Whore - Muse Erotica/Barbary Coast
ME2009.1.C.4 - OOC: Mosby is col_mosby and is used with the kind permission of his writer. Reinette is mistresstoaking and is mine. NOT WORK OR KID SAFE. Barbary Coast RP Verse.
Are you good enough to get paid for it?
“I am certain, Colonel Mosby, you can understand my reticence.” Augusta felt as though the air in the room had suddenly become unbearably thick, almost impossible to pull into her lungs without effort. The man who had been so charming and helpful when she had arrived in this wild, strange city was leaning back in his wing chair, eyeing her as a predator does a small catch that cannot escape. Beside the fireplace, in the small room, Madame du Pompadour was also watching her. The blonde woman’s expression was carefully masked, though her bright eyes bore into Gus, who twisted her gloved fingers around her embroidered handkerchief.
Mosby tilted his dark head, and Augusta thought for a moment how much the curls reminded her of Byron. Oh…Byron. If he were here, in this place, he would outraged by the very idea of what was being discussed so calmly. He would likely challenge the Confederate officer turned whoremaster to a duel. Master. Yes, certainly Colonel Clayton Mosby was her lord and master, for the debt she owed him far exceeded anything she could reasonably pay. It occurred to Lady Augusta Byron Leigh that she had spent much of her life in the indentured service of some person or another, always begging or bowing to survive. At least here, now, she did not have the burden of children or worthless husband to consider.
“Lady Byron, I feel certain that you can appreciate my position.” Mosby pulled a thin cigar from the front pocket of his rich brocade vest, then lighting it with a match struck upon his boot heel. After a few puffs, he smiled at her, a look that was devoid of warmth. “I am not in the business of charity.”
“Nor am I in the habit of accepting it.” She defensively straightened her spine, offended at the unspoken insinuation.
Mosby’s lip curled up, and Reinette interjected gently. “Colonel Mosby graciously took you in off the streets, Augusta. He has provided you with lodgings, food and other comforts. It would be unseemly for a lady not to pay her debts.”
“By becoming a prostitute?” Augusta barely managed to keep her tone civil. Oh, if Byron were here, listening to this scoundrel suggest that his beloved sister pay her debt by whoring herself to cowboys and seafaring wretches, he would be appalled.
Mosby ashed his smoke in the fine china tray beside him. “By selling the only thing you have of value. I believe you know the alternative.”
“Whore myself in the streets for bread?” Now she did not even pretend to civility. Her dark eyes snapped, and the colour was high in her cheeks. “Or whore myself in here for your profit?”
The madam, sensing that the trap might not be as tightly sprung as Mosby thought, soothingly spoke. “It is merely for a short time. You work off your debt to the Colonel, and when you do, you will be free to leave, with enough money to start over anywhere in the world. I promise you that you will not have to endure the commoners for clients. You will only entertain the finest gentlemen in San Francisco.”
“The finest gentlemen in San Francisco do not rut whores down in the sporting clubs of the Barbary Coast.” Augusta’s bitter tone belied her knowledge that she really had no choice. However, Byron had taught her enough about verbal battle that she would not give in easily. “They are home with their wives and children.”
Mosby was, in his best times, a Southern gentleman who would never threaten a lady well born. However, this was not one of Mosby’s best times. His rival, another Immortal, was soundly beating him in the area of profits, and Mosby was surly. “Lady Byron, your adventures with your own brother are well documented and fodder for decades of gossip. I saved you from the whore ships, and gave you a decent place to recover from your fever. Now you owe me. I have enough common trollops to take care of the scum, I need high end ladies who will perform the most exquisite pleasures on the rich men of this city. You fit that bill, as both an Immortal and a lady. But I warn you, if you refuse me, I will be quite angry.” The threat, clear in his tone, was reinforced by a nod from Reinette. “It would only be for a year, or two. In the life of an Immortal, that’s nothing. Plus, you will be under my protection.”
“Yours is not the only protection in this town, Colonel. I seem to recall that your competition…a gentleman Immortal…was in here the other evening. I wonder if he would make me a better offer.” Augusta spoke as sweetly as if she were asking a caller if they wanted one lump of sugar or two.
Reinette barely smothered a smile. So the kitten had claws? All the better. Mosby could hardly expect the girl to be happy. “I do not believe you will find that gentleman any more kind a master.” The one time ‘Uncrowned Queen of France’ watched the two, smiling. “Augusta, a lady of strength accepts the inevitable with grace and dignity.”
“Spoken like a legendary whore.” Gus was satisfied to see a flash of anger on the cool expression of her new madam. “But I have no choice here, therefore I will sign a written agreement.”
Mosby pulled a parchement out, and provided her with a pen and ink. After Augusta signed, she threw the fine writing took down, watching it splotch ink in the paper. Mosby handed the piece to Reinette, who quietly left the study to retire. Mosby took off his tailored coat, and hung it on a coatrack by the door, and then hung his heavy gun holster there. Augusta watched as he stripped himself of his boots, vest, shirt and pants, before she stood. So…this was it. Her first customer.
“Remove everything.” Mosby stood, wrapping a silk dressing gown around himself, before sitting back in his chair. “I want to see you. All of you.”
This was nothing at all like the marital coitus of her life, nor the frenzied passion with Byron. This was not seduction. This was survival. It was commerce. So long as she could keep the emotion out, the anger, she would be able to endure. Every layer of her clothing that fell was another layer of her soul stripped bare. Thank God that Byron was dead, and could not see his sister, his image of gentility, baring herself for her new master. When she was stripped, naked before the small fire, she freed her long hair from the confines of her snood, and faced him. Without a word, Mosby beckoned her to him, where he sat like a king on a throne.
“Lady Byron, whore of England, let us see how well this fits.” His large hands roughly pulled her to his lap, where his erection stood through the parting of his silk robe. Cruelly, almost violently, he spread her legs and drew her body down onto him, pushing up inside her dryness, making her cry out with pain. His growl of pleasure preceded another upward thrust, spearing himself into her a few more inches. “Kiss me.” Augusta closed her eyes, trying to pretend that the bearded man hurting her was the only man who ever really loved her, and she kissed him, imagining a poet instead of a pimp beneath her, imagining another fire, and a time long ago. It seemed to be working, because she grew more aroused, sliding more easily down his length, until she was fully impaled upon him.
His laugh was one of dark triumph, as he gripped her slender hips and began to move her up and down upon him. Capturing one rose nipple in his mouth, he sucked and bit, as he bounced her on him. One breast, then the other, then he moved up by her ear to grunt and breathe heavily, taunting her, but kept on fucking her. “A fine lady, indeed. Perhaps later you will service me on your knees, or I will rut you like a bitch while you pleasure a woman. You will earn your keep, Lady Byron, oh, yes. You will earn your keep. Fuck me, you little whore. Fuck me, or I will make you sorry.” He brought his hand over, between them, and his thumb stroked and rubbed her button, until she was panting. “Whore. Fuck me like you did him, your own brother. That’s it. Scream, no one will hear it. Scream.”
Mosby suddenly threw her off him, just as she was about to come, and she landed on the thick Oriental carpet on her back, legs open, where he mounted her. Now he was punishing her, brutally thrusting in a way that made her cry out, tears running from her eyes. “Master.” He grunted, sweat shining on his broad chest. “Say it. Say fuck me, Master.”
Augusta had no choice, but to say it. His howl of victory drowned out her whimpers, as he filled her. For the next week, she was in his bed each night, indulging all of his most base fantasies. By the time he turned her out to customers, she was almost relieved.
Are you good enough to get paid for it?
“I am certain, Colonel Mosby, you can understand my reticence.” Augusta felt as though the air in the room had suddenly become unbearably thick, almost impossible to pull into her lungs without effort. The man who had been so charming and helpful when she had arrived in this wild, strange city was leaning back in his wing chair, eyeing her as a predator does a small catch that cannot escape. Beside the fireplace, in the small room, Madame du Pompadour was also watching her. The blonde woman’s expression was carefully masked, though her bright eyes bore into Gus, who twisted her gloved fingers around her embroidered handkerchief.
Mosby tilted his dark head, and Augusta thought for a moment how much the curls reminded her of Byron. Oh…Byron. If he were here, in this place, he would outraged by the very idea of what was being discussed so calmly. He would likely challenge the Confederate officer turned whoremaster to a duel. Master. Yes, certainly Colonel Clayton Mosby was her lord and master, for the debt she owed him far exceeded anything she could reasonably pay. It occurred to Lady Augusta Byron Leigh that she had spent much of her life in the indentured service of some person or another, always begging or bowing to survive. At least here, now, she did not have the burden of children or worthless husband to consider.
“Lady Byron, I feel certain that you can appreciate my position.” Mosby pulled a thin cigar from the front pocket of his rich brocade vest, then lighting it with a match struck upon his boot heel. After a few puffs, he smiled at her, a look that was devoid of warmth. “I am not in the business of charity.”
“Nor am I in the habit of accepting it.” She defensively straightened her spine, offended at the unspoken insinuation.
Mosby’s lip curled up, and Reinette interjected gently. “Colonel Mosby graciously took you in off the streets, Augusta. He has provided you with lodgings, food and other comforts. It would be unseemly for a lady not to pay her debts.”
“By becoming a prostitute?” Augusta barely managed to keep her tone civil. Oh, if Byron were here, listening to this scoundrel suggest that his beloved sister pay her debt by whoring herself to cowboys and seafaring wretches, he would be appalled.
Mosby ashed his smoke in the fine china tray beside him. “By selling the only thing you have of value. I believe you know the alternative.”
“Whore myself in the streets for bread?” Now she did not even pretend to civility. Her dark eyes snapped, and the colour was high in her cheeks. “Or whore myself in here for your profit?”
The madam, sensing that the trap might not be as tightly sprung as Mosby thought, soothingly spoke. “It is merely for a short time. You work off your debt to the Colonel, and when you do, you will be free to leave, with enough money to start over anywhere in the world. I promise you that you will not have to endure the commoners for clients. You will only entertain the finest gentlemen in San Francisco.”
“The finest gentlemen in San Francisco do not rut whores down in the sporting clubs of the Barbary Coast.” Augusta’s bitter tone belied her knowledge that she really had no choice. However, Byron had taught her enough about verbal battle that she would not give in easily. “They are home with their wives and children.”
Mosby was, in his best times, a Southern gentleman who would never threaten a lady well born. However, this was not one of Mosby’s best times. His rival, another Immortal, was soundly beating him in the area of profits, and Mosby was surly. “Lady Byron, your adventures with your own brother are well documented and fodder for decades of gossip. I saved you from the whore ships, and gave you a decent place to recover from your fever. Now you owe me. I have enough common trollops to take care of the scum, I need high end ladies who will perform the most exquisite pleasures on the rich men of this city. You fit that bill, as both an Immortal and a lady. But I warn you, if you refuse me, I will be quite angry.” The threat, clear in his tone, was reinforced by a nod from Reinette. “It would only be for a year, or two. In the life of an Immortal, that’s nothing. Plus, you will be under my protection.”
“Yours is not the only protection in this town, Colonel. I seem to recall that your competition…a gentleman Immortal…was in here the other evening. I wonder if he would make me a better offer.” Augusta spoke as sweetly as if she were asking a caller if they wanted one lump of sugar or two.
Reinette barely smothered a smile. So the kitten had claws? All the better. Mosby could hardly expect the girl to be happy. “I do not believe you will find that gentleman any more kind a master.” The one time ‘Uncrowned Queen of France’ watched the two, smiling. “Augusta, a lady of strength accepts the inevitable with grace and dignity.”
“Spoken like a legendary whore.” Gus was satisfied to see a flash of anger on the cool expression of her new madam. “But I have no choice here, therefore I will sign a written agreement.”
Mosby pulled a parchement out, and provided her with a pen and ink. After Augusta signed, she threw the fine writing took down, watching it splotch ink in the paper. Mosby handed the piece to Reinette, who quietly left the study to retire. Mosby took off his tailored coat, and hung it on a coatrack by the door, and then hung his heavy gun holster there. Augusta watched as he stripped himself of his boots, vest, shirt and pants, before she stood. So…this was it. Her first customer.
“Remove everything.” Mosby stood, wrapping a silk dressing gown around himself, before sitting back in his chair. “I want to see you. All of you.”
This was nothing at all like the marital coitus of her life, nor the frenzied passion with Byron. This was not seduction. This was survival. It was commerce. So long as she could keep the emotion out, the anger, she would be able to endure. Every layer of her clothing that fell was another layer of her soul stripped bare. Thank God that Byron was dead, and could not see his sister, his image of gentility, baring herself for her new master. When she was stripped, naked before the small fire, she freed her long hair from the confines of her snood, and faced him. Without a word, Mosby beckoned her to him, where he sat like a king on a throne.
“Lady Byron, whore of England, let us see how well this fits.” His large hands roughly pulled her to his lap, where his erection stood through the parting of his silk robe. Cruelly, almost violently, he spread her legs and drew her body down onto him, pushing up inside her dryness, making her cry out with pain. His growl of pleasure preceded another upward thrust, spearing himself into her a few more inches. “Kiss me.” Augusta closed her eyes, trying to pretend that the bearded man hurting her was the only man who ever really loved her, and she kissed him, imagining a poet instead of a pimp beneath her, imagining another fire, and a time long ago. It seemed to be working, because she grew more aroused, sliding more easily down his length, until she was fully impaled upon him.
His laugh was one of dark triumph, as he gripped her slender hips and began to move her up and down upon him. Capturing one rose nipple in his mouth, he sucked and bit, as he bounced her on him. One breast, then the other, then he moved up by her ear to grunt and breathe heavily, taunting her, but kept on fucking her. “A fine lady, indeed. Perhaps later you will service me on your knees, or I will rut you like a bitch while you pleasure a woman. You will earn your keep, Lady Byron, oh, yes. You will earn your keep. Fuck me, you little whore. Fuck me, or I will make you sorry.” He brought his hand over, between them, and his thumb stroked and rubbed her button, until she was panting. “Whore. Fuck me like you did him, your own brother. That’s it. Scream, no one will hear it. Scream.”
Mosby suddenly threw her off him, just as she was about to come, and she landed on the thick Oriental carpet on her back, legs open, where he mounted her. Now he was punishing her, brutally thrusting in a way that made her cry out, tears running from her eyes. “Master.” He grunted, sweat shining on his broad chest. “Say it. Say fuck me, Master.”
Augusta had no choice, but to say it. His howl of victory drowned out her whimpers, as he filled her. For the next week, she was in his bed each night, indulging all of his most base fantasies. By the time he turned her out to customers, she was almost relieved.