. She was begging for more. He snarled and took her long ears in his hands like reins.
The bus jerked to a halt and Mrs DeLeon snorted awake. She was really quite flushed. She fanned at her red face with a gloved hand. She had gone a few stops beyond her intended destination. She disembarked and began to hurry back the way the bus had come. She stopped at the corner of the street that led to the market and and paused against a lamp post to catch her breath. He had plunged himself hard against her wide, rippling buttocks. The rabbit stopped dead in the street and put a paw to her forehead. Was she coming down with a fever? She shook her head to clear it and rushed into the market. Cakes were forgotten. She did not browse today. She simply filled her basket from the shopping list. She stared at a vegetable stall and hiccuped. He was sat in a straight backed chair. She was straddling his hips. They were both naked. Her well padded hips were undulating up and down on flesh as hard as iron. His elbows were cocked out. He had his hands full and judging by the slurping noises he was suckling like a hungry babe. With a little cry the rabbit took up her basket and hurried away. Did she need a doctor or a priest?
Hobbes sat in his chair with pack of ice clutched to his skull. It had been a day of firsts. His experiment had failed in spectacular fashion but it had led to a discovery of sorts. One that could be put into hot water and used with an inhaler. Judging from the reaction in his first unwitting test subjects the new compound had spectacular results. Inspector Jenkins had been pounding at his door first thing. He had been bleary eyed and smiling. The inspector brought thanks from Mrs Jenkins and a request for more of the miracle smoke. Fog of Lust he had called it. It was too controversial a title. The inspector then suggested Haze. The name stuck. Word spread. In the end he had to borrow the watchmakers assistant as an errand boy. He sent the lad out for supplies, ingredients and to the patent office. After closing time he had sent the tired boy out for ice and then away.
Hobbes stared into the unlit hearth and tried to digest the events of the previous night. His landlady, the delightful Mrs DeLeon had flown down the stairs in a fit of rage. She had banged on his door. The smoke was coming up through the floorboards. It was the last straw she said. He was to go the next day. He had opened the door to plead for clemency. She had stared at him with the wrath. Wrath that faltered. Something else arrived. He had been stripped to the waist. His shirt soaked and ruined by chemicals had already been cast aside. He remembered smiling. Growling. Grabbing her. A kiss had occurred. Not a peck on the lips. No sir. It had been hungry, perverted. Lewd and loud they had both moaned as tongues and lips wrestled. Hands grabbed and roved. By the end of the kiss she was angry no more. He had not been gentle in disrobing her. On the rug before the fire they fell. Exploring hands were joined by inquisitive mouths. Eager to taste, bite, kiss and suck. He recalled the shape of her body as she had pressed her wide rump back against his slathering jaws. She straddled his face and he drilled in his tongue. She had tasted better than anything on earth. He must have as well for as he held her bottom and sampled her honey pot she was hard at work on his engorged canine flesh. She slurped and bobbed her head. It made her arse wiggle below her corset.
The corset still lay on the floor of his bedroom. He had tossed it there when he had discovered it torn and broken that morning at the foot of the stairs. The watchmakers apprentice had seen him clutching it and grinned ever so lewdly. Hobbes did not care. He had been recalling the soft flesh and fur beneath his rough hands. Her curves rolled and bounced so delightfully as she lay on her back. He had grabbed her ankles in one had and forced her legs up towards her chest. He had torn her underthings away with his teeth and buried himself within her. Right to the root. She had screamed for it. He pinched, slapped, squeezed, tugged and clawed at her curvy body. She did the same to him. Dull lapine claws raked his chest, grabbed his waist and seized his thrusting rump. It was a frenzy of passion. Feral. Almost violent. She had screamed in triumph when he finally succeeded in banging his swollen knot past her sodden folds. To tie her. To seed her and claim her as his own. As he pumped and twitched within her the older woman had caught her breath and purred in delight. They had to wait for his bulb of flesh to deflate. To shrink enough for him to pull out with a wince, lewd slurp and spurt of canid ejaculate.
She rolled onto her side, moaning and dragging fingers through her sopping, drooling petals. The dog moved without thinking. Grabbing one leg he pushed her foot towards the ceiling. He straddled the other. She had squealed in surprise as he buried himself in her again. Her heavy bust bounced, swayed and rolled amazingly as he roughly took her a second time. He bred her on her side, on her back and even like an animal with her heavy bosom swaying udder like beneath her. He pushed her head to the floor with a hand in her hair and bit her shoulder. She liked that.
When She had finally collapsed against him for the fifth time with her head slumped to his shoulder he had been sat in his chair. She had been sat on him. Her well fleshed body shuddered. It heaved as she climbed off him. She tottered on bowed legs and fled naked up the stairs. She left little drips of desire in her wake. The sight of her flexing rump and fluttering white lapine tail drew him after her like a magnet.
He had chased her up the stairs. She flung open her door and slammed it in his face. It bounced off his fist and arm. He tackled her from behind and sent her sprawling to the carpet. She struggled, swore like a sailor and drooled their mixed fluids onto her rug. He had snarled, silenced her by taking her scruff in his jaws and rammed himself in under her tail. She had screamed. He had laughed. It began as a rough claiming of her tight little rear entrance. It ended with him on his back and holding her waist as he stared at her back. He stared at it while she laughed like a mad woman and bounced atop him. After a sixth knot flaring eruption he had fled back downstairs with his tail between his legs, leaving her shivering and moaning on her living room floor.
Harsh knocking at his door made him spring to his feet as if jabbed with the devils trident. The second ice pack fell from his loins with a clatter. He took up the envelope he had stuffed with money for breakages and the backdated rent. It also held an apology. A little bow-legged the dog gingerly, painfully crept to the door and opened it. Before him was the landlady. She shoved open the door so hard that Hobbes fell back onto the carpet. He stared up at her. She glared down at him.
Her dressing gown crumbled about her feet. Open mouthed the dog took in her shapely figure. Then he winced and glanced at his supply of salves, lotions and soothing creams. No doubt he was going to need every one.