Chapter 1
Sadie | London, 1758
The gentleman isn’t one of my regulars. But he paid up front, is well dressed, and handsome to boot. His lengthy rod, once he removes his breeches, is an extra treat; and it doesn’t take much licking and teasing on my part to get it nice and stiff. Luckily for him. His appointment is for fifteen minutes only, and I’ve got a regular waiting downstairs. Then again, gentlemen who need extra foreplay to get them ready for the sack will pay double and don’t seem too bothered about forking it over.
And so they should. I’m a popular girl at Fanny Swift’s elegant establishment in Covent Garden, so I’m never short of business. All the high-ranking toffs know I’m value for money, and this one asked for me by name, so I must have been recommended. Or he’s read about me inHarris’s List:Sadie Smith, 21, silky blonde hair and luscious long legs. You won’t get much conversation, but you’ll get a fast sweet fuck.
This gentleman is certainly delivering the goods in that respect. I’m on my back (where you can usually find me of an eve) with my yellow silk dress rucked up round my thighs and enjoying a right good rogering. But beneath the thud of the headboard and the gentleman’s grunts comes the quick patter of feet and hushed voices.
I lift my head off the pillow, listening acutely.
‘Wait, wait,’ I gasp. ‘There’s something happening in the hallway. It could be a raid.’
I’m wary of raids. I only escaped one earlier in the month by the skin of my teeth. ‘Get off me. I don’t want to end up in the Clink.’
The gentleman thrusts his hips faster. ‘Excuse my French, but quite frankly, fuck the raid,’ he pants. ‘I’m too close to stop now. And if I don’t finish, you don’t get paid.’
The pretty pile of silver coin stacked on the dresser seems to wink at me, and I bite my lip, not wanting to give it back. But the constables could burst through the door at any minute, and I’ll be arrested.
‘Hurry up then.’ I squeeze my cunny round his sliding cock and circle my hips. That always helps things along.
The gentleman groans and immediately pumps his load. Thank the sweet Lord! As soon as he pulls out, I’m off the bed and swiping the coins into my drawstring purse. The pattering feet outside my door have now turned intopounding ones and are punctuated by distant squeals and shouts. It’s definitely a raid, a bad one.
‘Fuck!’I hastily stuff my feet into my shoes.
‘Is there a back way out?’ asks the gentleman nonchalantly, shrugging on his jacket. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by the threat of the raid. Then again, he’s a man, and they’ll turn a blind eye to him. Even more if he’s wealthy, he can dole out some coin and be on his way. It’s worse for me. I could be whipped, put in the pillory, or sent to the Clink; and I don’t fancy beating hemp.
‘Yes, come on!’ I push him out the door ahead of me. Scantily clad women and men with their breeches flapping are sprinting down the hallway towards the secret backstairs. I risk a glance over the railing and see several dark coats milling about. A door bangs, followed by female squeals, then men shouting and loud foul-mouthed cursing. My heart jumps into my mouth. They’re clearing the downstairs first. But my luck might hold again tonight. If we’re quick.
Joining the fast-moving current of escapees, we all clatter down the rickety stairs. No doubt, Fanny (aka Mother Swift), true to her name, will have already made her hasty getaway down them and run off to her sister’s. The warm night flows over my sweaty skin as we burst out into the dank narrow alleyway at the back of the house. Mygentleman is jostled in the panicked throng, but he remembers his manners and politely doffs his hat to me.
‘Thank you for a pleasant evening, Sadie. I hope we’ll meet again. Under less ... fraught circumstances.’
I incline my head and drop a curtsy, my full coin purse whacking my hip. He’s generous, so he can definitely go on my list of regulars.
He turns on his heel and is swallowed up by the night, and I stroll in the opposite direction, heading for the local pub. The girls and I will chat and sympathise over who’s been nabbed and count our lucky stars it wasn’t us.
Alone in the alleyway, I lean against the brick wall for a breather and to repin my hair. What a night! My heart is going like the clappers. I’m not sure I can stand any more of these raids. They seem to be getting worse. I squat, have a relieved piss against the wall, and continue on my way. I’m passing by a narrow alleyway leading off to the right when a deep, smooth male voice says, ‘Good evening,’ from the depths.
I stop, startled, and peer in. But it’s as black as pitch, and I can’t see anyone.
‘Hello?’
There’s a scuffling noise, and I glimpse a sudden movement, but nothing that can be discerned or that could be called a man.
‘Do not be alarmed,’ says the voice.
‘I’m not,’ I reply. ‘What do you want?’
There’s a pause. ‘How much for your services?’
Oho, so that’s why he’s lurking around the back of the brothel. He sounds posh. I could have a quickie in the alleyway before I get to the pub and add some more coin to my purse.
‘Depends. Suck or fuck?’ I ask.
There’s another pause and a slight cough, as if I’ve been too direct.
‘Would you consider coming to my house? I’ll pay you well for your time.’
