Poached Pear 11: the world and all its wonders
Title: the world and all its wonders
Main Story: In the Heart -- EPIC PIRATE AU
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Poached pear 11 (in sickness & in health), chopped nuts (EPIC PIRATE AU), hot fudge, butterscotch, caramel, malt (BTS 20 : Yvonne : I wanna dance with somebody), pocky chain.
Word Count: 1100
Rating: R, for graphic discussion of sex.
Summary: Yvonne and sex.
Notes: Late for the same reason as the other one. Malt challenge, all four. Produced the number one thing I never thought I'd Google.
WARNING: graphic discussion of sex, veneral disease, dubious consent, miscarriage, and prostitution.
Her first time was unbelievably stupid.
She threw her virginity away on a sailor. An inconsiderate, tactless idiot with no interest in her, only in her legs, her cunt and her frankly excellent breasts. Thrust, thrust, thrust, and it was over, wetness trickling down the inside of her leg, nothing to show for it but a few coins, an ache between her legs and, thank heaven, no baby.
He wasn't even useful.
She destroyed him in the end. Nothing overt, nothing that could be traced back to her-- just some clever rumors, and some planted evidence.
He deserved nothing less.
--
She thought that Mama and 'Resa suspected what she did. Every time she came home now, they gave her weary, disgusted looks and turned away. Fools, both of them, fools and blind-- her father was dead. Did they think that the paltry few coins they could earn would satisfy her? Oh, no. Yvonne had been promised riches, and riches she would have.
If that meant lifting her skirts for any man with money, so be it. That was what it meant to be a woman in this world.
If Mama and 'Resa wouldn't face that, they deserved what they got.
--
Her first relationship was a man named Roger, and oh, was he stupid. He thought that she was faithful to him.
She was so much smarter than he was that it made her sick.
He did have his uses. He was rich, and he saw no reason not to flaunt it. Dresses, jewels, servants, money, he gave her everything she asked, just to grunt atop her and spend his seed on her belly. Fool.
She thought about staying. He wouldn't marry her, but he would keep her, and in grand style.
Then Hugh came along, and all her plans changed.
--
She was pleasantly surprised to find that Hugh was good at sex. Not spectacular, but far, far better than that long-ago sailor. Yvonne had made a better bargain than she'd thought.
Not that she ever let on. Hugh thought her a sweet, innocent virgin, the damsel in distress he'd rescued from the dragon of her family. She made sure to keep up that guise, even-- especially-- in bed.
She occupied her time in bed thinking of Mama and 'Resa. She'd given them nothing; not Roger's money, certainly not Hugh's. They must be starving by now.
The thought made her smile.
--
Life with her husband had one downside-- she could not demand that he spill his seed elsewhere, and the tea she had for just this purpose did not work. She threw it in the river, when she learned of the coming child.
Then she calmed herself and thought. She had Hugh-- no trouble there. She had her secret money. True, she could no longer walk the city. But there was a certain... cachet... that her condition would bring. Some men desired big-bellied women. They would pay, and dearly, to use her.
If it killed the child, so much the better.
--
The child did not die, and Hugh lost all interest in her whatsoever. Oh, he still tried, in bed, but his efforts were so perfunctory and ineffective that Yvonne stopped even faking interest, staring at the ceiling and waiting to be done. He gave up after a few months, which suited her very well.
After that, he lavished all his love on the child. And she... she was free to do as she pleased.
She never let him know that she would leave the child alone to get her pleasures. She felt no qualms, but she knew he would care.
--
It was on Olivia's thirteenth birthday that she learned she was with child again.
She expressed her temper as subtly as she could-- slapping the girl for disobedience, deliberately burning dinner, treating that night's lover with a cold roughness that he, surprisingly, loved. Damn it. Damn it, she had been so careful! How...
Well. It didn't matter how. What mattered was her sudden lack of options.
Hugh was not stupid-- she couldn't lure him into bed and claim the child was his. He knew the terms of childbearing, and he wouldn't believe it. Cursed doctors.
But maybe the old squire...
--
The squire was another of those men who thought her a helpless, innocent woman. He, of course, knew her for a whore, but he had some delusions about the nature of that profession-- he seemed to think she did it for money for her daughter.
Well, fine, she could use that.
She went to him, not long after she learned about the baby. She told him with tears in her eyes that Hugh hurt her, and her daughter, and begged him to help her. He agreed with alacrity, and didn't even try to fuck her.
Men.
At least it worked.
--
The child died inside her, not long after she left Hugh. It was a relief. She never had to tell the squire.
He kept her on for longer than anyone but her husband had, and if he was not as generous as Roger, it was security of a kind. If he wanted sex more often than she liked, well, she was bought and paid for. Besides, she could always close her eyes and go somewhere else while her body worked.
She was very good at that.
Seven years, he kept her. Seven safe, secure years.
She cried, when it ended.
--
She managed a few more protectors, before the end. None as rich as the squire or as generous as Roger, but protectors nonetheless. They kept her for a few months, a few years. Always she moved on. Always she had another choice.
Until the day the sore appeared.
After that no one would touch her. It came on her mouth, and then on her genitals, then the rash, then the fever and the headaches and the weight loss. Her beauty fled too. No one would touch her then, but the sailors on the docks.
No more choices. Not for her.
--
Her last time was unbearably sad.
She huddled on the docks, breasts exposed, skirts kilted up-- she couldn't afford a shawl, not even in this cold weather, because it would hide the goods. The man came by, snapped his fingers. She followed him into the alley, where he pushed her against the wall and threw her skirts up.
She coughed every time he thrust into her, bracing herself on the wooden walls. She was numb and dizzy by the time he withdrew and pulled his dagger across her throat.
It was funny, her last thought.
She didn't even like sex.
Main Story: In the Heart -- EPIC PIRATE AU
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Poached pear 11 (in sickness & in health), chopped nuts (EPIC PIRATE AU), hot fudge, butterscotch, caramel, malt (BTS 20 : Yvonne : I wanna dance with somebody), pocky chain.
Word Count: 1100
Rating: R, for graphic discussion of sex.
Summary: Yvonne and sex.
Notes: Late for the same reason as the other one. Malt challenge, all four. Produced the number one thing I never thought I'd Google.
WARNING: graphic discussion of sex, veneral disease, dubious consent, miscarriage, and prostitution.
Her first time was unbelievably stupid.
She threw her virginity away on a sailor. An inconsiderate, tactless idiot with no interest in her, only in her legs, her cunt and her frankly excellent breasts. Thrust, thrust, thrust, and it was over, wetness trickling down the inside of her leg, nothing to show for it but a few coins, an ache between her legs and, thank heaven, no baby.
He wasn't even useful.
She destroyed him in the end. Nothing overt, nothing that could be traced back to her-- just some clever rumors, and some planted evidence.
He deserved nothing less.
--
She thought that Mama and 'Resa suspected what she did. Every time she came home now, they gave her weary, disgusted looks and turned away. Fools, both of them, fools and blind-- her father was dead. Did they think that the paltry few coins they could earn would satisfy her? Oh, no. Yvonne had been promised riches, and riches she would have.
If that meant lifting her skirts for any man with money, so be it. That was what it meant to be a woman in this world.
If Mama and 'Resa wouldn't face that, they deserved what they got.
--
Her first relationship was a man named Roger, and oh, was he stupid. He thought that she was faithful to him.
She was so much smarter than he was that it made her sick.
He did have his uses. He was rich, and he saw no reason not to flaunt it. Dresses, jewels, servants, money, he gave her everything she asked, just to grunt atop her and spend his seed on her belly. Fool.
She thought about staying. He wouldn't marry her, but he would keep her, and in grand style.
Then Hugh came along, and all her plans changed.
--
She was pleasantly surprised to find that Hugh was good at sex. Not spectacular, but far, far better than that long-ago sailor. Yvonne had made a better bargain than she'd thought.
Not that she ever let on. Hugh thought her a sweet, innocent virgin, the damsel in distress he'd rescued from the dragon of her family. She made sure to keep up that guise, even-- especially-- in bed.
She occupied her time in bed thinking of Mama and 'Resa. She'd given them nothing; not Roger's money, certainly not Hugh's. They must be starving by now.
The thought made her smile.
--
Life with her husband had one downside-- she could not demand that he spill his seed elsewhere, and the tea she had for just this purpose did not work. She threw it in the river, when she learned of the coming child.
Then she calmed herself and thought. She had Hugh-- no trouble there. She had her secret money. True, she could no longer walk the city. But there was a certain... cachet... that her condition would bring. Some men desired big-bellied women. They would pay, and dearly, to use her.
If it killed the child, so much the better.
--
The child did not die, and Hugh lost all interest in her whatsoever. Oh, he still tried, in bed, but his efforts were so perfunctory and ineffective that Yvonne stopped even faking interest, staring at the ceiling and waiting to be done. He gave up after a few months, which suited her very well.
After that, he lavished all his love on the child. And she... she was free to do as she pleased.
She never let him know that she would leave the child alone to get her pleasures. She felt no qualms, but she knew he would care.
--
It was on Olivia's thirteenth birthday that she learned she was with child again.
She expressed her temper as subtly as she could-- slapping the girl for disobedience, deliberately burning dinner, treating that night's lover with a cold roughness that he, surprisingly, loved. Damn it. Damn it, she had been so careful! How...
Well. It didn't matter how. What mattered was her sudden lack of options.
Hugh was not stupid-- she couldn't lure him into bed and claim the child was his. He knew the terms of childbearing, and he wouldn't believe it. Cursed doctors.
But maybe the old squire...
--
The squire was another of those men who thought her a helpless, innocent woman. He, of course, knew her for a whore, but he had some delusions about the nature of that profession-- he seemed to think she did it for money for her daughter.
Well, fine, she could use that.
She went to him, not long after she learned about the baby. She told him with tears in her eyes that Hugh hurt her, and her daughter, and begged him to help her. He agreed with alacrity, and didn't even try to fuck her.
Men.
At least it worked.
--
The child died inside her, not long after she left Hugh. It was a relief. She never had to tell the squire.
He kept her on for longer than anyone but her husband had, and if he was not as generous as Roger, it was security of a kind. If he wanted sex more often than she liked, well, she was bought and paid for. Besides, she could always close her eyes and go somewhere else while her body worked.
She was very good at that.
Seven years, he kept her. Seven safe, secure years.
She cried, when it ended.
--
She managed a few more protectors, before the end. None as rich as the squire or as generous as Roger, but protectors nonetheless. They kept her for a few months, a few years. Always she moved on. Always she had another choice.
Until the day the sore appeared.
After that no one would touch her. It came on her mouth, and then on her genitals, then the rash, then the fever and the headaches and the weight loss. Her beauty fled too. No one would touch her then, but the sailors on the docks.
No more choices. Not for her.
--
Her last time was unbearably sad.
She huddled on the docks, breasts exposed, skirts kilted up-- she couldn't afford a shawl, not even in this cold weather, because it would hide the goods. The man came by, snapped his fingers. She followed him into the alley, where he pushed her against the wall and threw her skirts up.
She coughed every time he thrust into her, bracing herself on the wooden walls. She was numb and dizzy by the time he withdrew and pulled his dagger across her throat.
It was funny, her last thought.
She didn't even like sex.