Emily Shagworthy was dead to begin with. There is no doubt whatsoever about that. This must be distinctly understood or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. Sophie knew she was dead of course, as she and Emily had been partners for many years offering “sexual services to gentleman” from a salubrious flat in one of the nicer parts of London. Emily had died on Christmas Eve, 1836, seven years ago this very night. Sophie Funt however still traded and was happy to be addressed (or should that be undressed?) as either Emily or Sophie.
Oh! But she was a mean, tight fisted, grasping working girl of the worst sort! No gentleman of wealthy means sought her by choice. No young buck in the first flush of youth seeking his first experience came to Emily! Oh no! But she cared not. She had her regular clientele of elderly fellows who seemed happy in her company, paid her well and made no special requests.
On the Christmas eve in question, Sophie was as usual in her flat waiting perhaps for one final customer before shutting up for Christmas. There came a knock at the door but to her annoyance the person waiting without was her niece Rebecca Scratchit. She strode into the flat, full of the Christmas Spirit and fit to explode.
“Merry Christmas Aunt Sophie — God save you!” she cried.
“A pox upon Christmas!” came the less than a festive rejoinder.
“Aunt Sophie — you cannot mean that surely? Won’t you come and have dinner with us tomorrow?” Sophie indicated in no uncertain terms that that would be the last thing she would do. Despite her niece’s entreaties she remained resolute on this point and Rebecca left the flat with a final cry of “Merry Christmas!”
The sonorous tones of the local church clock indicated that the hour was late. Sophie turned to her maid who had the nerve to be preparing for departure.
“You’ll be wanting tomorrow off I suppose?” The young maid looked aghast.
“But it is Christmas Day Miss. Surely you will have no customers tomorrow?” The young girl had a point. In Sophie’s experience most men seemed to want to spend Christmas day in the bosom of their family rather than the bosom of a whore. She reluctantly permitted the girl to take the day off but insisted she report for work in good time the following day.
Once the girl had made good her escape, Sophie took one last look around the flat before setting off for her own home. With no work tomorrow, she planned to spend the day doing her accounts for the year and perhaps spending the odd hour or two with Tiny Tim. She had a soft spot for Tiny Tim; the soft spot being her cunny and Tiny Tim being a ten inch ivory phallus imported from one of the darker regions of Africa. There was not a man in London who could satisfy her like Tiny Tim!
Sophie’s own home was a modest town house tucked away in a nearby alley and as soon as she was in she treated herself to a bowl of hot soup that had been bubbling up on the hob and decided to get an early night. The temptation of Tiny Tim could not wait until the morning!
She reached under the bed and pulled out the white monster. It almost glowed in the dark and she stroked it reverentially before sliding it under the covers and gently inserting it between her thighs. She lay back with a sigh and gently stroked the huge knob end of the dildo against the lips of her softening quim. At once juices began to flow and Sophie carefully slid a few inches of the ivory trophy into her waiting tunnel. The thickness of the monstrosity never failed to amaze her and the delicate traditional carvings on the side only served to enhance the exquisite ecstasy of the moment of first insertion!
She began to slide the phallus in an out and her orgasm started to build within her. Then, to her horror, she heard a noise! She froze, the dildo poised in her entrance like a small white ferret contemplating a particularly damp rabbit hole. Then the unmistakable sound of clanking chains echoed in the corridor outside her bedroom door. She found herself trembling with fear as, gazing at the bedroom door, a shape seemed to drift through the very woodwork itself in and manifest itself in the room. She gasped in recognition.
“Emily Shagworthy!” She cried. For it was her! Emily herself was standing there, or at least what Sophie presumed to be the Spirit of her erstwhile partner. Whilst it was definitely Emily, Sophie could quite clearly see the outline of the wood of the door through the veil of her body.
“What the bloody hell do you want?” asked Sophie, momentarily forgetting she was in a Dickensian novella. Emily looked suitably disappointed at this response. She replied in a voice tinged with ice.
“Well you can take Tiny Tim out of your cunt for a start!” Sophie had forgotten that her favourite toy was still protruding from between her legs and relaxing her muscles, which had become quite tense in the circumstances, she allowed the phallus to drop to the floor with a dull thud. She looked up at the ghostly apparition.
“I have come to visit you tonight, this special night of the year, to warn you that the path you are taking in life will bring you nothing but misery in death! I too was as mean in life are as you are now and it is my duty to warn you that unless you change your ways death will bring no succour. There is no a heavenly paradise for those such as you and I!”
“So what have you got planned?” quivered Sophie, fear starting to rise in her throat.
“You will be visited by three Spirits!” This was not the answer Sophie had been expecting.
“Can I charge the usual rates?” she queried. Emily cried out in rage and the harrowing noise sent Sophie scuttling back to the safety of her bed.
“These visits are the only pathways to your salvation and each of them will guide you the correct way forward. The first one will visit you tonight when the clock strikes one and the other two will visit you thereafter. Now I must be gone!” With a final bowel-trembling wail the apparition moved backwards and vanished through the door in the same fashion as it had arrived.
“Buggery bollocks!” Sophie’s summation of the experience lacked a certain finesse. As she lay back in her bed she tried to bring reason to bear on the conversation. Surely it had all been a horrible dream? She was determined to stay awake until the appointed hour and sat up, the sheets clutched around her. All thoughts of Tiny Tim were swept from her mind!
Suddenly, through the thick London fog, the echoing tones of the nearby church bells indicated that the hour had arrived. She was not sure what to expect, but was gradually aware a light was shining under the door of the spare room. Trembling, she left the bed and walked towards the door. She heard a booming voice from the other room.
“Come in! Come in!” She put her hand on the door handle, slowly turned it and carefully pushed the door open. She poked her head around the door and was amazed at the sight that greeted her.
The room, which she knew to be full of laundry, cushions, pillows and other junk, had been transformed and was, to all intents and purposes, a replica of the room she used to work in when she first started in this doubtful profession. The room was dominated by a huge double bed, a four poster no less, hung about with thick red velvet curtains. The walls of the room were draped with the finest tapestries and linens and several examples of the erotic artists’ finest efforts were hung at intervals. The room was warm and cosy — a feeling, she had to confess, she had not experienced for some while.
Lying resplendent on the bed was a lady. But what a lady! This was no humble, shy creature, some waif or stray you might pass by in the street and not notice. This was a lady who demanded to be noticed! Even recumbent on the bed Sophie could see she was a good six feet tall with a cascade of blonde hair tumbling about her pale shoulders. She was wearing the tightest of black corsets, the skimpiest of black panties and the shiniest of leather boots with the longest of sharp heels. But the bosom! Oh the bosom! If the aforementioned finest artists of the finest erotic paintings had all got together to create their dream woman, none would have come close to outlining the fulsome splendour of this mighty bosom!
“Come closer to me so that I can see you!” The girl instructed. Sophie walked towards the bed.
“Who the fuck are you?” Once again Sophie’s literary theme deviated somewhat.
“I am the ghost of Christmas past! I am here to show you what your life used to be like; what joys you used to experience! Here, take my hand.” The Spirit raised her hand and Sophie touched it with her own to be instantly transported.
She found herself in a small room she remembered well. It was her old brothel! There were two other girls sat in the room — Cathy and Fanny she remembered. They were the two girls she used work with, entertaining many a fine gentleman who chose to call. She cried out to them but the Spirit pointed out that whilst she could see everything that was going on, no one could see, hear or even sense her presence. There was a knock at the door. One of the girls rushed to open it and a gentleman strode in. Mr. Cocksure! One of her favourite clients was there in the flesh! As always used to be the case the girls made a fuss of him and he extracted his wallet, passing over several large notes. The girls quickly led him to the bedroom and the Spirit bade Sophie follow them. She did so and watched proceedings with fond remembrance.
Mr. Cocksure quickly divested himself of his expensive garments and lay on the bed. The girls too, with much giggling removed their finery and set about the gentleman with relish! One of the girls’ grasped his manhood and began to slide the ample foreskin up and down the huge shaft. The gentleman enjoyed this to the extent that he cried out in appreciation and beckoned the other girl to him. Whilst Cathy (for it was she) continued to work on his cock, Fanny smothered his face with her ample bosom and he set about her fine milky breasts and nipples with his lips, teeth and tongue. It was now Fanny’s turn to cry out in joy as he worked his magic on her mammaries.
Then Cathy released his cock and with a grin of pleasure shuffled up the bed, and knelt over his throbbing erection.
“Now sir?” How she teased the poor man!
“Yes…Yes!” Mr. Cocksure cried out and with one swift movement Cathy plunged down and enveloped his cock with her cunt. He groaned in pleasure and demanded that Fanny arrange herself above his face so that his tongue may taste her sweet juices. She was more than happy to oblige and gave herself up to the lapping of his strong tongue against the lips of her cunt. Soon the room echoed to the sounds of lovemaking. Suddenly Mr. Cocksure cried out as he spent, eliciting a shriek from young Cathy as his juice erupted into her.
Then it was the turn of Fanny to gasp as the final twitch of Mr. Cocksure’s tongue ensured that she, too, was satisfied to the fullest extent! Only Cathy had not yet received the benefit of an orgasm and Sophie knew that she would almost certainly satisfy herself once the customer had left. Indeed Sophie herself had often satisfied each of the young ladies when it was required!
She had almost forgotten the Spirit stood beside her and she turned to say,
“What happy and carefree days those were!” The Spirit looked thoughtful and replied,
“But are you not happy and carefree now or in your work?” Sophie briefly felt downcast. In her heart of hearts she could not admit that this was the case.
She closed her eyes briefly and on opening them was shocked to find that she was back in her own bedroom. There was no sign of the Spirit and the room next door appeared to be in darkness once again. She felt a small chill and shivered, diving back under the bedclothes. The experience, which even though recent felt like a strange dream, had given her food for thought. She had forgotten how enjoyable the old days were!
She had also forgotten that further Spirits had been promised and it was therefore with a small squeak of surprise that she greeted a puff of smoke by the side of the bed. It was also accompanied by a tinkling of reindeer bells and a definite whiff of Christmas pudding. The smoke cleared and there before her stood a young girl, in years no more than a score and three, dressed in a strange costume. She was wearing a red coat, trimmed with white fur, and a short red skirt. When I say the skirt was short, I mean the skirt was short! Indeed Sophie would have been hard pushed to make a small ‘kerchief from the material that this girl would claim represented a skirt!
Her feet were bare but her head was surmounted by what looked like a cap such as would be worn by an elf; this was of a similar red material to the coat and topped by a white pompom. This time Sophie was of a mind to remember she was in a Dickensian novella.
“Are you the second Spirit whose visit was foretold?”
“I am indeed!”
“Your apparel is strange to me.” Sophie felt bold enough to comment on the Spirit’s appearance. The Spirit was about to announce that she was dressed as a Sexy Santa and had hired the costume from a fancy dress shop in Soho when she too remembered she was in a Dickensian novella and the classic image of Father Christmas had been invented some years later by the Coca Cola company.
“I am dressed in a fashion appropriate to the time of year! It is Christmas and I shall show you how the rest of the world enjoys themselves at this particular time of year!” Sophie thought the Spirit too jolly by half but was prepared to let herself be led. She reached out her hand to touch the Spirit and with a blinding flash she found herself in an unfamiliar room.
The room was small and humble, but clean. It was, to look at it, the main if not only room of the house as it contained not only a table and two chairs but also a large sofa and, in the corner, a single mattress. She turned to look as the main door to the room opened and in stepped are young girl she immediately recognised as her maid! She was followed by another girl of about the same age. Sophie had heard her maid talk of a sister but paid little heed. The sister was an attractive girl indeed!
The conversation was of a mundane variety, and seemed to centre on the girls’ lack of the makings of a proper Christmas. The dearth of decorations was discussed, as was the paucity of food supplies, in particular the lack of a goose for the following day’s festivities. They seemed to come to some agreement regarding a possible raiding party on the local butcher’s later that night. The girls then quickly undressed and settled down under a blanket on the single mattress.
She moved closer as it became apparent that the girls were not intending to sleep! To her surprise they were kissing! Her maid (she felt a sudden flush to her face as she realized she could not recall her name) was kissing her sister with a passion that belied the soft spoken and shy persona she normally exhibited in her presence. Indeed their tongues were conducting a minuet within each other’s mouths as their hands roamed each other’s bodies, as if searching for hidden delights. A squeal from the sister indicated that indeed hidden delights had been discovered!
The maid pulled the blanket down to expose her sister’s fine titties the on which she feasted to the fullest extent! She kissed and nibbled the soft white breast-flesh as if thinking of the possibility of goose the next day! Her sister grinned and laughed in joy and pulled her head closer to her. Then both girls between them kicked off the blanket and exposed their white bodies to Sophie’s gaze. They made a wondrous picture as their limbs intertwined and their hands stroked and caressed the soft flesh. Sophie felt like an intruder but could not drag her eyes away from the tableau before her.
Buttocks were stroked, thighs were caressed and crevices explored by searching fingers as the two girls wriggled and writhed on the mattress. Their cries and whimpers filled the room as each sought to be the first to make the other come. Each was now fingering the most intimate places of the other and the sweet scent of their juices filled the room. Eventually they were both close to reaching their goal and they squeezed their bodies together until their very cunts were rubbing together. It was the sister who cried out first as she came and Sophie could not help but feel a little pride that it was her maid who had won the race! However within seconds she too was enjoying the ecstasy of orgasm as her sister plunged her fingers in an out of her sopping cunt.
It was at this moment that Sophie suddenly realized that she too was experiencing a certain moistness around the nether regions and surreptitiously pressed her hand against her groin to quell the stirrings. Sophie felt a hand on her shoulder and knew it to be the Spirit.
“See how much the girls enjoy themselves! The fact that they can ill afford to mark this festive occasion does not make them downcast!” Sophie nodded in agreement. It had not occurred to her that her maid lived in such circumstances. This is something perhaps she could rectify? The Spirit smiled at her, as if sensing her emotions.
Sophie knew that once again her time had come and accepted the Spirit’s hand again as they were swept back to her own room. She sat on her own bed once more and thought about what had happened. Sophie recalled had there was one more Spirit to be received, and it did not take much of an imagination to suggest that perhaps this Spirit would indicate to her how her future path lay.
Once again the bell struck its deep signal and Sophie waited for the anticipated apparition. Nothing happened…
Sophie had been quite relaxed in the knowledge that she was to receive a third Spirit, indeed blas?ould not be too strong a description of her current attitude, so imagine her concern when not only did nothing happen; nothing continued to happen! Then Sophie noticed that the corner of the room was perhaps a bit darker than it had been. The light from her candle was not reaching into the furthest corners of the room but this particular corner seemed to have an almost solid darkness to it. Then to her mounting horror that darkness appeared to move and come towards her…
If this was the third Spirit, then it lacked the festival charm of the others. The person — there was no way of knowing whether it was a lady or a gentleman within — was draped in a black shroud. Sophie hesitated to use this word with its connotations of death but it seemed to suit the situation. No words were spoken but a fold in the shroud moved and Sophie sensed rather than saw a hand reaching out to her. Her own hand was trembling as she reluctantly reached out to meet the Spirit’s touch. However touch it Sophie did and once again she was carried to another world…
It was as filthy and as neglected a room as Sophie had ever seen. The contrast with the room that the previous Spirits had shown her was stark. This room was hung about with dust and cobwebs rather than fine silks and the bed which lay at its centre was old and tatty. One stained mattress lay on the bed with a thin cotton sheet it’s only covering. However what drew Sophie to gaze in horror at the bed was the broken figure that lay upon it. The woman — for it was most certainly a woman rather than a girl — lay sprawled across the bed for all the world like a discarded rag doll. She was wearing nought but a thin shift which had no doubt once been white but was now a faded grey. The room was empty of all other furniture save for what appeared to be several pieces of broken ivory in the corner.
Sophie’s heart went out to this creature and wondered; was she ill? Would anyone come to attend to her needs? As if in answer the bedroom door opened and in strode a gentleman. In fact gentleman was hardly the word; the figure in a battered hat and threadbare coat which strode in would hardly qualify for such a title. He seemed as mean and surly a rascal as ever walked the streets of this city and he had about him the miasma of villainy and depravity. He withdrew from his pocket a handful of coins which he dropped on to the floor beside the bed.
He then divested himself of his coat, worked at his trousers and shuffled on to the bed. The woman did not move as her shift was raised to waist level and to Sophie’s horror, without so much as a hand upon her skin he plunged his manhood deep into the woman’s cunt. The comparison to a rag doll seemed even more appropriate as the villain had his evil way with her, with no heed to either comfort or pleasure. When the deed was over he adjusted himself and left the room without a word, leaving the woman alone on the bed, for all the world as if nothing had happened.
Sophie could not speak for a full minute before turning to the Spirit by her side and saying,
“I understand Spirit, this is the way my path lies if I do not take a different turning.” If she was expecting an answer she was disappointed as the Spirit merely raised its hand once again and pointed. Sophie turned to look at and suddenly she was no longer in the room, much to her relief, but outside in the street where snow fell. Looking around she recognized the area as being close to her place of work and judging by the atmosphere, Christmas was about. The Spirit pointed in the direction of a group of women who were talking by the roadside and understanding, she joined them to listen in on their conversation.
“I see that old slag died last night then?” one of the women croaked in a voice shredded by tobacco and alcohol. “I suppose they’ll be burying her in a Y-shaped coffin!”
The other women cackled at this witticism and nodded in agreement. They all agreed that none had known such a girl for working all hours and the general consensus of opinion was that she had been “fucked to death”.
Sophie could listen had no more and moved away, knowing now for certain that this was the path that she was due to take. She knew most of the whores in the area and wondered who this poor unfortunate girl was. Would she perhaps have a chance to warn her? She asked this of the Spirit who merely pointed once again to the group of cackling whores. Sophie approached them once again and heard one say,
“Odd isn’t it that she should be taken on Christmas Eve just as her partner Emily was only six years ago this very night!”
Sophie cried out in a horror and put her hand to her mouth. This poor woman, this wretch, this unfortunate specimen of humanity was her! This was not just the path that she might take; this was indeed her own path! The broken ivory in a corner of the room was Tiny Tim! She turned to the Spirit.
“No Spirit! Show me no more! I understand this is my path and I promise I shall do all within my power to take a different route! I implore you to take me back!” She clutched at the black shroud enveloping the Spirit and to her revulsion she could feel the bones of the Spirit beneath the shroud — just a skeleton without flesh!
She closed her eyes and cried out, once again grasping at the Spirit which then seemed to take a different form. She opened her eyes.
The Spirit was gone! It was not pure white bones that she was clutching at but the warm and comforting wooden post of her own bed! Her eyes darted around the room. It was her own! She ran to the window and drew back the curtains. Bright sunlight fell into the room, reflecting from the pristine white snow that lay all around. The sky was a victorious blue and she had never been so happy to see it! A small boy was passing below and she called out to him.
“Hey! You there!” The boy he looked up. “What day is it today?”
“Why it’s Christmas day you daft tart!” He too had not been told he was in a Dickensian novella but he is but a minor character dear reader, so we shall let it pass…. Sophie ignored the insults and leapt for joy; she had not missed it! Christmas day was upon her and she meant to make the most of it! She instructed the boy to rush to the nearest butcher and buy the biggest goose he could find and bring it back to her. She gave him a sovereign and he ran off down the street.
She never saw him again.
She quickly got ready in her finest ribbons and silks and rushed off to the house of her niece Rebecca. On the way she stopped to buy a goose, suspecting that the small street-waif was a thieving bastard. She arrived at the house and was welcomed like she had never been welcomed before! The goose was put in the oven for the coming feast and the smell of roasting poultry and Christmas pudding soon filled the air.
Sophie could not recall spending such a wonderful Christmas day, but she made sure she was back in her flat at lunchtime the next day, anticipating the arrival of her maid. She almost hugged herself with glee in anticipation of what was to come and she managed to compose herself as her maid came rushing into the flat, a full hour late!
“What time do you call this?” demanded Sophie in as gruff a voice as she could muster. The maid hung her head in shame.
“I am so sorry mistress; my sister and I were making rather merry yesterday on account of it being Christmas an’ all but I promise I shall make the time up!”
“You certainly shall young…what is your name by the way?” The maid muttered that her name was Connie if it pleased her mistress. “Right then young Connie as punishment I demand that you join me in the bedroom this instant!” Sophie giggled inside at the look of fear on Connie’s face as she led her into the bedroom. However the look turned to one of wonderment as Sophie quickly removed her garments and instructed Connie to do the same.
“I’d like you to meet Tiny Tim!” exclaimed Sophie (for it was not broken!) as she bade her young assistant lay on the bed. Connie’s expression almost returned to fear when she saw the large carved phallus in Sophie’s hands but then to relief when her mistress curled her arms around her waist, pulled her closer to her and kissed her fully on the lips. Although still convinced it was a trick, Connie kept her own counsel as her mistress wove magic with her fingers around her burgeoning nipples and moistening cunt. How did she know that she was partial to the flesh of one of her own sex?
Sophie gently but firmly pushed Connie back on to the bed and knelt between her thighs. She looked the young girl straight in the face and said,
“I think it’s about time you shared in the profits of my little enterprise don’t you?” Connie nodded dumbly, knowing full well that even a small percentage of her mistress’s profits would go a long way to easing her financial burden. As she spoke, Sophie was running her fingers up and down the lips of Connie’s cunt and she could not help but close her eyes as one, then two fingers were slowly inserted. The fingers, having done their work were then withdrawn to be replaced by the ivory phallus that she had espied earlier. Heaven only knows why it was called Tiny Tim was a thoughts that passed fleetingly through young Connie’s mind before her mistress began to slide the object in and out of her sopping cunt.
Connie cried out as the monster her invaded her innermost being and within seconds she was overcome by an orgasm the like of which she had not received for many a long year. She blinked her eyes open and gazed in gratitude at her new mistress. New indeed! Surely this could not be the harridan in whose employ she had been these last five years? As if sensing the girls confusion Sophie convinced her of her intentions to make things right and ensure that young Connie and her sister were taken care of.
Connie could hardly speak for of joy and gratitude at this turn of events and instructed her mistress to take her place on the bed. Such daring! Commanding her mistress in such a way! However Sophie took her place on the bed as instructed and opened her pale thighs.
Connie gazed down at her mistress’s body as if for the first time. She kissed her gently about the neck and then worked her way down to her bosom. She caressed the soft white globes with her hands and kissed and nibbled the erect stalks of her nipples with her tongue and teeth. Her mistress cried out as her fingers slipped between the folds of her cunt and sought the small pink bud she knew she would find. And find it she did! The gasps and cries of her mistress were evidence of the discovery! Within seconds her fingers were replaced by her lips and mouth and teeth as she teased and worried the small pink bud, bringing her grateful mistress to three (three!) orgasms over the next half an hour.
Soon both girls were spent and lay next to each other in a warm embrace. Sophie was good to her word and shared her remuneration with Connie. Indeed the two girls often worked in tandem, a delight that increased the clientele in not only number but also standing as word of the girls’ skills and talents spread throughout London Town. Connie’s sister was employed to act as maid in Connie’s place and the three girls lived, to coin a phrase, happily ever after.
And as Tiny Tim said, “Blimey it’s dark in here!”
THE END