The reign of Queen Victoria over the British Empire was turning out to be one of the best times that Deion had ever had here on Earth. While society was mostly following the Queen's seemingly frumpy and tightly-buttoned conservative morals, it was also a time of great strides in scientific achievement and thinking. And where people were opening their minds, Deion knew from experience, they were also opening themselves up to all kinds of supposedly "immoral" behavior.
He'd been arranging and participating in some of the best debauchery in centuries behind closed doors in the last twenty years. Beneath all those bustles and waistcoats and top hats and parasols, held in by all those buttons were a lot of beautifully deviant Brits fired up to experience the newest and most pleasurable.
Deion was taking a few days' break, though, and had every intention of simply relaxing and vegetating in his posh townhome. It seemed, though, that the Fates had other things in mind.
The London morning light was diffuse as he woke up, a smile already crossing his face. Deion was immediately aware of the sensation of warmth and wetness surrounding his cock and the unmistakable movement of a mouth bobbing up and down his shaft. When his mind began to clear and his eyes opened, he chuckled out loud to see the bedcovers cresting with not one but two hills at the level of his hips.
"Whoever's under there," he announced sleepily, "good morning."
OOC: Well, you said it could be anything. But I'll let you choose who responds.