Rosalind Betancourt
Copyright 2011
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All characters are 21 years of age or older.
Chapter 1
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Ellen Evans clutched the note that had summoned her as she walked in the back door of the whorehouse. It wasn't her first time here, but the times before had been during the day. Now night had fallen, and she heard the sounds of a fully operational palace of pleasure. The scent of perfume was much heavier.
The backroom she usually found empty was filled with girls eating, cleaning, and cooking. They were unusable stock. Girls that had met with a rough patron and the girls having their menses.
Ellen pulled her cloak further to cover her face. A respectable woman such as herself shouldn't have been here, but this was where her client and friend had summoned her.
But as she scanned the room, the party she was to meet wasn't present. As she sighed trying to figure out her next step, a man came in the room.
He was dressed in a well tailored, but plain waistcoat, trousers in solid black, and a white shirt with a simply tied cravat. Sure the clothes were very plain, but the tailoring and craftsmanship was definitely high end. Ellen could tell he was a man of distinction, though not a slave to style.
It was better for him not to follow the fashions, Ellen thought. For he was thin, wiry, and had a delicate look to him. Newer fashions would have transformed him into a fop. A dandy for certain. However, the look he wore made him look like a man one should take serious. Making his auburn hair that fell in waves by his face and eyes as green as grass that much fiercer.
She assumed him to be a patron that wandered back there, so she stepped back towards the door. That movement drew him to her. The exact opposite of what she wanted.
He stepped past the other girls without a word. In a flash, her hood came down about her shoulders. He looked at her face, weighing and measuring her looks. And Ellen held back the urge to smirk. If he was thinking she'd bed him, he was quite mistaken. She had her standards.
He lifted her cloak and looked at her figure next.
Generally, she didn't mind being looked at. That was something she invited anyone to do. Tempting men was how one gained bed fellows. But usually she liked some distance, a glance across a room. Her weighing the possibilities. Moving just so he could see things better.
This man, on the other hand, was too close. His heated gaze carefully examined every inch of her body, as if he could see through the fabric of her dress.
Most women, present company excluded, would have shrunk away. They would have gotten offended. They would have slapped him and screamed angry words. Ellen didn't. Instead, she found it interesting that he was so picky.
"You won't do. Go home." His hands reached around her, putting the cloak back into place and covering her head with the hood once more.
Ellen took a second to process what just happened. Was I just rejected? Me rejected? Wasn't I supposed to reject him? Amazed and confused, she could only manage a, "Pardon?"
"You aren't suited to being a whore. You're not sexy enough. Find some other way to pay your family's debt." The man then motioned for her to go to the door.
Not sexy? Then why have men fucked me? Are this man's standards that high?
She was almost ready to yell all that. Her hands clenched in fists and the feel of paper reminded her. That was not the point of her business here. She shoved the note she held into his gesturing hand. "Where is she?"
He sighed like she was inconveniencing her, but bothered to look at the note. Then his face changed. He looked at Ellen once more. Then he heaved another sigh. "She's in her office with Mr. Lytton at the moment, you'll have to wait."
"Nigel Lytton?" Ellen saw his nod in reply. "So that's what this is about." She had never met the man, but her sister had. And since the two had met her sister, Faith, had never been the same. For a second, she was willing to wait. Then her curiosity got the better of her. "I'll join them."
Now she was the one impatiently gesturing for him to lead the way. Again he made a face that showed he felt put upon. Still, he led the way, via a set of stairs the joined the room.
They traveled up two flights. The sounds of sexy getting louder and the perfume mixed with the smell of meeting bodies. They walked down a hall and Ellen pulled her hood down further to shield her face as she glanced into a room with the door wide open.
A portly man knelt on a bed, his balding head filled with sweat and his naked belly jiggling about. He wasn't the kind of man Ellen would go for. But the whore on all fours, getting her pussy pounded by him sounded enraptured and in complete bliss. Having faked an orgasm she knew this woman, with her swaying bountiful tits, was either really enjoying it or was an excellent actress.
The woman cried, "Fuck me more!"
Ellen wanted to stop. She wanted to keep watching the big breasted beauty being pounded by the ugly beast. Just how much pleasure would he give her? How big was that cock inside her? She wanted to see it all.
But her guide was moving on. And there was another open door. Yes, it was the door more than the man ahead of her. Ellen tore her eyes away and kept going.
It was only seconds before she saw the next scene. Inside two women were kissing. One was a red head and the other a blond, like Ellen. Though she couldn't tell the color of their eyes, for they both had them closed as their tongues danced together.
"Spank her ass," said a man's voice.
Ellen's gaze flicked to him. He sat fully clothed in a chair, drinking a glass, intently watching. She knew this man, the husband of one of her clients. Mr. Benton... An older man, the distinguished type with graying temples and all his hair. His body was good too. Fitting in clothes as she believed a man's body should with broad shoulders and a thinner waist.
Well, if his wife could afford her sister's prices, he could certainly afford this. Her eyes went back to the whores, as the sound of flesh meeting flesh rang through the air.
"Harder," he said in a tone that was even yet wicked.
The blonde's hand went into the air again, not breaking the kiss and came down.
The sound was much louder and the red head yelped breaking the kiss.
"Even harder..."
Ellen felt her breathing become more labored. Yes, harder. And make her lick your big tits. Those hard nipples are begging for a licking. Then after that...
Taking a deep breath, Ellen tore her eyes away. Shit, this place was making her horny.
She decided it would be safer to watch the back of the man she was following. But her mind was now full of sex. And she started undressing him with her eyes.
Though he was thin, she knew his long limbs would allow for him to lap at her pussy and play with her tits with ease. She could stretch her body out under him as they kissed and his fingers could flick at her clit. And with this place being a whorehouse, he probably knew how to use his cock and use it well.
He just had to grab her. Lift her up against the walls. Bunch up her skirts. Shove that cock into her pussy. Then thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
As they climbed another set of stairs, she thought about just grabbing him. Stripping him naked. Riding him until she screamed.
But then she remembered how he rejected her and her body flushed with anger that was more effective than a splash of cold water. No, she wouldn't fuck him even if he were the last man alive. Ellen had others she could call. Oh and she would. She'd be screaming riding a hot cock that night. Just not this man's cock.
Chapter Two
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Trevor McShane led the woman, which the note identified simply as Ellen, into his mother's office. Like it had been for the past week at this time, it was full of Nigel Lytton venting anger.
"Just tell me her name!"
Though he looked like a man not to be trifled: broad and muscular, full of youthful vigor, and everything Trevor wasn't... Trevor's mother didn't bat an eyelash. She simply looked at him and then through the door straight at Ellen.
"Ask her sister," said his mother, instantly setting Lytton on the newcomer.
Ellen moved into the room, brushing right past Trevor as if he were furniture. Though she didn't take down her hood. She didn't seem like the kind of person that should have been here in the first place. That didn't surprise him. What surprised him was the way she spoke.
"Here to get more pussy since you've thrown away another mistress?"
Lytton growled at her words like a beast. "Who are you?"
"Does it matter? Do you even care who I am?"
Lytton smirked. "Not really. I just care about the slut."
"Slut?" Ellen laughed and it gave Trevor chills. His first assessment of her was right one. She was a strong willed woman. "You are far more of a slut than she is. Shoving your cock into more holes than a wheel of Swiss cheese has."