The harlot settled deeper into the shadowy alcove she was seated in, doing her best not to appear disgusted by her surroundings and predicament— although, from my vantage point at the opposite wall of the tavern, I could see through the cracks in her mask. My own skirts, similar to hers— the kind most prostitutes wore nowadays— itched my bare legs. And the uncovered, smooth skin between them.
It was easier to attract possible clients this way, and easier to finish with them and get the next inside you quickly. An endless stream of men, grunting and groping and growling in your ear until they came. Which, thankfully, was often fairly soon due to my youth and limited experience in this line of work.
I had only been coming here, to this dark, rotting tavern, for the nights of this week, competing with the other whores for men and women both, willing to pay for a few minutes of fun. And me, with my pretty brass curls, sharp cheeks— from malnourishment, in reality— sizeable breasts, and no past sexual relationships whatsoever…well, I was the new commodity of this place.
So many had come to me in recent nights that I had received bruises, and a near-constant pain in my core. That first time, a man at least twenty years older than me, had not been gentle. He'd been so eager to break my maidenhead, pushing inside me in such a powerful thrust that I'd thought I was going to splinter around him. I had bled, only realising afterwards. He hadn't realised, and had already been gone by then. He'd probably just thought that the wetness had been evidence of enjoyment.
This brief break I was having now, along with that other young girl opposite me, would be over soon enough. I could feel the eyes of men at the bar on my exposed calves, drifting to me as they continued downing their pints of alcohol— which made them all the more rough and aggressive with me when they approached. They often did this, I'd found. They waited, scanning every available whore in the room, judging who's breasts were biggest, who's skin was smoothest, who's eyes had that excited twinkle in them which implied that they weren't here out of necessity at all, but that they enjoyed their job. Of course, more often than not, any enthusiasm was feigned.
But it earnt you more money. So I straightened where I sat, ignoring the whimpers of the harlot in the booth near me as her client fucked her raw, and forced my shoulders to roll back slightly, helping my breasts to appear larger. I leant my head back against the wooden wall behind me, baring the smooth column of my throat to the men at the bar. I was not surprised when I heard the scrape of a stool, the footsteps of a man as he approached.
He sat himself at the table before me, his face younger than I'd expected, eyeing me as I leant against the wall opposite him, sweat gleaming on my chest from the heat. My gaze slid to him, and I raised a brow, forcing my lips to tilt coyly.
"How much, whore?" he asked, his voice rough and edged.
I slid my hand from my thigh, tugging my skirt with the other, letting him think I'd been playing with myself. That I was in need of release.
"For what?" I purred, looking at him beneath my lashes. "For my mouth on you, for my legs around your waist? For your mouth between them?"
Talk, I had also learned, often had clients agreeing to whatever price you named, even if it was slightly more expensive than the rest. It distracted them from the number, coaxing their mind into wandering not to the money, but to the services the money was for. He made a quick offer, blurting it at me, and I raised it by a few more coins. He agreed, and in answer, I shifted my knees wider apart where I sat on my bench.
He came around the table, sitting beside me, one hand going to my waist and the other straight to my breasts. His mouth found my neck, and I sighed in feigned satisfaction as his fingers began to move. I felt the eyes of his company at the bar on us, and while my cheeks had heated on that first night, when I'd realised there were other people watching, they didn't now. I breathed deeply, making my breasts appear larger. When the man tugged the front of my dress down, a low growl of pleasure emitting from him as he realised my lack of undergarments, the hitch of my breath as his mouth found my nipple wasn't faked.
My fingers slid into his dark hair, holding his head to my chest as he nipped and bit at my breast. I could feel the space between my thighs growing damp, and my knees shifted almost imperceptibly wider. He noticed, from his position beside me, so with one hand still around my waist, his mouth still licking and sucking on my nipples, his other palm slid down my abdomen. I reached down, pulling up my skirts to give his hand better access, and shifted my hips as his fingers reached my highest point of pleasure.
I bucked into his palm, my small bud of nerves sending bursts of pleasure down my spine. My client groaned at the wetness he found as his fingers slipped lower, before he entered two inside me.
I gripped his shoulders hard, my nails digging in, my breath coming in ragged pants as he pumped his digits within my slick, tight walls. My head fell back against the wooden wall, chest heaving, and a small sound escaped me as he bit my breast again.
His fingers kept working me, his thumb now pressing on that bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs. He chuckled, low and rough, as I moaned. And then whimpered as he slid is fingers out of me, pulled his head from my chest with a final flick of his tongue.
He twisted on the bench, both hands now gripping my waist and hauling me atop him. My fingers popped free the buttons of his pants, pulling them down, allowing the hardened length of him to spring free. My mouth went dry, but not with reproach. This was…excitement that I felt, eagerness to take him inside me.
I ignored it, remembering the task at hand, and pulled my skirts up higher as I seated myself on his cock. He helped me, lowering me onto him like a lover, and gave me all of a heartbeat before he began to move within me.
My throat was hoarse, but my lips were soft as he leaned up to claim them with his own. He nipped at them, one hand on my breasts again as he pounded and pounded into me with vigour.
I bounced on his lap, panting, gasping as his length reached that one spot deep within me—
His mouth moved from my lips to my neck, and he sucked on it heartily. I knew I would have a bruise later. And I didn't care.
My climax neared, coiling within me like an asp, and to help myself along I reached down and felt for my clit again. But he beat me to it— his fingers pinched my skin, rubbing across my nerves with fast, heavy strokes. It wasn't quite enough, not enough to tip me over that edge—
His cock continued to slam inside me, each bounce of my hips driving him deeper. I pushed myself to move faster, my fingers clenching on his shoulders, in his hair, as he grunted beneath me—
Another thrust from him had him reaching that spot within me again. I whimpered pathetically as my climax found me, gripping me in shuddering waves as it soared through my veins. He kept moving, drawing out my pleasure, but it wasn't long before my tightening walls caused him to come, too. I felt the burst of his seed inside me, heard his labouring breath as he fucked me for all I was worth.
At last, when he stilled and slid me off of him, he handed me the coins as payment for using my body. I set them aside, their metal clinking against the small payment I had already been given tonight, and said nothing as he fixed his pants and strode away. Back to the bar, back to his drink, back to the crowd of his friends.
They'd give me a minute of break, watching my chest rise and fall, as they spoke to the man who had payed for me. He would tell them how tight I was, how I was a good little whore, and then the next and the next and the next would seek me out to use me for their own pleasure.
But I would have this minute or two first. I pulled up my top, covering my breasts again, and tugged down my skirts. A nice, pretty package for the next person to unwrap.
And so I breathed. And I waited.