Fan Fiction ❯ Lucifer's Paridise ❯ Precious ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Mushira 
We meet Averill, a 17 year old hermaphrodite.
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 03.21.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 914 | Visits: 240 | Status: Work In Progress
We meet Averill, a 17 year old hermaphrodite.
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 03.21.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 914 | Visits: 240 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter warnings: sexual innuendo, general angst
A/N: `shit'- indicates thought
“shit”-indicates speech
`I need a drink,' Averill thought to himself as he smoothed out the satin covering his crinoline skirt.
“You were amazing,” Came a voice from the monstrous four poster bed.
`Wish I could say the same for you,'
Averill forced down his cynical remarks, never letting his soft false smile falter.
“As were you, Monsieur,” He whispered sweetly.
Averill sighed quietly as he laced up the pale blue corset over the billowing white blouse. Disgusting. That's all that vile hairy man was. Men like him made Averill sick. Turned on by young effeminate boys with cherub like faces that exuded innocence. Young boys in short ruffled skirts, thigh highs, and bodices. Boys that were hardly boys at all. Boys like Averill. A ruffle of clothing was heard, and Averill snapped back to the real world. His customer was tucking in his shirt as he spoke.
“Gasper wasn't kidding, you really are one of his best,” the john stepped towards Averill stroking the boy's smooth rosy cheek with the back of his large hand. The simple motion made Averill want to flinch. If only the filthy old man had spared some of this tenderness in bed a few moments ago.
“Come Monsieur,” Averill whispered leaning on the horrid pervert, “I'll show to the door.”
Averill walked with the large man's burly arm around his narrow hips. He watched other do the same with their clients. `
`What a miserable existence' Averill thought, `all of use owned by one man and sold to the highest bidder, like slaves or cattle'
`No, they we're worse than that.'
They were whores. Expensive and sought after whores, but whores none the less. But if he were not here then where would he be? A poor young hermaphrodite standing on New York street corners? His mother would have sold him to any one that would pay. So, in a way, he was very lucky to be under the care Morgan De Gasper. Gasper gave his prostitutes everything they wanted. They lived in high priced apartments, wore top dollars clothes and only attended the most expensive and exclusive parties and clubs. All that was asked was that they be submissive to him and call him Master.
“Ask for any thing and it will be given,” the Master always said.
`Anything except freedom,' thought Averill as he and the john parted ways.
Averill turned looking for his Master in the expansive lobby. Despite the fact that it was a brothel, “Lucifer's Paradise” was beautiful. All four floors, save for the Dungeon, was decorated in glorious seventeenth century French style. Suddenly, Averill felt lithe arms wrap around his waist; the other hand fondling his breasts through the thin material of his blouse, kneading the mound of flesh and playing with his nipple ring.
“Master,” Averill purred under his breath.
“You were looking for me,” It was a statement, not a question.
“Y-yes master,” Averill whispered shakily, still distracted by his Master's antics.
“well”
“I would like to -unnn- t-to retire for the night M-master.”
His masters had moved the hand around Averill's waist mid-sentence. It now resided under the blue crinoline skirt, where it massaged the rather sizable bulge in Averill's silk panties. Then suddenly as they had come, both hands disappeared leaving Averill utterly unfulfilled.
“You may go,” said the master and then he was gone.
Averill trudged towards the door after gathering his things from his room. Then a very familiar, very welcome voice called his name. He turned and let out a sigh of relief as the figure strode towards him. He nearly fell into those warm and welcoming arms.
Harlot's long, toned arms wrapped gently around Averill's shoulder and pulled him close. A good head and a half taller than the boy, Harlot basically emanated power and grace. He was always dressed in tight corsets, deeply scooped bodices, and long trained skirts, unlike the skimpy clothing worn by the others. No, it was not Harlot's body that made him desirable, but his demeanor. The man simply held an aura of sexuality around him, from his feminine grace to his womanly features and waist long black curls to his voluptuous attributes.
Averill wrapped his arms around Harlot's waist, sharing the warmth of his friend, and sometime lover's, body.
“Are you coming home any time soon,” Averill asked breathing in the smell of honey and expensive perfume from Harlot's dress.
“No, precious I'm afraid not,” Averill smiled at the use of his pet name, “Master says he has a new client he wants me to met. Why? Is something wrong?'
“No,” Averill whispered, reassuring Harlot, “I'm just tired. That's all.”
“Well, sleep well then Precious, I'll be back when I can,” Harlot's full ruby lips placed a gentle kiss on Averill's pale forehead
“Good night”
And the two parted ways.
“shit”-indicates speech
`I need a drink,' Averill thought to himself as he smoothed out the satin covering his crinoline skirt.
“You were amazing,” Came a voice from the monstrous four poster bed.
`Wish I could say the same for you,'
Averill forced down his cynical remarks, never letting his soft false smile falter.
“As were you, Monsieur,” He whispered sweetly.
Averill sighed quietly as he laced up the pale blue corset over the billowing white blouse. Disgusting. That's all that vile hairy man was. Men like him made Averill sick. Turned on by young effeminate boys with cherub like faces that exuded innocence. Young boys in short ruffled skirts, thigh highs, and bodices. Boys that were hardly boys at all. Boys like Averill. A ruffle of clothing was heard, and Averill snapped back to the real world. His customer was tucking in his shirt as he spoke.
“Gasper wasn't kidding, you really are one of his best,” the john stepped towards Averill stroking the boy's smooth rosy cheek with the back of his large hand. The simple motion made Averill want to flinch. If only the filthy old man had spared some of this tenderness in bed a few moments ago.
“Come Monsieur,” Averill whispered leaning on the horrid pervert, “I'll show to the door.”
Averill walked with the large man's burly arm around his narrow hips. He watched other do the same with their clients. `
`What a miserable existence' Averill thought, `all of use owned by one man and sold to the highest bidder, like slaves or cattle'
`No, they we're worse than that.'
They were whores. Expensive and sought after whores, but whores none the less. But if he were not here then where would he be? A poor young hermaphrodite standing on New York street corners? His mother would have sold him to any one that would pay. So, in a way, he was very lucky to be under the care Morgan De Gasper. Gasper gave his prostitutes everything they wanted. They lived in high priced apartments, wore top dollars clothes and only attended the most expensive and exclusive parties and clubs. All that was asked was that they be submissive to him and call him Master.
“Ask for any thing and it will be given,” the Master always said.
`Anything except freedom,' thought Averill as he and the john parted ways.
Averill turned looking for his Master in the expansive lobby. Despite the fact that it was a brothel, “Lucifer's Paradise” was beautiful. All four floors, save for the Dungeon, was decorated in glorious seventeenth century French style. Suddenly, Averill felt lithe arms wrap around his waist; the other hand fondling his breasts through the thin material of his blouse, kneading the mound of flesh and playing with his nipple ring.
“Master,” Averill purred under his breath.
“You were looking for me,” It was a statement, not a question.
“Y-yes master,” Averill whispered shakily, still distracted by his Master's antics.
“well”
“I would like to -unnn- t-to retire for the night M-master.”
His masters had moved the hand around Averill's waist mid-sentence. It now resided under the blue crinoline skirt, where it massaged the rather sizable bulge in Averill's silk panties. Then suddenly as they had come, both hands disappeared leaving Averill utterly unfulfilled.
“You may go,” said the master and then he was gone.
Averill trudged towards the door after gathering his things from his room. Then a very familiar, very welcome voice called his name. He turned and let out a sigh of relief as the figure strode towards him. He nearly fell into those warm and welcoming arms.
Harlot's long, toned arms wrapped gently around Averill's shoulder and pulled him close. A good head and a half taller than the boy, Harlot basically emanated power and grace. He was always dressed in tight corsets, deeply scooped bodices, and long trained skirts, unlike the skimpy clothing worn by the others. No, it was not Harlot's body that made him desirable, but his demeanor. The man simply held an aura of sexuality around him, from his feminine grace to his womanly features and waist long black curls to his voluptuous attributes.
Averill wrapped his arms around Harlot's waist, sharing the warmth of his friend, and sometime lover's, body.
“Are you coming home any time soon,” Averill asked breathing in the smell of honey and expensive perfume from Harlot's dress.
“No, precious I'm afraid not,” Averill smiled at the use of his pet name, “Master says he has a new client he wants me to met. Why? Is something wrong?'
“No,” Averill whispered, reassuring Harlot, “I'm just tired. That's all.”
“Well, sleep well then Precious, I'll be back when I can,” Harlot's full ruby lips placed a gentle kiss on Averill's pale forehead
“Good night”
And the two parted ways.