There was once an author named Pagan I admired greatly. While my stories are usually very long, Pagan was able to breath Fire and Fury into a story of a single page. Recently I tried to copy his style and failed, but the following relatively compact story is the result. Included is the picture which inspired it. Enjoy, -Hal


The Most Regrettable Affair by HalHow3, October 23, 2009


In matters of the heart, friend can quickly turn to enemy and love to hate, especially when primal passions become inflamed by the dark wind of Desire. So it was once between two proud and quite proper Victorian ladies named Abigail Virginia Smith and Constance Lenora Brown.

Both young women had fallen in love with deepest devotion for a dashing young captain of the Life Guard, a handsome cavalryman by the name of Morgan. They soon shared their heartfelt secrets and the shock and surprise which followed, quickly turned to jealousy and scorn.

A period of cold silence followed after which notes were exchanged in which each made most clear that the other must renounce her claim upon the gallant captain at once When these demands were most bluntly refused, Abigail Virginia Smith found it necessary to demand satisfaction of Constance Lenora Brown who in turn found herself quite eager to accept. So it came to be one Sunday morning that Lady Abigail found herself standing in the arboretum at the back of her home, some dozen paces from the Lady Constance, their purpose, a duel to the death.

Of course such matters of Honor were not deemed acceptable among proper ladies and so much subterfuge was required. The Lady Abigail feinted illness and insisted that her friend Lydia Spencer Jones, who had agreed in secret to be her second, come stay with her. The Lady Constance had made much of a terrible headache and desired her friend Beatrice Hattie Miller by her side. And so it was on a Sunday morning, that when all others were in church, Constance and Beatrice came by carriage to the home of Abigail to pursue their quarrel.

Having retired to the arboretum, both Lydia and Beatrice besieged their friends to put aside their quarrel, but both young ladies refused. At this, the weapons of choice were produced, two knitting needles, their points honed to remarkable sharpness, as the principals exchanged jealous stares of pure hate. Both were of course dressed as ladies should be, in long sweeping dresses, with long sleeves and high buttoned collars. Their hair was wrapped carefully into elaborate buns and the small amount of makeup as was deemed proper was artfully applied.

It had been agreed that all formal rules would be followed and so as their seconds looked nervously on, each proper young lady reached up and begin to undo the buttons on the top of her dress, starting at the collar and then working down the front to the waist. Drawing their arms from the sleeves, they allowed the upper half of their dresses to simply fall backward hanging loose at their waists. Each lady the removed her chemise, baring her upper body and breasts totally to the other. The Lady Beatrice found herself most flushed at this turn of events as she watched Abigail and Constance staring at each other?s bodies with jealous gaze.

The skin of both women was milk pale and perfectly smooth, their breasts small but firm and their nipples decidedly rigid. The Lady Lydia could not help but wonder what each was thinking and while neither spoke the jealousy and anger playing across their lovely faces spoke more than any words could tell.


Stepping forward with the greatest reluctance, the Lady Beatrice and the Lady Lydia each took up one of the sharpened knitting needles and handed it her friend before stepping back. Abigail and Constance stared at each other then stepped closer, using one hand to daintily lift their skirts slightly to ease their movement.

As Constance approached she held her weapon with a stabbing grip, raising her hand slightly above her shoulder. Abigail held her weapon as one might a knife, keeping her hand low and by her hip. The sharpened points of the knitting needles seem to gleam wickedly in the dim morning light of the arboretum. The two women circled each other, edging closer at each turn, their small breasts swaying slightly as they took short, quick steps.

It was Constance that made the first move, stepping in as she brought her knitting needle down in a quick, savage sweep. Abigail turned to the side, but the sharp point of the needle glanced across her shoulder opening a wicked, bleeding cut. A small gasp escaped Abigail?s lips and she turned sweeping her own needle upward in a vicious stab aimed for her rival?s bared belly. Constance turned as well and the needle continued upward, slicing across the under curve of her well-rounded right breast. Both women stumbled apart for a moment, then closed again as the duel was on!

There followed several moments of feinting and slashing with the sharpened needles, both women constantly shifting position and circling, stepping in or away again as they bent low their breasts dangling as they fought each other. Blood ran in rivulets down Abigail?s left arm, to drip from her elbow even as blood streamed across Constance?s belly from the wound on her breast.

For all of the frantic motion, no further blood was draw and both Beatrice and Lydia dared allow themselves to hope the worst of the matter was past. Unfortunately this would prove false as Constance stepped in bringing her weapon down in a quick arc, slashing the needle sharp point from the top to the bottom of Abigail?s left breast. With a shriek Abigail struck back, her weapon opening a long and nasty cut across the left side of Constance?s waist. Both women pushed away from each other, pausing only a second before throwing themselves at each other with bestial screams of rage.

Each quickly seized the wrist of the other?s weapon hand and locked in perilous and deadly struggle. Arms pushed out to the sides, wavering back and forth and trembling as the two women thrust into each other. Soon they were bared breasts against bared breasts and Abigail stared into her rival?s eyes as she said, ?You dare!? Constance glared back at her with equal hate and replied, ?I do?, after which not another word was spoken as the two engaged in close in and vigorous struggle.

Back and forth the two women battled, their naked upper bodies pushing and rubbing into each other as they gasped and hissed and strained, twisting and stumbling about the arboretum as their friends and seconds looked on in terrified shock.


Stumbling into one of the potting benches the two women fought frantically. Constance twisting her body away from Abigail then, half turning her back on her rival, as she pulled Abigail?s left arm over her shoulder, trying to free her weapon hand from Abigail?s tenacious grip. In desperation Abigail threw herself against Constance and then suddenly backed away, reaching down with both hands to left up the hem of her dress as she moved.

The Lady Beatrice and the Lady Lydia glanced at each other and then back at Constance, who leaned half leaned against the potting bench, her back to them. As they watched breathlessly, Constance dropped her knitting needle and straightened, turning to reveal Abigail?s cruel weapon buried deep between Constance?s pale breasts. Looking down at the needle then back up again with sad, bewildered eyes, her hand plucked at the metal dart weakly before her gaze rolled upward and she sank lifeless to the ground.

At this the Lady Beatrice shrieked in horror as the good Lady Lydia fainted dead away.

And so it was that the rivalry between Abigail Virginia Smith and Constance Lenora Brown was ended. In time Abigail did marry her gallant young captain and bore him many children, but no one every spoke of the most regrettable affair with the Lady Constance.


The End