For this week’s Wicked Wednesday post, I decided to share something I am working on with you all. This story will be the beginning of a new series (I hope) and will be a Historical Erotic Romance (with BDSM elements, of course).
Here is a bit of a teaser from my WIP, The Catacombs:
“How long have you worked here, Helen?”
“Let me see…” The woman turned blue eyes toward the ceiling. “Uh…ever since my Henry passed, so…” She counted on her fingers. “Eighteen years now.” A nostalgic smile curled her lips. “Feels like a lifetime ago.” helen finished placing the utensils and joined Justine at the cart. “It’s time to get dressed for dinner. I’ve had a uniform in your size placed in your room, as well as a wash basin, and fresh water. Get yourself ready and I’ll collect you at six thirty.”
Justine headed for her quarters with a smile on her face. She’d worked hard all day, but Helen had treated her kindly, and the job didn’t seem to be too complicated. Plus, there’d been no mention of her bedding anyone. Her prospects were better than they’d been since her father’s death. There was a solid roof over her head and a warm pallet for her to sleep on.
Her sense of ease disintegrated when she got a look at what Helen had referred to as a uniform. It turned to abject horror when she actually tried the garment on.
While the dress had long fitted sleeves, that’s where all modesty ceased. The neckline plunged dangerously low and would most assuredly spill her assets onto the table when she bent to offer a tray of food to one of the evening’s diners. Her skirt, while full and relatively modest in the back, split wide in the front, offering an unfettered view of her legs from toe to mid thigh. She had stockings–black silk embroidered with a row of tiny black diamonds from anklebone to mid calf, but they only accentuated the expanse of exposed flesh at the top of the black, heeled boots.
Justine couldn’t imagine the harlots at the tavern down the street wearing less than she wore at that moment. She chewed her lower lip and paced the length of her room while she considered her options.
It was a short walk.
If she left Chauncey House, she’d be forced to the tavern, where the clientele was less than upstanding–or clean–and her room would most assuredly be shared with any number of other girls. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t known what Chauncey House was when she’d gone there. She could always hope this would be the worst of it. Her hands fretted each other at her waist until a knock at the door startled her out of her reverie.
Justine looked down at her outfit and sighed. “Come in.”
Helen pushed open the door, a bright smile plumping her cheeks. “Ready?”
“No, I’m not ready.” She threw her hands up. “Look at me. I can’t go out in public like this. Surely, I’ll cause a scandal dressed in…” She gathered up the fluffs of skirt at her hips and tossed it up for effect. “…whatever you call this thing. Do all of the other girls wear this, too?”
Helen frowned and appeared offended. “Well, of course not! They’ve all worked here for some time and wear much less than you. They aren’t allowed to cover their breasts at all and their skirts are split in the rear as well. The girls are proud of what they offer the guests and are anxious to prove their worth to their Benefactor. You’re in training. Your uniform shows your status in the household.” She chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. Chauncey House is the most exclusive brothel in London, my dear, catering to the darker tastes of the most influential men, and women, in the world. We don’t allow just anyone to service our guests. You have a lot to learn, but you’re in very good hands. I’ve been teaching girls like you for a very long time.”
Interesting place, that Chauncey House…
As always, feel free to share your comments and thoughts on the piece. Love hearing from you.
Until next time…