Lost Courtesan

Bitter, biting cold. It whipped the wind against crystalline snow; the kind that could cut one's skin if left exposed. The powder had drifted high along the buildings, six foot slopes in some places, and almost bare along the street, the white firmly packed on the cobbled thoroughfare. Doorfront and street lamps were the only lighting, and the only life were men huddled around rusty oil barrels, fires fueled by newspaper and dried grime guttered out over the rims.

Down the center of the road, she walked on. Ice crystals had formed over her scarf where her breath seeped through, making the next mouthful of air feel that much colder. She had an appointment to keep, though; even if she didn't want to keep it. Even after two others, she still dreaded this encounter, much to the chagrin of her manager.

"You'll get used to it," she whispered to herself, repeating the words she'd already heard too many times.

The first... her first, had seemed gentle enough. He even feigned to care for her... at least for a while. She was beaten and thrown out of his home after he was done with her, shown naked to the world as a whore. Her manager had been paid up front, a large sum for both the treatment, as well as her innocence.

The men that were gathered around the barrel saw her and started cooing. A few were brash enough to follow her along for a block, when she started running. Her layers of rags and her well-worn boots, while not quite the beauty and fashion that most of her profession wore, were useful in situations like this. In her haste, though, she became lost, and had to carefully backtrack, her new layer of sweat only serving to make her shiver.

It took her another half hour of walking to merely find the street. The place seemed more like an alleyway than a city avenue. It was slim and dark, and the buildings only funneled the chill winds. She followed the numbers along the row housing until she came to the one she had been informed of.

"This can't be right..."

Her manager had established, for the time being at least, a rather high purchasing price for her. Even if he kept a large percentage, she still did well off of it. These homes, if they could be called such, denoted a dollar-and-dime hooker's 'status', unable to afford what she'd been paid lately. Unless her manager had decided she was already used up in her few capitalizing qualities.

She had little option, though. It was either knock, and go in, or suffer the long trip back to explain that there must have been some mistake. Knowing what that would mean, she eased her way through the shallow layer of snow up to the door and knocked on the thick wooden door.

There was a dull thumping from inside as the tenant approached the door. As the latch was swung down and the door slid inward, she could see a handsome young man silhouetted against a low fire. He was dressed in simple working clothes: a dirty, white, buttoned shirt and gray woolen pants. A pair of soiled shoes waited by the inside of the door, and his socks sheltered themselves by the fire.

"Hello." His voice was gentle. Not what she'd expected. "What can I do for you?"

"I-is this 1306 Hillock?" She shivered as much from the cold as her own reservations.

"It is. Please, come in. You look half frozen to death."

She looked back towards the pitch black night, then into the tenement room, hesitantly putting herself through the doorway. A few more steps, and the thick wood closed off the biting wind behind her, the folds of her long coat finally resting in the still air, the crystals slowly pooling in small puddles on the floor, dripping from her clothes.

"Let's get this wet coat off you," he said, tugging at the shoulders of her wool garment.

She resisted for a moment, then reluctantly conceded, and he slid the heavy item off her shoulders, revealing a slim girl beneath, dressed in clean linen tunic and skirt. She handed him the scarf, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Against the dark wood and brick of the interior, her pale skin shone in stark contrast, her slender neck interrupted only by a dark green choker. As he removed her hat, dark brown hair slipped down just past her pointed chin and over her emerald eyes.

"So," he said, setting her hat on the hook with the rest of her attire, "to what do I owe the company of such a beautiful girl?"

"Well sir," she said quietly, "you... hired me."

"Huh." He scratched his scalp before turning to his table, littered with papers. "I don't recall hiring..." He then turned back to her, rolling his eyes. "I'll bet it was my friends. Setting me up with a... umm..."

"Consort," she finished for him, trying to avoid the less appealing terminology.

"Son of a... I'm going to kill those little shits next time I see 'em."

As he paced, trying to figure out what was going on, she watched him. The the red of the flames made his hair a shade of copper, though without it held a dark golden hue as it hung loosely over his eyes. A touch on the short side, slim but strongly built limbs poked out of his rolled sleeves. He noticed that he had gone off into his own little world and motioned for her to sit on the bed, tucked away against the adjacent wall.

As he ruffled through the small apartment, she took note of her surroundings. It was indeed a poor tenement, though with some amenities. A small bathroom stood off in the corner, as well as a pantry closet off in another. Against the wall facing the street, beneath a windswept window, the desk covered in papers sat idly.

"What is your name?" He spoke while throwing strewn clothing off into a basket.

"Hannah, sir."

"Lovely name."

"Do you mind if I ask yours, sir?"

"Dorian. Enough with the 'sir' though. I'm not gentry."

That was it. She had the wrong home. She quickly got up and threw on her coat, clutching her hat and scarf in her hands. Without saying a word, she had opened the door, only to find her squat manager standing just outside.

"Hannah! Where in the hell did you run off to?"

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I found the address, but it was the wrong one. I was just leaving..."

"Damn right you were! I put a lot on the line for you, and this is the thanks..."

"Excuse me." The young man stepped in, silencing the girl's manager, and probably preventing any physicality. "Who are you, and why are you treating her like this?"

"I'm her manager," he hissed. "Now be so kind an let me get this... whelp to where she belongs." He grabbed at the girl's wrist. "I'll be lucky to get three quarters for your tardiness."

"Please... stop..."

There was a loud rustle followed by a metallic click. The impressed cloth of the manager's hat, as he saw when he turned to look, led down the dull gray length of a revolver, the hammer half-cocked.

"Let. Go."

"You can't be serious. She is just a little..."

His thumb pulled the hammer all the way back, resounding in another click.

"...Now."

The squat man released her hand, backing out of the still-open door slowly, his hands raised. Before turning to leave he yelled back to Hannah that she would be lucky to get a sailor at the docks by morning. With that, he disappeared into the dark and snow.

Dorian slid the hammer down until it was resting against the gun, no longer in danger of going off, then set it aside in a niche behind his coat. Hannah just stood there for a moment, not quite sure what was happening, before sitting on the bed, tears slowly welling up from within.

"What am I going to do? I'll be out in the streets by tomorrow." She sobbed through her words, trying to hold them back.

"Listen... I can pay you for your trouble. It's not much, but I hate to have caused all of this."

"Dammit..." She clenched her teeth, slowly relaxing. -I don't have much choice.- She slid her coat off her shoulders and began sliding off the shoulder of her tunic when Dorian stopped her.

"But I thought..."

"I don't pay girls for love. I'm compensating you for tonight's trouble. Nothing more. You may even stay the night, if you don't feel safe. Tomorrow, I expect you out."

Her heart, at first, skipped a beat, but at the final sentence fell. At least she had a warm bed to sleep in, and some food, she would find out, when he offered her some hard bread and watery soup. She peered at his desk again.

"Mr. Dorian..."

"Just Dorian."

"Dorian," she said, somewhat annoyed, "what exactly do you do?"

"Manual labor by day, writer by night. Legal documents mostly, but there's a couple published pieces that keep me afloat."

She practically drank down the soup, taking a second bowl without issue. The potato floated listlessly in her stomach with whatever mystery meat he'd managed to scrounge for his meager feast.

-At least it's food.-

She sat staring into the fire, completely unaware of Dorian even as he threw another log onto the fire. She lost herself in the flames, her heart sunk rather low as she lost herself in her own misfortune. Then a jolt unsettled her seat, and she noticed him sliding into bed, squeezing along the wall to give her room.

"I'm sorry. I'll let you sleep. Where shall I...?"

"Anywhere you like," he said neutrally. "The bed is probably the warmest, since this is the only blanket I've got, and the fire will definitely get low by early morning."

Without that fresh log, she doubted it could get much lower without losing the title of 'fire'. She set the empty bowl aside and nervously slid in next to Dorian. He lay, facing the wall, dead silent, the only sign of life shown in the rise and fall of his back and sides with each breath.

She turned her head, watching the flames blankly. As she pondered her fate, she felt somewhat glad. Sure she was out of a job with connections, but she was no longer held under the thumb of her former boss either. Then her thoughts wandered to Dorian, sleeping inches away. He could very well be arrested for pulling a gun on her manager. He had connections with all the right people; she knew that from the only two clients she'd 'worked' for so far.

Her mind wandered to his gentle voice and smile, imagining what they were like when reaching out to touch someone. Her face warmed, blushing, and she shook her head to get the idea away, but to no avail. The thoughts meandered more, contemplating on the body beneath the cloth, the sinews of muscle and skin.

She shook her head, trying to knock the thoughts loose, but only served to get his attention.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"N-nothing," she whimpered, hiding her face.

She squirmed on the small bed, her skirt, for all its niceties, was still an annoyance and felt bulky an bunched when amidst the quilt. She stood and, with little humility, unfastened the belt that held it in place around her hips. As the dark fabric fell to the floor, Dorian turned, seeing a pair of slender legs stopped mid-thigh by a white tunic. She turned and saw his staring, covering her legs fruitlessly with her hands.

He rolled back over, trying not to let his baser instincts get the better of him. She unbent her knees and removed her hands, thankful that he'd turned. As she slipped back under the covers however, her heart began to race again as her bare legs meandered.

Hannah felt the desire to hold someone, and Dorian was the only one around. It was innocent enough, a girl holding the man in bed next to her. As she turned to throw an arm around him, he rolled back, and she suddenly found herself on top of him instead of cradling him.

She could see directly into his eyes now, the blue flecked with pieces of yellow, discernible even in the yellow of the fire. Her eyes scanned him for what seemed an eternity, his eyes darting much the same way. Her mouth watered, and she swallowed, licking her lips as she slowly bent her neck down.

The kiss felt like the release of a dam, but the flow of the river stayed calm. Hannah slowly brought her hand up from his chest, caressing his neck, until she cradled his cheek in her palm. Dorian swooned in the embrace for a moment before his senses returned with a jolt, gently pushing her away and separating their lips.

Before he could object, Hannah laid a finger on his mouth, silencing him.

"I don't care about the money. Keep it, for all I care. I'm just tired of being alone."

So she fell on him again, her gentleness subsiding gradually. Dorian could only return the kiss, running a hand through her silken hair. As the kiss grew more passionate, Hannah slid her legs across his waist, straddling him as she slipped her tongue into his mouth.

Dorian responded in kind, reveling in the taste. He gently clutched at her scalp and arched her neck back at a mere suggestion of touch, kissing her exposed throat, gently biting at the soft flesh.

Hannah, who before had never experienced a romance, felt a surge of pleasure as her nerves were lit up. She sighed at the touch of his tongue as it traced lines along her neck, all the way to her collarbone. She ran her fingers through the copper-toned hair, the fire lighting up their shadows against the wall.

Bending her neck back down, she brought her lips to his temple, his cheek, and stopped to nip at his earlobe. She could feel his reaction in the buckled muscles between her naked thighs, and so did it again, and again. She could smell him now, ash and salt, like the hearth that warmed them.

From his position, all Dorian could do was to run his hands along Hannah. He brought then down along her shoulders, onto her slim yet shapely hips, and down across the linen onto her bare legs. He could not resist sliding his palms up beneath her long shirt, feeling as the muscles of her thighs gave way to her waist.

Hannah's breath caught in her throat, and her heart raged inside her chest. Their voracious lips parted as she sat upright, bringing her arms down, clutching at the hem of the shirt and pulling it over her head, revealing a pair of small, round, supple breasts.

Dorian could hardly resist, and so sat up, keeping her straddled over his waist. As she tossed the tunic aside, he kissed her neck, the sudden sensation forcing her back to arch backward. He nuzzled her chest until he met the mound of flesh, laying his lips across the pink circle of sensitive skin.

Her breath jumped as she felt the moist touch of his kiss on her breast. She clutched at his head, pressing him hard against her chest. He gently sunk his teeth into the flesh, only exciting her more.

Hannah practically ripped him off of her, snatching the buttons of his shirt and almost ripping them off as she unfastened each one. Their mouths danced as she finally flung off the last sleeve, leaving her to fondle his smooth, muscular abdomen and chest.

Dorian kissed at her neck, the pendant on her choker gently dangling, tapping as his face as they moved. Hannah, in her ecstasy, had begun to grind herself against his covered nethers, leaving the area soaked through with her body's fluids.

As Dorian laid his lips to her breast once more, Hannah reached down behind her, grabbing at the waist of his trousers from between her legs. Her fingers nimbly slackened the ties, and she soon had her hands around his shaft.

He gasped slightly as she tugged gently on it, his lips leaving the reddened nipple. She moved her hand and let his length spring up along her groin, reaching the lower part of her belly. In a sweet and slow motion, she slid her wet flesh along his hard counterpart, shaft and sword.

It was toying as much as it was torture, the head of his penis giving way to smooth shaft as she rubbed her vulva along its length, over and over. Their breath quickened, and sweat began to bead on the heat of their bodies. Dorian kissed at her chest and her stomach as she rose and fell, tasting the sweet salt on her body, glimmering by the firelight.

Hannah rose again, but paused at the apex, pressing forward with her pelvis so that the tip was centered under her soaked and waiting womanhood. She slid down and nearly shot back up, the heavenly tingling filling her as he did so.

He listened intently as her sighs became soft moans, his own voice adding to the harmony as she lifted herself and slowly dropped her thighs down on him again. He gripped her at the small of her back, his hands clutching at her buttocks as he lifted and then pressed her firmly down as he penetrated.

As Dorian pressed, Hannah's voice shot out in a gasp, moving her hips to hasten the motions. he pressed her hips hard against his and held her in place, her body arching backward as he drove into her, her voice droning as her insides tightened around him.

Her pink dripped with her juices, their legs and the sheets growing more soaked with every thrust and drive. As Dorian held her, she ground her sex around his, making him moan as her legs quivered beneath her.

Hannah threw him down on the bed and bent backward, holding her torso up by her bent legs and her hands, her delicate fingers barely skimming the sheets as she wound her hips around his shaft. She pumped her hips up and down, her voice carrying Dorian's name even as her chest pounded and tightened.

She could hardly bear to hold herself up any longer, her back arching lower and lower as she pounded against his hips. In the passion, he clutched at the small of her back and tugged her forward, her chest falling on his.

As he pressed her against his thrusts, her thighs squeezed, and she felt a sudden urge, as though a torrent were about to burst from her nethers. Her breath staggered, her moans delineating into mixed whimpers.

Dorian's loins ached beneath her, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open, his voice already moaning to the chorus of her body. He desperately sought release, and so took her mouth to his as he thrust deep. Hannah burst from his kiss, screaming in ecstasy. Her sex tightened around him, and the next thrust sent his own body over the edge, spilling his hot milk into her.

Hannah, her arms holding her rigidly above the bed, arched her back as her body quivered all the way up from her thighs to her navel. Dorian slid a hand up from her hips, along her sides, and over the stiffened breasts as the air cooled, the fire burning lower. His fingers slid along her chin, and she closed her eyes, his callused hands like silk to the touch, melting her body.

Hannah's back loosened its icy arch, and her lips fell gently on Dorian's, their fingers running through the other's hair. The cold seeped in through the brick, and she clung her nude form to his. He wrapped the strewn blanket over them and smiled into those deep green eyes.

"You know," he said nervously, "you don't have to leave. You could... stay here."

Hannah buried her head in the pillow, her chin on his shoulder. Dorian just caressed her back.

"It wouldn't be the lap of luxury," he continued, "but it would be a life, not subject to someone else's whim."

She suppressed a tear as she turned her head toward him, and he could see her smiling, her gently eyes watering.

"I would like that very much, Dorian."