Home > Sense & Nonsensibility > Sense & Nonsensibility (VII) Mandolin Song For A Holes’ Man

Sense & Nonsensibility (VII) Mandolin Song For A Holes’ Man

Episode VII: Mandolin Song For A Holes’ Man

Tom Holeman was trying to fish a dead rat that had drowned in his best barrel of ale when he noticed an elegant black leather purse that somebody had forgotten on one of the tavern’s wooden tables. Finders keepers, loser weepers, he thought. He grabbed the purse and felt very disappointed when he found not a single shilling inside. It only contained beauty products and a letter written in a foreign language, although he didn’t notice that because he was illiterate as a horse and written English was to him not less indecipherable than Hungarian. He didn’t even know English could be written in spite of the fact that his inn was called The Grazing Shakespeare. He decided to keep the purse and take the letter to the pastor of who it was said that he could read because he was always staring to a big black book with a cross on the cover.

He remembered very well the elegant foreign lady of prodigious jugs that had spent the night at his best room and paid in cash. The purse had to be hers because she was the first woman to set foot in his tavern in four decades. Tom could not forget the mysterious woman he had spied through a hole in the wall of her room. When he had seen her undress to take a bath his nose had begun to bleed and his hears had felt like burning coals. Carried by the memories of her bulging enormous breasts his hand descended towards his bloated penis that was already raw from the masturbatory excesses of the previous night. Repressing a scream of pain Tom lowered his pants and tried to alleviate the burning pain by introducing his sore member in the humid beer barrel faucet. At that precise moment  two strangers opened the door.

The foreign travelers were perplexed once more. In the woods they had stumbled with hysterical Charlotte and she had urinated herself. Now they were greeted with the sight of the hairy white buttocks of a man trying to rape a barrel. The count and the priest were befuddled by the stranger customs of the English people and wondered how such a nation of perverts could have become the mightiest empire on the planet.

‘ Good evening gentlemen ‘ said Tom while carefully extracting his penis out of the faucet and then added ‘ Would you like something to drink? Beer maybe? ‘

‘ No, thanks you, we want a clean room. ‘ said the count.

Tom showed them his best and only room but asked for extra money for the sack they carried because it was kicking and screaming and in his opinion it counted as a guest. They agreed to put the girl that was in the sack inside the well because it was cheaper and they retired to their room to wait for supper.

That night the strangers conversed at their table in muffled tones. Tom could see they were plotting something but could not hear a word. After supper he spied them through the hole in the wall but couldn’t understand a word either because they spoke Hungarian. The only thing he achieved was to recall the lustrous body of the countess in the bathtub and he began to masturbate again. Then he remembered the beautiful young girl with significantly smaller breasts who was inside the well. He had caught a glimpse of her when she had been dropped into the well. She had the appearance of a corpse salvaged from a pond but with a good bath she would look rather alluring. The idea of the young captive taken a bath gave Tom an idea. So he masturbated a little bit more while waiting for the visitors to sleep.

Later in the night he went to the backyard and looked down the well but it was so dark that he couldn’t see anything.

‘Are you in there?’ he asked

‘ Yes! Help! ‘ cried Charlotte ‘ Who are you? ‘

‘ I am Tom, the owner of the well ‘ he said keeping his voice as low as he could not to awake the guests ‘ I am going to help you, but you have to promise me one thing first ‘

‘ What? Do you think I am damn fairy? Let me go! I am hungry and there is no frogs left. ‘ she protested.

‘ Wait. Listen, I just want you to promise you will take a bath if I let you go.’ he said and added ‘ You need one believe me ‘

‘ I have been submerged in water for hours! I am beginning to grow goddamn gills.’

‘ I have a tub full of hot water. ‘ said Tom.

‘ Hot water! We have a deal sir. ‘ answered Charlotte. Then a rope ladder descended from the mouth of the well and landed on his face.

Tom showed her to his room where he had placed the cooper tub full of steamy water. He left Charlotte alone and ran to the adjacent henhouse where years ago he had carved a hole to spy himself while masturbating, although he never used it any more because after years of trying he never had managed to catch himself in the act, although he saw himself one day eating an egg. He leaned his eye against the hole and watched how young Charlotte submerged her naked body in the foamy water.

She let go a sensual moaning of pleasure mixed with pain at the contact of the boiling water. Her body relaxed and slid very slowly into the liquid that fell like millions of invisible little hands caressing her. She used a sponge soaked with soap to carefully remove the slime and dirt that covered her skin The breasts that had looked like mud cakes emerged out of the foam as glossy domes of white flesh. The warm water flowing down her body aroused her imagination and her hand moved slowly down her waist towards her pubis. Her fingers began fondling the pink tender labia with expert strokes, for there was something that Charlotte liked more than any other of her pastimes, more than running under a storm, more that reading romantic stories, more than running naked in the woods, what she liked most was to play her mandolin. She used to play her mandolin every night and had learned to play vaginal sonatas that lasted for hours. She closed her eyes, reclined her head and she launched herself into the first movements of a particularly passionate sonata for five fingers and vagina. With her bare back pressing against the wall her body began to shake in spasms of pleasure unleashing a violent tempest in the foamy water. She expertly massage the fleshy strings of the vulva and felt the harbingers of ecstasy running in her blood like a pack of wild wolves of fire chasing the white rabbit of fulfillment and leaving a blazing trail of pleasure in their wake. Oblivious of her surroundings she couldn’t hear the panting sound coming from between the thin planks that separated the room from the henhouse. Her body arched and she felt the white light ball of pleasure about to explode. And then the ball exploded and a loud bang was heard. ‘ What the hell was that? ‘ she tough, and then she said ‘ Shit! ‘

She had been as close as you can get to come without coming, hence the curse. She looked towards the origin of the disturbance and saw a hole in the wood plank. Charlotte jumped out the water and ran to the henhouse and what she found there horrified her so much that the memory would haunt her in nightmares for the rest of her life. Tom was naked and his head was gone. It had exploded and was scattered all over the place and splashed against the walls. His rigid dead hands were still clutching on the chicken he had been raping when his head blown in ecstasy.  Blinded by pain the impaled animal was batting its wings trying to fly, unaware perhaps that chickens can’t fly.

Charlotte ran back to the room and opened the wardrobe looking for a shirt but found instead a collection of used women garments, mostly stolen underwear from Tom’s private collection. She grabbed a nice robe and under it she found a black leather purse more expensive than anything she had ever been able to afford. She took it, opened and almost cried of  joy when she saw all the shiny boxes of expensive beauty products. She felt almost vindicated for her missing orgasm. Free French perfume was  better than an orgasm, and she still could play her mandolin later. Then her eyes laid on a little white envelope and her heart nearly stopped when she read the name written on it: Vladimir Andreassi. She opened the envelope that had been already opened and read the letter. It said that Vladimir was the green dog eating bark on a bath with his ankles tied down for a mirror. ‘ This doesn’t make any sense. ‘ She though and she realized the letter wasn’t written in English. She put it back inside purse and pressing it again her chest she ran outside.

Outside it was dark and only owls could be heard. She hoped her captors hadn’t heard the explosion of the pervert’s head. She moved slowly along the bushes avoiding the main footpath. She didn’t see the two black gloved hands that came from the shadows and snatched her. She tried to fight but to resist she should sacrifice the black leather purse and decided it was better to faint and go with the flow. She went limp and the hands dragged her unconscious body into the darkness with the black purse still pressed against her breasts.

To be continued….

Who is the mysterious owner of the gloved hands that had snatched our heroine? Do they really belong to somebody or are they just a pair of malicious rogue hands that find amusing to snatch people in the middle of the night? Is that even possible? Will we ever find out what is written in the Hungarian letter without having to take Hungarian lessons? Answers to these and other questions in the next episode of Sense & Nonsensibility.

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