Conquests of a Well Bred Prostitute
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G through L › Libertine, The
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Category:
G through L › Libertine, The
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,216
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
The characters from The Libertine used in this piece do not belong to me. No infingement intended, nor money made from using them in this story.
Chapter 2: The Magnificent Miss Roberts
Chapter 2: The Magnificent Miss Roberts
---
The Whorehouse: 24 June 1668
I found out soon enough that there were many inconveniences in married life, but was there any condition without inconveniences?
Perhaps, I may indulge licentiousness and give myself to the conduct of wild and ungoverned desires when I am out of the country, or indeed out of any other inducement.
However, if marriage was to be such a blessed state of being, why are there are so few happy marriages?
Now in answering this, we must not wonder how so few have succeeded, instead we should be rather surprised to find so many who do, considering how imprudently men engage, the motives they act by, and the very strange conduct we observe throughout the streets of our fair London town.
I was no different in my engagements, and I will profess that at some point every man needs the whorehouse, for sex did not only take place between supper and daybreak.
No. I’d like to think that sex takes place between now and whenever I want it to take place, preferably with no predetermined time or length of duration.
At the present, pleasure was dominated by race of beauties that carried themselves almost like another species. These women were like new trees, new lopped and pruned, and would certainly sprout up and flourish with greater heads than before when they succumb to the power of a man's pintle, sans the prescriptive motions of routine regularity.
Oh, how I long for a knowledgeable strumpet of London. I long for a large breasted beauty adorned with a low-necked bodice, her hair tucked behind her ears to reveal an excess of rouge and patches. I long for a vulgar and promiscuous woman who flouted the essence of propriety.
The name of Jane Roberts has spread perhaps as far as her legs could stretch, and one cannot help but wish that so much wit and beauty, so much politeness and address, accompanied and supported by more valuable and lasting qualities could exist in a single form.
One could also desire that she could clear the imputations laid upon her, and that she herself should say enough in her actions to show she was unfortunate, but she had not said as much as necessary to prove herself discreet.
Those who did not pity her ill fortune must be highly ill-natured, but at the same time I must blame her conduct, and regret that a treasure such as herself should fall into the hands of those who were not worthy of it, nor knew how to value and improve it.
However, I should be the very last man to complain of her conduct, seeing that I have reaped from the benefits of her scandalous behavior.
The gentry would go so far as to say that her profession was conspicuously and outrageously bad or reprehensible. However, I would say that she was such an exceptional whore and well above average or surpassing what is common or usual or expected of a woman of her nature.
Pity I had to share her with Charles and the rest of London.
If she were born a woman of propriety, I believe that she would have been capable of being a great ornament to her family, a blessing to the age she lived in, and by the end of her days would only serve (to say no worse) as an unhappy widow who points out the dangers of an ill education and unequal marriage.
My actions are not to be justified, nor the actions of my dear Jane, she will not be excused, especially by my wife. It is no question that the acts we committed were considered most criminal, having no sense, or the abuse of a liberal portion. Society would have no qualms with determining who was to be pitied the most, for she allowed my cock rightful passage and must therefore suffer more and be the more lamented.
Though, I’d imagine she did not mind, seeing that I compensated her far more for her to give a damn.
The whorehouse drained her of her life, and soon turned her into a disagreeable person, finding herself with a temper when she realized that folly and ignorance tyrannize over wit and sense. Jane was cursed to be contradicted in every thing she did or said, and bore down not by reason of authority while being denied her most innocent desires, for no other cause but the will and pleasure of an absolute Lord and Master.
On many occasions, she confessed to me that she longed for the normalcy of marriage, but she was cursed to a life that she could no longer break from, and the commands she despised but at the same time she obeyed were a misery that no one could comprehend, but those who have felt it.
Make of this what you will, but I found her desire of normalcy strangely arousing.
I admit that at the time of her confessions, I was not of sane mind or spirit. My mind was sullied with drink and dart of love laden from the wanton desire of her cunt.
For a time, I thought that the life of a whore was more prosperous than that of an obedient housewife. My reasoning for this was strictly based on experience. Imagine, there I was, lying upon the foul floor of a whorehouse with the sweat from Jane’s bosom dripping down upon my face, finding that I could barely recuperate between orgasms to pick myself up to go home to my wife, who slept alone in our bed.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Although, that did not stop me from advising her that a woman who seeks consolation for the yearning of domesticity from the gaieties of a court, whether it be from gaming to courtship, from rambling to conversational adventures, or all the amusements that her company can afford, may plaster up the sore she possessed in her heart, but would never heal it. Nay, instead it would grow into something far worse.
It would fester beyond the possibility of a cure.
Yet she justifies the injuries her patrons have done her, and disregards whatever other good qualities she may have. She may be innocent, but she can never prove she is so, and she will be silenced by the society that shunned her.
She can make no apologies for her actions, simply because apologies will not be accepted. The world will hardly allow a woman to say anything well, unless as she borrows it from man. At that point, she had borrowed the husbands of far too many women, reaching into the breeches of too many men, and ingested countless seeds of life to mutter the slightest word of atonement.
It certainly would have been a mouthful. All pun intended.
Many would argue that if Jane’s education made a right improvement of her wit and sense, she would not have found herself seeking relief by such imprudent, and one might say scandalous methods such as the fucking in dark alleyways with various spruce cavaliers.
I would argue the contrary, in light of the fact that her sex was so deliciously decadent, and how down right laughable it was that society seems to find its voice only when it speaks with a tongue laced with envy.
They wanted her cunt just as much as I did, yet they wouldn’t dare admit it.
Laugh with me, gentlemen.
I promise that you will not feel any better for having such thoughts.
With my appearance reported in so many objectionable places, many purported my actions as distasteful – to frequently bed such a childish and ridiculous woman as herself. It was with such ill-natured amusement that I devoured her, but that was the greatest part of the adventures I had inside her womb.
To them, my company was always objectionable. With that being said, why should I act in a manner that would disappoint my critics?
Laugh with me, gentlemen.
I promise I will not disappoint.
Only let me allow you to be informed. To whom would the poor fatherless maids and widows who have lost their masters owe subjection?
It cannot be to all men.
Do they then fall as strays, to the first who finds them?
Of course, by the dictum of men and the conduct of women one would think so, and one would only hope to come across a stray, preferably one like Jane Roberts, if given the opportunity.
I, sometimes, had an odd feeling when leaving Jane’s presence, as if demons were creeping after me in the darkness of night, and had tied a string somewhere in my guts that tightened and knotted itself to a festering orb of regret.
To my despair, the orb grows more painful by the day, and it is something most dreadful, until I am full of drink, and can no longer feel a damn thing.
Do not misconstrue my words, for Elizabeth Malet is not dead to me, but may her faults die with her, may there be no more occasions given for our adventures, and if there is, let the woman be more wise and good than to take them!
My good Lord, do not let her take them, for I will pass my pain onto her and then I will no longer be able to crawl to her at night and plead for her forgiveness.
Let us continue on for now. Let us see from whence the misconduct proceeds, and see if it can be prevented, for certainly men may be very happy in a stifled married state.
It is our own fault if we are at anytime otherwise.
---
---
The Whorehouse: 24 June 1668
I found out soon enough that there were many inconveniences in married life, but was there any condition without inconveniences?
Perhaps, I may indulge licentiousness and give myself to the conduct of wild and ungoverned desires when I am out of the country, or indeed out of any other inducement.
However, if marriage was to be such a blessed state of being, why are there are so few happy marriages?
Now in answering this, we must not wonder how so few have succeeded, instead we should be rather surprised to find so many who do, considering how imprudently men engage, the motives they act by, and the very strange conduct we observe throughout the streets of our fair London town.
I was no different in my engagements, and I will profess that at some point every man needs the whorehouse, for sex did not only take place between supper and daybreak.
No. I’d like to think that sex takes place between now and whenever I want it to take place, preferably with no predetermined time or length of duration.
At the present, pleasure was dominated by race of beauties that carried themselves almost like another species. These women were like new trees, new lopped and pruned, and would certainly sprout up and flourish with greater heads than before when they succumb to the power of a man's pintle, sans the prescriptive motions of routine regularity.
Oh, how I long for a knowledgeable strumpet of London. I long for a large breasted beauty adorned with a low-necked bodice, her hair tucked behind her ears to reveal an excess of rouge and patches. I long for a vulgar and promiscuous woman who flouted the essence of propriety.
The name of Jane Roberts has spread perhaps as far as her legs could stretch, and one cannot help but wish that so much wit and beauty, so much politeness and address, accompanied and supported by more valuable and lasting qualities could exist in a single form.
One could also desire that she could clear the imputations laid upon her, and that she herself should say enough in her actions to show she was unfortunate, but she had not said as much as necessary to prove herself discreet.
Those who did not pity her ill fortune must be highly ill-natured, but at the same time I must blame her conduct, and regret that a treasure such as herself should fall into the hands of those who were not worthy of it, nor knew how to value and improve it.
However, I should be the very last man to complain of her conduct, seeing that I have reaped from the benefits of her scandalous behavior.
The gentry would go so far as to say that her profession was conspicuously and outrageously bad or reprehensible. However, I would say that she was such an exceptional whore and well above average or surpassing what is common or usual or expected of a woman of her nature.
Pity I had to share her with Charles and the rest of London.
If she were born a woman of propriety, I believe that she would have been capable of being a great ornament to her family, a blessing to the age she lived in, and by the end of her days would only serve (to say no worse) as an unhappy widow who points out the dangers of an ill education and unequal marriage.
My actions are not to be justified, nor the actions of my dear Jane, she will not be excused, especially by my wife. It is no question that the acts we committed were considered most criminal, having no sense, or the abuse of a liberal portion. Society would have no qualms with determining who was to be pitied the most, for she allowed my cock rightful passage and must therefore suffer more and be the more lamented.
Though, I’d imagine she did not mind, seeing that I compensated her far more for her to give a damn.
The whorehouse drained her of her life, and soon turned her into a disagreeable person, finding herself with a temper when she realized that folly and ignorance tyrannize over wit and sense. Jane was cursed to be contradicted in every thing she did or said, and bore down not by reason of authority while being denied her most innocent desires, for no other cause but the will and pleasure of an absolute Lord and Master.
On many occasions, she confessed to me that she longed for the normalcy of marriage, but she was cursed to a life that she could no longer break from, and the commands she despised but at the same time she obeyed were a misery that no one could comprehend, but those who have felt it.
Make of this what you will, but I found her desire of normalcy strangely arousing.
I admit that at the time of her confessions, I was not of sane mind or spirit. My mind was sullied with drink and dart of love laden from the wanton desire of her cunt.
For a time, I thought that the life of a whore was more prosperous than that of an obedient housewife. My reasoning for this was strictly based on experience. Imagine, there I was, lying upon the foul floor of a whorehouse with the sweat from Jane’s bosom dripping down upon my face, finding that I could barely recuperate between orgasms to pick myself up to go home to my wife, who slept alone in our bed.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Although, that did not stop me from advising her that a woman who seeks consolation for the yearning of domesticity from the gaieties of a court, whether it be from gaming to courtship, from rambling to conversational adventures, or all the amusements that her company can afford, may plaster up the sore she possessed in her heart, but would never heal it. Nay, instead it would grow into something far worse.
It would fester beyond the possibility of a cure.
Yet she justifies the injuries her patrons have done her, and disregards whatever other good qualities she may have. She may be innocent, but she can never prove she is so, and she will be silenced by the society that shunned her.
She can make no apologies for her actions, simply because apologies will not be accepted. The world will hardly allow a woman to say anything well, unless as she borrows it from man. At that point, she had borrowed the husbands of far too many women, reaching into the breeches of too many men, and ingested countless seeds of life to mutter the slightest word of atonement.
It certainly would have been a mouthful. All pun intended.
Many would argue that if Jane’s education made a right improvement of her wit and sense, she would not have found herself seeking relief by such imprudent, and one might say scandalous methods such as the fucking in dark alleyways with various spruce cavaliers.
I would argue the contrary, in light of the fact that her sex was so deliciously decadent, and how down right laughable it was that society seems to find its voice only when it speaks with a tongue laced with envy.
They wanted her cunt just as much as I did, yet they wouldn’t dare admit it.
Laugh with me, gentlemen.
I promise that you will not feel any better for having such thoughts.
With my appearance reported in so many objectionable places, many purported my actions as distasteful – to frequently bed such a childish and ridiculous woman as herself. It was with such ill-natured amusement that I devoured her, but that was the greatest part of the adventures I had inside her womb.
To them, my company was always objectionable. With that being said, why should I act in a manner that would disappoint my critics?
Laugh with me, gentlemen.
I promise I will not disappoint.
Only let me allow you to be informed. To whom would the poor fatherless maids and widows who have lost their masters owe subjection?
It cannot be to all men.
Do they then fall as strays, to the first who finds them?
Of course, by the dictum of men and the conduct of women one would think so, and one would only hope to come across a stray, preferably one like Jane Roberts, if given the opportunity.
I, sometimes, had an odd feeling when leaving Jane’s presence, as if demons were creeping after me in the darkness of night, and had tied a string somewhere in my guts that tightened and knotted itself to a festering orb of regret.
To my despair, the orb grows more painful by the day, and it is something most dreadful, until I am full of drink, and can no longer feel a damn thing.
Do not misconstrue my words, for Elizabeth Malet is not dead to me, but may her faults die with her, may there be no more occasions given for our adventures, and if there is, let the woman be more wise and good than to take them!
My good Lord, do not let her take them, for I will pass my pain onto her and then I will no longer be able to crawl to her at night and plead for her forgiveness.
Let us continue on for now. Let us see from whence the misconduct proceeds, and see if it can be prevented, for certainly men may be very happy in a stifled married state.
It is our own fault if we are at anytime otherwise.
---