The Virgin Whore (An Erotic Novel)

Chapter 1

"How did that go?" Cherry asked me as I arrived downstairs, making me jump at the way she just appeared out of nowhere.

"I took him in real deep," I said, "...between my thighs."

We both cackled like witches.

"He's tapped in the 'ed if he don't know the difference between a pair of legs and a wet pussy." She continued to cackle. "Especially after this long!"

"I know. Anyway, I still have my virginity and I've been working as a whore for a year!"

"You're mastered the art of thigh sex," she said.

"I have indeed." I smirked. "Speaking of which, I have another client due any minute."

"You want to carry that on for as long as possible. Don't have sex with no one just for money. Wait for that special person who'll come along and fuck your brains out on your wedding night."

I sniggered at the non-delicate way she put it, until her face took on a regretful frown.

"You don't want to end up like me," she said sadly.

I looked into her eyes and at a face that was undoubtedly beautiful once. But the syphilis had marred her once pretty face with rashes and scars and caused disfiguration.

I had seen worse on the streets of London, but that was what scared me. Knowing that what she had could progress into something far worse, something that with a single glance could give you nightmares for a month.

"Don't dwell," I said. "There's still hope."

She smiled weakly in response. She still held a lot of beauty in her gentle soul, and that shined through when she smiled.

It was only during the silence between us that I noticed just how noisy the brothel was down in the bar.

Old Man Stroud was sat at the piano as usual plinking away on the keys and creating a merry atmosphere for the drunkards at the bar.

There were nine or so men around the room smoking cigars, drinking out of wooden tankards, and playing cards.

I turned back around to say something to Cherry, when all of a sudden, the door to the brothel slammed loudly, shaking the wooden floor beneath my feet.

I whipped my head back around as if my neck was made of elastic.

Walking across the room was the most frightening, but at the same time sexy as fuck shaggy haired, prince of darkness I had ever seen in my 19 years of boring (until that moment) existence.

He slammed a ring-clad hand down on the counter. "Whiskey," he ordered.

Cherry quickly busied herself with filling a glass with the toxic substance and sliding it to him over the counter. He slammed his palm down on the counter again, this time sliding a six pence towards Cherry for the alcohol. "I'll have another one as well," he said, quickly knocking back the liquid and sliding the empty glass back to be refilled.

His voice was deep and velvety as he spoke, with a certain lilt to it that I'd never heard before. His voice alone sent pleasurable pulses throughout my body. But the way he looked... oh my goodness!

He wore a long black leather jacket with a white shirt underneath, the buttons undone and exposing a gorgeous shiny, tanned chest. I got the impression he was hiding from something with the way he pulled up the collar of his jacket and hunched over the bar.

His eyes were dark and searching, hidden beneath the shade of his thick brows as he slowly looked around the area in front of him like a menacing predator that hunts for fun. The structure of his face was very aristocratic. His cheeks were slightly sunken in, revealing the gorgeous sculpted bones of his cheeks, and a strong, chiselled jaw line that looked fine enough to have been carved by Michelangelo. His lips were full and slightly wet from the whiskey, and at that moment, I wanted him all to myself. Every part of him. Some more than others, admittedly.