No Honour Among Thieves (Mature)

No Honour Among Thieves Part Three

The opulent front of house and the scantily lit, seedier backstage, were like two separate realms. Meg was much more at home with the musty, oily smell of the wings than out in the gilded auditorium. She loved the shadowed maze behind the velvet curtains, felt safe in its murky familiarity.

Suddenly a large, rough hand clapped over her mouth, a steely arm curling about her waist. She froze in shock, but as she was dragged backwards into a gloomy prop room, she erupted into a fury of flaying limbs. Her thrashing body made no effect on her attacker. He kicked the door shut, cloaking them in darkness.

Hands scrabbling at the brutal grip, Meg dug her nails into his wrist, tried to sink her teeth into the calloused palm, it was locked too tight about her mouth. She kicked her foot to scrape her heel against his shin.

"Careful." He said, slotting his leg between hers, using his knee to deflect the assault. "You could have hurt me there." His quiet intonation, threaded with mirth, was hot against her temple.

Meg recognised the voice, it was the man from the pit, she had told him no. Men always thought they had the God given right to touch a woman without her permission. Throw a girl a couple of coins and they can rape, beat, murder with their diseases and all would be fine because they had paid. She should have been on her guard. Meg viciously drove her elbow back, attempting to free herself.

Sinuously he shifted his body so it made no contact. "That was unnecessary too, I ain’t gonna hurt ya, I just want you to hear me out."

She writhed harder against him, all to no avail as he easily checked her resistance. Heart pounding, strength draining away, she fruitlessly fought with the much larger, tougher man. Eventually, she sagged against his chest, breathless.

 “If you promise not to scream, I’ll remove my hand.” He whispered gently, warm air skimming her neck, making her shiver.

She bucked strongly against him, kicking up her legs to break from his hold.

Chuckling, he allowed a full pivot, then as if he knew the steps to her dance, swung her gracefully back to land her feet slowly onto the floor. Meg slammed her head back into his breastbone, exalting in his swift intake of breath.

“Would it make you feel any better if I admit that hurt?” He grunted in husky amusement.

Panting fiercely, Meg realised she was no longer fearful…angry, yes, but not afraid. Slumping in his hold, she hoped her limp body would slither from his grasp.

Widening his stance to compensate, the man’s hand left her mouth to catch her boneless dead weight. Laughingly he hefted her against him, chiding softly. “Stubborn cow… Ah, this is where you hid it, I did wonder.”

Opening her mouth to scream, Meg stopped short when she felt fingers insinuate themselves at the hollow of her back, beneath her corset. He had found her cache of stolen plunder. Stiffening up sharply she reared away, finally breaking his hold on her. Too late, he had fished out her nights takings.

Meg launched herself at him, hitting his chest with both hands. "Give them back, they're mine." She rasped.

“Industrious little soldier ain’t you.” He chortled, holding them up above her reach, folding his other arm around her waist.

She jumped, attempting to snatch them back. The action only served to cause her barely fettered breasts to escape the tenuous hold of her bodice. Clad only in fine, damp fabric they bounced against his hard, muscular chest, friction causing nipples to peak stingingly tight, a flicker of heat flitting through her veins, skin prickling with gooseflesh.

Arm angling down across her waist, he closed his hand over her bottom, catching her tighter against him. “You have a lovely set of boobies, puss.” He crooned softly against her temple, slipping her possessions into his own pocket, placing his now empty hand on the top of her stays, thumb teasing the underside of one full globe.

Meg could feel his cock pushing against her belly, turning her insides softly liquid, as her breasts swelled. An unfamiliar urge to rub against him like a cat confused her enough to arch away. He allowed it, encouraged it even by leaning into her, making her position more vulnerable, the thin fabric of her skirt offering no protection against the intimate contact with his. She could feel the stimulating pressure against her nub, her body moistening, clung to his through the material pressed between her cleft.

This had got out of control and frantically Meg searched her perplexed mind on how to regain it. She knew how to play a man like a fiddle, it was how she lived. Only normally her body didn’t respond to a man’s proximity, why was it now? Because he’s handsome, manly and had a big willy, she derided spitefully. It would seem even she was cursed with usual female frailties.

Stroking two fingers into a gap of his weskit, she felt the heat of his skin through his shirt, a minute tensing of muscles at her touch. Lowering her tone to a velvety husk, she said. “I’m ready to hear your proposition.”

His huff of amusement stirred her hair. “I was going to offer you a job at my gaff, I’m a good boss, I’ll see you treated well. You won’t have to worry about rough housing and won’t have to give out free fucks.”

Meg felt disappointment scythe through her as she listened to his pitch. He was a pimp, pure and simple, she knew exactly how to counter the bastards. Rolling her hips against his, pretending to consider the opportunity, she asked. “And how much will your cut be?”

“I said was going to offer you a job.” The man responded, brushing his lips over her cheek. “I don’t think you’re a woman I could stand to share.” The lips closed over hers, warm, gentle, seeking.

Meg responded to the kiss, opening her mouth to allow his probing tongue entrance. Sweet arousal sang in her veins, tempting her in a way she had never been tempted before, but her brain was still functioning. Ponces will tell you anything to get you in their power, and once in it you were effectively their slave.

His hand slipped lower between her buttocks, seeking her sultry folds. She was wet, he made a grunt of satisfaction at that discovery, fingers stroking, sending shockwaves that weakened her thighs. A burning pressure filled her belly and she shuddered, squirming against his body, her own hands lost in their personal foray of his solid frame.

Meg tangled one hand in his hair, holding his head as she deepened the kiss, battling her tongue with his. It was becoming harder to concentrate, her legs shaking at the sensations he was inflicting on her.

He pulled his mouth from hers, hot breath panting against her lips as he ordered. “Come on princess,” before dragging her up to ride his thigh. Unexpectedly, the rasping of over-sensitised nerve endings against a rock hard thigh, made her whole body clench with an anticipation foreign to her. When his hands gripped her hips and rocked her ruthlessly on it, she broke with a cry.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.