#516) The Whore of the Harbor

She was born poor. She was born pretty. She discovered her sexuality at a young age while experimenting with a neighbor boy. She liked everything that he did to her. There was no hope for her; Maggie was pre-destined to become a whore.
She was good at her chosen profession, pleasing members of the court, constables, merchants, and workmen alike with her skills. Anyone who had the tuppence for a schtup was welcome. Being a life-long learner, Margaret strove for continual improvement. For her that meant learning how to please a man with her mouth just as readily as with her sex, then she went to work studying how to satisfy a man via her backdoor, too.
She might have graduated in latter life to running a brothel of like-minded and lax-virtued women, but she made one disastrous error. She was too good at her job once with a magistrate. Maggie pleasured the highly-sexed, high-born lord first with her vagina, then half an hour later by sucking him off, and an hour after that, she treated him to the hottest, tightest fuck of his life up her ass hole of all places! He was smitten, infatuated, spoiled for anyone else. He unwisely told his wife that she should accommodate him in other venues besides her pussy. She took offense at this base suggestion, traced his evening activities, and complained to the law about Margaret plying her trade at the waterfront docks.
She found herself arrested, imprisoned, chained to a dungeon wall. The authorities, half of whom she’d previously fucked regularly, now sanctimoniously informed her that she’d been found guilty of prostitution and sentenced to fifty lashes with the bullwhip. These six officials paraded out of her cell, and the jailor, William, entered.
He rolled her long scarlet red dress up from her ankles to her shoulders. She wore no undergarments, like others in her trade, so that access to her privates would be easier. Will stood back, and took aim at the succulent pale back.
“Do me one favor, please, sir…” she interrupted his carrying-out of his duties.
“What is that, lass?”
“Don’t overlap the lashes. I think I’ll be able to withstand the thrashing of fifty strokes if they are not painfully one upon another.”
What she was asking of him was to perform his task as expertly as she always performed hers. Will had never visited Maggie at the wharf, or any of the other numerous ladies of the evening around town. But he’d heard of her by reputation, and looking upon her gorgeous, womanly figure now, he understood it. He whipped her, from the nape of her neck down, across her delicate shoulder blades, on down her spine. He had expertly administered twenty lashes when the bodice of her gown tumbled down to her waist. Neither punisher nor culprit cared, so he just carried-on, though now his job was much more challenging. Maggie had a voluptuous derriere; Will was an ass man. His beating of her curvaceous buttocks was erotic in the extreme. Maggie saw the bulge in his codpiece, made the task all the more difficult by whimpering seductively, flexing and relaxing the mounded muscles of her delectable backside. The master marksman had placed twenty more bright lashes across the roundedness of her backside to the tops of her thighs where the white stockings started.
Without a word passing between them, Maggie turned. The chains manacling her wrists to the stone wall had just enough slack to allow her to twist around, so as to provide her front to the ministrations of the bullwhip. Will stared unabashedly at the near-naked seductress before him. Her breasts were heaving from the exertion of withstanding the beating. But her jet-black pubic patch was glistening with arousal. She was so excited, her engorged pussy lips protruded from this underbrush. Her eyes met his.
“Yes… corporal punishment turns me on, William… I never climax while fucking clients… but I cannot keep from cumming if my lover beats my bottom before taking me as his…”
Her eyes drifted down to his erection, tenting his codpiece away from his hips comically. Her eyes said that she wanted him as desperately as he obviously did her. He tossed the whip away; the officials would never be able to tell the difference between forty lashes and fifty. He extracted his manhood from his garments. His intent was clear.
“Have you a condom, sir?” she presumptuously inquired.
“Er, no…” he sheepishly replied.
“There’s a sheepskin one among my belongings,” and she nodded toward the few possessions mounded by her in the cell. “Can’t have you getting me pregnant, now can we?” she smiled as he put it on and put his stiffness into her.
He fucked her with urgency, with a white-hot desire, pounded her so hard it bounced her striped behind off the cold stone wall behind her. He brought Maggie to several wracking orgasms, but seemed to be having difficulty getting there himself. She wondered if it was because of the protection she’d insisted he wear.
“Do you want me where it’s tighter? Have you ever fucked a woman in her other hole…?” and she could see his rapt interest. She twisted back again, his cock pulled out of her vagina, and then she arched her wounded and rounded rump out at him. He caught her drift, parted her heavy cheeks, impaled her, and resumed the rigorous rogering. Maggie climaxed and squeezed him hard. He was powerless not to climax.
As if on cue, the clot of blood-thirsty officials traipsed back into the dungeon. Will held up the back of Maggie’s gown, exposing the patchwork of stripes that covered her entire backside. One nodded appreciatively, and Will unlocked the cuffs that restrained her wrists. They exited, satisfied that justice had been administered. Satisfied in all other ways, Maggie was feeling a little light-headed. William noted this, and picked her up in his arms.
“You… mentioned a lover… one who beats you as needed…?” he tentatively inquired.
“Past tense,” she reassured her new man.
He carried her to his quarters. She set about cleaning and straightening things up as if she lived there. She lived there from that moment on. They dyed her scarlet gown purple, appropriate because Will considered Maggie his queen. Sometimes just a sound spanking would suffice; other times, when she grew headstrong, he’d chain Maggie to that same place on the wall and whip her buttocks for a bit. They had a very fulfilling sex life; they lived happily ever after.

4 responses to “#516) The Whore of the Harbor”

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