The Courtesan's Mistress Chapter 1
Published Monday 16 May 2011 by SteveCook in courtesan's mistress prostitute sex chapter bookI've been gone from here for a while; I spent a lot of time drinking, if I'm honest, while I wrote The King's Thief, and in the end I decided to shelve it. It's not like I became an alcoholic or anything, but I got out of the habit of writing it and realised that, actually, it wasn't that good. Now, don't get me wrong, there are some awesome bits that I will definitely use at some point, and I fully intend to go back to TKT at some point in the future.
Since then, I've written some short stories that I'm trying to get published in a magazine, and I've taken part in National Novel Writing Month, way back in November. It seems like so long ago. I wrote a 65k word novel entitled The Courtesan's Mistress, and I've spent the last couple of months editing a paper copy of it. I've started retyping it, and here is the first chapter.
I'll be putting up all my fiction here now; this isn't just about TKT, but is about me growing as a writer, and the title of this blog has changed accordingly. I've given this first chapter to Amy, someone who I consider to be a 'real' author where I'm just playing at it, and although I was quite apprehensive to read her comments, they're good, and technical in a way that I just don't think. I know that the work is better for it though. I'm also indebted to EvilKingGumby from deviantArt, and to my darling wife. Oh yes, I got married since my last post. Strange how these things slip your mind!
Natalie sat back on the bed and stretched seductively.
“My lord,” she purred. Her fingertips slowly traced their way up past her hips, over her taut stomach and between the valley created by her pert breasts. The wisp of silk that covered her nipples, and a matching scrap of purple cloth at her pubis were all that protected her from the wide, hungry eyes of her client. The purple clashed with the green in her Ware tattoo, the sign of her trade. Like all courtesans, it was a coiling serpent bracketing her groin, stretching up her thighs and over her pelvis. She pouted, trying to catch his gaze.
Not that her client was looking at her face; his eyes roamed over her body hungrily. Cidric, fifth child of the Earl of Lynbrook; this was what passed for nobility in this day and age? Natalie cringed inwardly, letting her eyes run seductively over his puppy-fat, his greying underclothes bulging obscenely with his desire. This wasn’t about her, though; this night belonged to him. God knew he’d paid enough for it; his father had probably given him the gold, but Natalie was willing to bet Cidric’s mother didn’t know about this. It was fairly standard nowadays for the richest to hire someone from the Guild of Courtesans for their Manhood, but it was still frowned upon in some circles.
Her nipples pressed invitingly against the silk band covering her chest. The clothes, if they qualified as such, had cost her several hour’s wages, no trifling amount; she was one of the best at her job, and the small ink markers on her skin advertised it, her very flesh a menu of carnal delight. But it seemed to be lost on the young lord; he just stood and stared, panting slightly.
Natalie’s long, painted nails traced over the tight silk and up, easing gently around her collarbone and under her chin. She tilted her head slightly, baring more of her neck; the small inked sign of a fang was there, her tacit acceptance of her willingness to be bitten. Such specifics were important; it was a client’s guarantee of service.
Her blonde hair fell in waves across a pillow as she threw her head back, eyes never once leaving Cidric’s face. She crossed her legs, slowly and sensuously, making sure that the slight subtle sound of flesh sliding across soft flesh was audible. The only other sound in the bedchamber was their breathing and the nearly-inaudible crackle from a scented candle. Breathing deeply, allowing her bosom to heave in a way she knew to be most eye-catching, she was glad of the candle; his body was not clean and, to be blunt, he smelled.
“What would you have me do, my lord?” she let said, letting her painted lips roll around the words; the low gravelly tone, so different from her speaking voice, had the desired effect on her client. The man finally did something, silently moving forward, climbing up onto the white sheets, high quality Burbrick cotton. A man? Not yet. He had no more than fifteen summers on him, hardly a man at all, but this act of negotiable desire would see him well on his way. He would gain the Manhood Writ, a simple circular line in black, bisected by a red line starting in the centre, carefully and permanently applied to his body.
His quivering left hand reached out and covered her right breast, his fingers digging in roughly. Silk creased under his grip as he squeezed. Careful to keep her expression one of desire, Natalie suppressed a wince. So it was going to be one of those.
Suddenly the hand was gripping the silk; with a wrench, it was pulled down, her breast exposed to the warm air. There was a ripping sound as one of the finely-made seams parted company. That’ll go on his bill, she thought. His hand was back, massaging her roughly, one of the nails catching slightly as he mauled her. She arched her back and gently thrust her hips up towards him, smiling as she did so. He needed no other invitation; fingers were suddenly thrusting onto the scrap of silk at her pubic area, then pushing it aside and intruding. She was well prepared, as a Courtesan of her rank should be.
“Do you want me, my lord?” she purred, and wrapped her legs around his back, drawing herself down the bed, ending up directly underneath him. He doesn’t talk much, she thought as her hands encircled his shoulders. She let them glide down the puffy flesh of his torso and finally, at his hips, take his underclothes along with them. His circumcised erection throbbed, purple and glistening. She pulled him down, guiding him; this was, after all, supposed to be partly a teaching role on her part. Nevertheless, it took him three thrusting attempts to enter her, and she gasped as he managed it, exactly the reaction he was paying for.
The sex was short, dominated by him and without much character; he did not bring her pleasure, but Natalie was good at appearing to be pleased, among the best. After he was done, the young Earl-to-be seemed almost embarrassed, but she knew better than to engage him in conversation; their business was concluded and, with a subtle push on a lever behind the bed, she let Raef know that he was needed. The boy was quick to respond, knocking on the door and bringing a small tea set on a silver tray. There was also a white card, a little reminder that payment was required. Most chose to simply pay and leave. Only the most confident stayed for tea with the Courtesans, or the most courteous. Natalie was unsurprised when Cidric simply dressed, dropped a bag of coin on the tray and left.
She sighed; the sex had been all work and no play. Getting up from the bed she stretched, hearing vertebrae click in her back; she ran a hand roughly through her hair and scratched at her scalp. It was time for a little treat. Raef turned from the table where he had been quietly preparing the smoky gunpowder tea and closed the door softly. None of the girls at Miffin’s worried about seeing another naked, and neither did the young boy, but another customer might get an eyeful of one of their best at her worst; not the sort of image expected from a Guild establishment. Behind the door hung a cream silk robe, purchased for three silver pennies and an unlicensed roll in the hay during the last Winter Fayre. It was difficult not to luxuriate in its soft flowing fabric; it was her favourite garment.
After lighting the extra lamps in the room, Raef poured tea from the silver teapot into a china cup. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie watched as he set the cup into a matching saucer and carefully brought it to where she had settled in one of the two armchairs warming in front of the fire. He balanced it precariously on the arm, just as he had every night for the past four years.
Natalie felt perfectly at home sat in front of Raef, her legs casually crossed, the silk gown covering one leg, hanging loosely to the floor. Madame Miffin’s Guild-affiliated house of pleasure had been his home for his entire life. Certainly he must see things that were inappropriate for a twelve year-old, but she knew that there were worse lives he could have lead; he was treated as a kind of surrogate son by the women there, and he never wanted for shelter, food or clothing. She reached into a pocket and drew out a tobaleaf roll-up and lighter, and he raised an eyebrow. The expression, thought Natalie, looked strangely grown-up on his face.
“I only have one a night, you know. It’s not like a habit,” she said wryly, in answer to his unspoken question.
“That IS a habit, Nat; it’s regular. The customers won’t like it if you get yellow fingers. Or a cough. Just look at Jemming! He smokes more than ten of those a day, always having to sweep up his own ash, and he can be heard from the palace. Do you want to be heard from the palace?”
“Ha! Chance would be a fine thing. I shouldn’t think they heard me in the next room with our young boy-Earl there. He’s a wet week, that one.”
Natalie took a long drag on the roll, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs, then blowing it out slowly to one side, away from Raef. He was a good boy and there was no real animosity between them; keeping a healthy wit and an ear for gossip was the only way to stay sane in her line of work.
The boy smiled and turned away. As he began to strip the bed of its sheets she settled deeper into the chair, drawing her legs up and perching her feet beneath her buttocks; it was not the most comfortable of positions, but she felt safest and cosiest while scrunching herself up like this. Taking a sip of the tea, she found it to be expertly brewed, as ever; her mouth quirked up in a half smile. Ever since the boy had come, she’d not lacked a sympathetic ear or a smile on her face.
“Eight years,” Raef said quietly. “Today, that is.”
Natalie frowned. “Eight years?”
“Today marks the eighth year since I started here,” he replied. “Since I met you.”
Had it really been that long? “I didn’t know you kept count. I’m surprised you remember the day you came; you were only four, after all.”
He laughed, bundling a sheet up. “How could I forget? If you hadn’t stopped that customer from stabbing me…”
“If you hadn’t been running away from Jemmings, you’d have been fine,” Natalie said quickly. “You were a wild thing when the Madame brought you, but after that you grew up.”
“You reckon?” He smiled at her and she couldn’t help but smile back. Looking at him now, fine clothes on his thin, boyish frame, his features still slightly chubby with youth and his black hair neatly combed, he looked like a shadow of the man he would become. Her gaze drifted until she stared out of the window. The sun was rising, bringing light and life to the city, a golden blanket draping itself over flat rooftops and thatch, even the occasional steepled church, before collecting on the walls of the Palace. Natalie yawned; Sometimes, she thought, it might be nice to be awake during the day. Miffin’s ran all hours, but she was one of the best, and that success was a two-edged dagger. It meant that she had seen three people before the Earl’s son, and she felt tired, used-up and dirty.
Raef dumped the bundled-up sheets onto the floor, a pile of fine cotton now desperately in need of a wash. He affected a courtly bow, watching her face the whole time, his features set into a half-mocking smirk. “Will that be all, milady?”
“Hmmm?” Natalie said, and shook herself. Her tea was still sitting, mostly undrunk and the tobaleaf had burned down to a stub. She had been completely lost in thought, eyes open but unseeing, and Raef’s expression changed to one of concern. He put came back over to the chair and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Raef. I’m just tired, I suppose. Tired of… tired of this night, certainly,” Natalie replied, her voice firming up as she spoke.
“Are you sure? We can have Father May take a look at you if you-”
“Ugh, no,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “He’s too much of a lech even for me!”
The boy giggled and, reassured, gave her an impulsive hug. She hugged him back, and then gave him a little push. “Go on, scamp; I might have been lying down all night, but even I need to sleep.”
“Your wish is my command, milady,” he said, the wry smile back on his face and, picking up his bundle, left the room.
After lighting the extra lamps in the room, Raef poured tea from the silver teapot into a china cup. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie watched as he set the cup into a matching saucer and carefully brought it to where she had settled in one of the two armchairs warming in front of the fire. He balanced it precariously on the arm, just as he had every night for the past four years.
Natalie felt perfectly at home sat in front of Raef, her legs casually crossed, the silk gown covering one leg, hanging loosely to the floor. Madame Miffin’s Guild-affiliated house of pleasure had been his home for his entire life. Certainly he must see things that were inappropriate for a twelve year-old, but she knew that there were worse lives he could have lead; he was treated as a kind of surrogate son by the women there, and he never wanted for shelter, food or clothing. She reached into a pocket and drew out a tobaleaf roll-up and lighter, and he raised an eyebrow. The expression, thought Natalie, looked strangely grown-up on his face.
“I only have one a night, you know. It’s not like a habit,” she said wryly, in answer to his unspoken question.
“That IS a habit, Nat; it’s regular. The customers won’t like it if you get yellow fingers. Or a cough. Just look at Jemming! He smokes more than ten of those a day, always having to sweep up his own ash, and he can be heard from the palace. Do you want to be heard from the palace?”
“Ha! Chance would be a fine thing. I shouldn’t think they heard me in the next room with our young boy-Earl there. He’s a wet week, that one.”
Natalie took a long drag on the roll, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs, then blowing it out slowly to one side, away from Raef. He was a good boy and there was no real animosity between them; keeping a healthy wit and an ear for gossip was the only way to stay sane in her line of work.
The boy smiled and turned away. As he began to strip the bed of its sheets she settled deeper into the chair, drawing her legs up and perching her feet beneath her buttocks; it was not the most comfortable of positions, but she felt safest and cosiest while scrunching herself up like this. Taking a sip of the tea, she found it to be expertly brewed, as ever; her mouth quirked up in a half smile. Ever since the boy had come, she’d not lacked a sympathetic ear or a smile on her face.
“Eight years,” Raef said quietly. “Today, that is.”
Natalie frowned. “Eight years?”
“Today marks the eighth year since I started here,” he replied. “Since I met you.”
Had it really been that long? “I didn’t know you kept count. I’m surprised you remember the day you came; you were only four, after all.”
He laughed, bundling a sheet up. “How could I forget? If you hadn’t stopped that customer from stabbing me…”
“If you hadn’t been running away from Jemmings, you’d have been fine,” Natalie said quickly. “You were a wild thing when the Madame brought you, but after that you grew up.”
“You reckon?” He smiled at her and she couldn’t help but smile back. Looking at him now, fine clothes on his thin, boyish frame, his features still slightly chubby with youth and his black hair neatly combed, he looked like a shadow of the man he would become. Her gaze drifted until she stared out of the window. The sun was rising, bringing light and life to the city, a golden blanket draping itself over flat rooftops and thatch, even the occasional steepled church, before collecting on the walls of the Palace. Natalie yawned; Sometimes, she thought, it might be nice to be awake during the day. Miffin’s ran all hours, but she was one of the best, and that success was a two-edged dagger. It meant that she had seen three people before the Earl’s son, and she felt tired, used-up and dirty.
Raef dumped the bundled-up sheets onto the floor, a pile of fine cotton now desperately in need of a wash. He affected a courtly bow, watching her face the whole time, his features set into a half-mocking smirk. “Will that be all, milady?”
“Hmmm?” Natalie said, and shook herself. Her tea was still sitting, mostly undrunk and the tobaleaf had burned down to a stub. She had been completely lost in thought, eyes open but unseeing, and Raef’s expression changed to one of concern. He put came back over to the chair and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Raef. I’m just tired, I suppose. Tired of… tired of this night, certainly,” Natalie replied, her voice firming up as she spoke.
“Are you sure? We can have Father May take a look at you if you-”
“Ugh, no,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “He’s too much of a lech even for me!”
The boy giggled and, reassured, gave her an impulsive hug. She hugged him back, and then gave him a little push. “Go on, scamp; I might have been lying down all night, but even I need to sleep.”
“Your wish is my command, milady,” he said, the wry smile back on his face and, picking up his bundle, left the room.
Natalie stood up, picked up the teacup and drank from it. Her mouth twisted in distaste; although the tea was still wonderfully scented and flavoured, it was also cold, and there was no helping it. She took the cup over to the window and opened one a crack, undoing the brass latch and raising it just enough to throw the tea outside.
The city would be quiet for another hour as people shivered awake; her breath billowed out in misty clouds and Natalie wrapped the gown around her more closely. She shut the window and took a quick look around the room to make sure all was ready for Rebecca, who would be working in this Pink Room today. She left the door ajar and walked down the wood-panelled corridor to the right, then down the stairs. Miranda, the Duty Madame, was stood at the top of the main stairs, and Natalie nodded to her in passing. The woman turned, but at that moment, the bell on the main door trilled and a man walked in; he paused, looking around, evidently overawed by the plush curtains and golden candelabra; behind her, Natalie could hear Miranda’s sigh. Natalie smiled at her, then watched her descend. From the balcony, it was the Duty Madame’s job to see who the client was, to gauge whether this was someone who would be using one of the many named rooms up the stairs, or would be in with the Fivers down the corridor. From the man’s rough clothing and slouch, he would be warming one of the downstairs beds before long, and sure enough Miranda almost immediately lead him away from the fancier parts of the building.
At the bottom of the stairs, Natalie touched a seemingly innocuous lamp fixture; the whole wall panel recessed, allowing access to the many servants' passages that threaded their way through the building. Wood panelling gave way to stone, and Natalie shivered, drawing her gown more tightly around her. The passages lead into others, running for miles under the city, but the way was dangerous and as far as she knew they'd never been mapped. The lamps that lined the route to the living quarters guttered in the perpetual light breeze as she passed.
The passage ended in a wooden door which was latched with a piece of rope over a hook. It opened onto a warm room, long and comfortably furnished. There were no windows but there were an abundance of sofas, worn yet comfortable. There were tables, one particularly long one down the side with many stations for brewing tea. On the walls, artwork hung in frames, pieces that had been deemed too old, tawdry or out-of-date for the main premises. There were a dozen women scattered around, three or four lounging on the sofas, and to one side a group of men were engaged in a game of what appeared to be strip pokir.
Most of the people in the room ignored Natalie as she made her way towards the corridor at the other end. Before she had made it halfway, though, she felt a tug on on her arm.
"Natalie! You had the Earl's son, didn't you?"
Michelle’s face, flushed with alcohol was inches away from her own; she was one of the girls who regularly worked the Green Rooms, dedicated to the love of other women. It wasn't something that had ever really appealed to Natalie; she liked men, although she had occasionally found solace in a woman's arms. Miffin’s encouraged flexibility in all things.
Slightly irritable at being stopped so close to her bed, Natalie said "Good morning, Michelle. How has your night been?"
"Never mind that," the other woman replied, waving her hands as if. Her breath betrayed a few coppers spent in the local alehouse, and if she noticed the ice in Natalie’s tone she ignored it. "Is it true what they say about him?"
Natalie raised one eyebrow. "I don't know; what do they say about him?"
Michelle snorted. "Oh, you know; those soft hands of his, those shapely hips… he's a woman, isn't it? Everyone knows the Earl's desperate for a son. Four girls, that's bad luck by anyone's chalk. Does she strap her breasts? My breasts really started to ache this morning; must be my turn for the Red Room already. How about-"
"I really must get to bed, Michelle," Natalie cut in, realising this could go on for a while. Michelle was nice in small doses, but once she'd had a skinful she was as talkative as the night was long, and had the gossip’s skill of talking without pausing for any breath or reply. "He was definitely a man, or at least he is now. Only just, though."
Michelle cackled in response and wandered off to harass someone else. Natalie shook her head; sometimes, it seemed to her, this place was like a microcosm of the world outside. Some people you wanted to mix with, others you don't. Her thoughts began to, unwinding as she made her way through to the sleeping area and her own small room.
It was definitely time to sleep. Natalie closed the door and let out a sigh. Dust filtered through a shaft of morning light, warming the chill air and illuminating the room’s few furnishings; it wasn’t much but it was home, and it was cosy in a way the Rooms at Miffin’s never could be. Smiling tiredly, she hung her gown up in the wardrobe, and then slumped on the bed, suddenly exhausted, as the city came to life outside.
The city would be quiet for another hour as people shivered awake; her breath billowed out in misty clouds and Natalie wrapped the gown around her more closely. She shut the window and took a quick look around the room to make sure all was ready for Rebecca, who would be working in this Pink Room today. She left the door ajar and walked down the wood-panelled corridor to the right, then down the stairs. Miranda, the Duty Madame, was stood at the top of the main stairs, and Natalie nodded to her in passing. The woman turned, but at that moment, the bell on the main door trilled and a man walked in; he paused, looking around, evidently overawed by the plush curtains and golden candelabra; behind her, Natalie could hear Miranda’s sigh. Natalie smiled at her, then watched her descend. From the balcony, it was the Duty Madame’s job to see who the client was, to gauge whether this was someone who would be using one of the many named rooms up the stairs, or would be in with the Fivers down the corridor. From the man’s rough clothing and slouch, he would be warming one of the downstairs beds before long, and sure enough Miranda almost immediately lead him away from the fancier parts of the building.
At the bottom of the stairs, Natalie touched a seemingly innocuous lamp fixture; the whole wall panel recessed, allowing access to the many servants' passages that threaded their way through the building. Wood panelling gave way to stone, and Natalie shivered, drawing her gown more tightly around her. The passages lead into others, running for miles under the city, but the way was dangerous and as far as she knew they'd never been mapped. The lamps that lined the route to the living quarters guttered in the perpetual light breeze as she passed.
The passage ended in a wooden door which was latched with a piece of rope over a hook. It opened onto a warm room, long and comfortably furnished. There were no windows but there were an abundance of sofas, worn yet comfortable. There were tables, one particularly long one down the side with many stations for brewing tea. On the walls, artwork hung in frames, pieces that had been deemed too old, tawdry or out-of-date for the main premises. There were a dozen women scattered around, three or four lounging on the sofas, and to one side a group of men were engaged in a game of what appeared to be strip pokir.
Most of the people in the room ignored Natalie as she made her way towards the corridor at the other end. Before she had made it halfway, though, she felt a tug on on her arm.
"Natalie! You had the Earl's son, didn't you?"
Michelle’s face, flushed with alcohol was inches away from her own; she was one of the girls who regularly worked the Green Rooms, dedicated to the love of other women. It wasn't something that had ever really appealed to Natalie; she liked men, although she had occasionally found solace in a woman's arms. Miffin’s encouraged flexibility in all things.
Slightly irritable at being stopped so close to her bed, Natalie said "Good morning, Michelle. How has your night been?"
"Never mind that," the other woman replied, waving her hands as if. Her breath betrayed a few coppers spent in the local alehouse, and if she noticed the ice in Natalie’s tone she ignored it. "Is it true what they say about him?"
Natalie raised one eyebrow. "I don't know; what do they say about him?"
Michelle snorted. "Oh, you know; those soft hands of his, those shapely hips… he's a woman, isn't it? Everyone knows the Earl's desperate for a son. Four girls, that's bad luck by anyone's chalk. Does she strap her breasts? My breasts really started to ache this morning; must be my turn for the Red Room already. How about-"
"I really must get to bed, Michelle," Natalie cut in, realising this could go on for a while. Michelle was nice in small doses, but once she'd had a skinful she was as talkative as the night was long, and had the gossip’s skill of talking without pausing for any breath or reply. "He was definitely a man, or at least he is now. Only just, though."
Michelle cackled in response and wandered off to harass someone else. Natalie shook her head; sometimes, it seemed to her, this place was like a microcosm of the world outside. Some people you wanted to mix with, others you don't. Her thoughts began to, unwinding as she made her way through to the sleeping area and her own small room.
It was definitely time to sleep. Natalie closed the door and let out a sigh. Dust filtered through a shaft of morning light, warming the chill air and illuminating the room’s few furnishings; it wasn’t much but it was home, and it was cosy in a way the Rooms at Miffin’s never could be. Smiling tiredly, she hung her gown up in the wardrobe, and then slumped on the bed, suddenly exhausted, as the city came to life outside.
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