Chapter 3: The First Seduction

On the second evening of my banishment, hunger and looming homelessness forced my hand to a path I'd never imagined. As the sun set, I sat in a shadowy corner of The Wretched Hen's common room nursing a cup of watered ale. My funds were nearly gone; by morning, the innkeeper would turn me out unless I found another way to pay. My mind raced through increasingly dire possibilities. I had no skills to sell—no one would hire a woman with my reputation even for scullery work. What do I have left? I thought bitterly. Only myself.

The notion had been whispering in the back of my mind all day, ever since that leering merchant's gaze in the market. Now, as I observed the tavern's rough clientele, the idea took a firmer hold. Women in my position sometimes survived by trading their bodies—selling fleeting pleasure for coin. I had heard the scandalized whispers of courtesans and harlots during my sheltered upbringing. Never did I think I would become one. But as my empty stomach twisted, I felt the last shreds of propriety give way to cold necessity.

I studied the men scattered about the room with a critical eye, trying to summon a confidence I did not feel. Many were too poor or too drunk to bother with. A few wore better coats or polished boots—signs of coin. My heart pounded at the bold plan forming in my head. If I was to do this, I would choose my patron, not simply wait in desperation.

Before I could lose my nerve, I stood and approached a lone gentleman who had been glancing my way for the past half hour. He sat at a table near the fire, a half-empty tankard before him. He was perhaps in his late thirties, with a neatly trimmed beard and the calloused hands of a man who'd seen work or battle. His clothes, though dusty from travel, were of decent quality. Most importantly, his eyes lit up with interest as I neared.

"Good evening, mademoiselle," he greeted, eyes roaming over me in a manner that made my skin prickle with self-consciousness. Up close, I realized my appearance was still that of a fallen gentlewoman—my one serviceable dress was plain but well-made, my posture too straight, my diction too refined for a common tavern wench. I felt an urge to disguise myself, to hunch or slur my words, but it was too late; he had already pegged me as out of place.

"Good evening," I replied softly. I lowered my lashes, attempting to appear coy even as my pulse thundered. "I couldn't help noticing you're alone. Might you welcome some company for the night?" The words tasted strange and shameful on my tongue, but I forced a small smile.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise that quickly melted into a knowing smirk. "Ah, I wondered if you were offering. A fine-looking girl like you... at a place like this." He leaned back, appraising me openly. I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest under his bold gaze.

"What's your name, love?" he asked.

I hesitated. My name—my real name—still carried infamy in these parts. Best to leave it behind. "Vivi," I lied smoothly, an old childhood nickname.

"Well, Vivi, you may call me Henri." He reached out and brazenly ran a finger along a curl of my hair that had fallen forward. "How much for a taste of you, hmm?"

Despite having initiated this encounter, heat flooded my cheeks at his crudeness. I had no idea what price to name; my only experience of my body's worth was the ruinous price I'd already paid in reputation. I swallowed. "One gold louis," I said, recalling the approximate worth of my mother's brooch that the innkeeper had basically extorted.

Henri chuckled, a low sound. "That's a steep price, even for a pretty lady. You'd best be very talented." He was bargaining with me, as if over a bolt of cloth. Humiliation flared, but I lifted my chin slightly.

"I can assure you, you will find it worth your while," I managed to purr, trying to inject confidence into my voice. In truth, I had next to no experience beyond Julien's loving touches. But I had something to prove now—to show that though society discarded me, I still had value, if only in this base way.

Henri tossed a coin onto the table—a smaller silver piece. "Half now, half after."

My stomach clenched in disappointment at the amount, but I forced a smile and nodded. It was probably more than any other girl here could demand. I picked up the coin with trembling fingers and slipped it into my bodice.

He stood and offered me his arm with a mocking little bow. "Shall we find somewhere more private, mademoiselle?"

I let him lead me out of the common room, casting a furtive glance around. No one paid us any mind—such transactions were undoubtedly common here. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that every step I took was a further descent into irrevocable sin.

The room he rented was only marginally better than mine: a small space with a creaking bed and a single oil lamp casting flickers against the stained walls. As the door closed behind us, a chill of apprehension coursed through me. This was it. I was about to trade my body for money.

Henri wasted no time. He turned, eyes gleaming as they raked over me. "Undress," he commanded, his tone gentle but leaving no room for refusal.

My fingers fumbled at the laces of my bodice. Though I had been nearly nude with Julien, doing this before a stranger made my throat tighten with shame—and unexpected excitement. There was a strange power in this moment: I could still choose to run, to say no. But I didn't. Instead, I met Henri's gaze and slowly slid my dress off my shoulders.

The garment fell to the floor, leaving me in only my thin chemise and stockings. I shivered, aware of his greedy eyes on the outline of my curves beneath the translucent linen. It occurred to me that this was the first time a man other than Julien had seen me undressed. I felt exposed, vulnerable, yet a part of me hardened with resolve. I had set out to do this; I would see it through and take from it what I needed.

Henri approached, the floorboards creaking under his boots. He lifted a hand to cup my cheek. Surprisingly, his touch was not rough. "Nervous?" he asked, almost kindly.

I managed a small smile. "Perhaps a little. But I learn quickly." The flirtatious words emerged more naturally than I expected, accompanied by a coy flutter of my lashes.

He chuckled again and drew me close. "Let's find out." His lips found mine without preamble, a hard, ale-flavored kiss. Unlike Julien's passionate caresses, Henri's kiss was practiced, almost businesslike at first. I forced myself to respond, parting my lips and mirroring his motions.

As the kiss deepened, I decided to take control where I could. I slid my hands up his chest, feeling the solid weight of him through his shirt, and then began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. He made a pleased noise when my fingers brushed against his skin. Perhaps he expected me to be timid, but I was determined to meet his needs on my own terms.

Henri broke the kiss to tug my chemise down, exposing my breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze. "Magnifique," he murmured appreciatively, bowing his head to take one rosy nipple into his mouth without warning.

I inhaled sharply at the sensation. His suckling was more aggressive than Julien's tender kisses, yet it sparked a dark pleasure in me. I gasped as his tongue flicked and his teeth grazed lightly. My body, traitorous thing, responded—a coil of heat tightening low in my belly despite the strangeness of it all.

He pushed me back onto the bed, my knees hitting the edge so I tumbled onto the rough coverlet. Henri's hands were everywhere—grasping my hips, sliding up my thighs, rucking up the skirt of my chemise until it bunched around my waist. Before panic could set in, I reminded myself I wanted this outcome. I needed that second half of the coin, needed to survive.

And beyond necessity... there was a glimmer of something else. Power. He desired me; I could use that.

I let out a soft, inviting laugh and shifted, making a show of arching my back slightly as I reclined. The movement caused my breasts to lift and my hair to fan out. In the lamplight, I tried to look sultry and unashamed. My heart thundered, but I gave him a slow smile. "Do you like what you see, monsieur?" I asked in a low purr.

His eyes darkened with lust at my display. "Oh yes," he breathed, shrugging out of his coat hastily. He seemed eager now, emboldened by my apparent willingness.

Henri climbed onto the bed, looming over me. I reached for his trousers, fingers brushing the bulge there. He groaned and allowed me to unfasten them, lifting his hips to free his hardened manhood. I had only ever seen Julien's, but in my limited experience Henri was well-endowed too. I repressed a nervous gulp, instead wrapping my fingers around him. He felt hot and rigid in my hand. I stroked experimentally, earning a grunt of approval.

"Mon Dieu, you are a quick learner," he rasped, his composure fraying. He pushed my thighs apart with impatience and settled between them. I tensed, instinctively closing my legs a fraction.

He paused, looking at me. "Shall I go on?" he asked, an edge of impatience in his tone.

This was the last moment I could stop it. But where would I go, what would I do, if I backed out now? I had committed myself. So I nodded and forced a seductive smile. "Yes. I want you."

It wasn't a lie; my body did want something, some release from fear and hunger, some confirmation that I was still alive and desirable. Perhaps it wasn't Henri himself I wanted, but I craved the feeling of being in control of my destiny, even in this small, carnal way.

At my consent, Henri pressed forward. I bit my lip as he entered me swiftly. My body, still tender from the night before last with Julien, protested at the sudden intrusion. I couldn't help a soft cry of discomfort.

He mistook it for passion and captured my cry with another kiss, muffling me as he began to thrust. His weight pressed me into the mattress, his movements lacking the gentle build I'd known with my lover. Henri was urgent, taking his pleasure with single-minded focus.

It hurt, at first; I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to relax, to adjust. My nails dug into his shoulders. He panted against my neck, muttering words of praise in my ear—how tight and warm I was, how he'd never expect a quality woman here. I latched onto that thread of pride: a quality woman. Yes, I was still that, wasn't I? Even ruined, I had more refinement than the common whores he was used to.

Gradually, my body accommodated him and the pain receded into a dull ache, then a kind of grudging pleasure as his coarse hairs rubbed against the sensitive pearl of flesh at my apex with each thrust. I bit back any sound that wasn't a moan, keenly aware he'd only pay me the remainder if he enjoyed himself.

So I moaned softly, tentatively moving my hips to meet his rhythm. The change encouraged him; he gripped my thigh and pushed deeper, hitting a spot within that made me gasp genuinely. Sparks of unexpected pleasure ignited, and I let them spur me on. Perhaps I could take something for myself from this encounter after all.

I slid my hands down his back, clutching him closer, and tilted my head to murmur heatedly, "Harder… don't stop." The words shocked even me, but I knew enough from overheard boudoir gossip that men liked vocal women. And it worked—Henri growled and pounded into me with renewed vigor.

It was a raw, frantic coupling. In the dim lamplight, I caught a glimpse of us in a cracked mirror on the wall: a tangle of limbs, his pale torso thrusting between my welcoming thighs, my breasts bouncing with each push. The image should have shamed me, yet it strangely excited me further. That passionate woman in the mirror didn't look defeated or broken—she looked in command of a man's desire.

My own desire, however muted by circumstance, crept in. I closed my eyes and pretended for a moment that I was back in Julien's arms, that this was love and not transaction. A wave of heat coiled through me as if my body couldn't tell the difference. I let out an involuntary moan that was wholly mine, clinging to Henri as a tremor of forbidden pleasure rolled through me.

He cursed and thrust erratically as my sounds pushed him over the edge. With a final groan, Henri spent himself inside me. I stiffened at the unfamiliar sensation of warmth flooding deep within; Julien had withdrawn in time when we coupled, but Henri made no such courtesy. It was done—there was no innocence left to lose, only a line crossed that could never be uncrossed.

We stayed tangled for a moment, both catching our breath. I stared at the ceiling, emotions swirling: relief, disgust, empowerment, sorrow. I had survived another night—tomorrow, I would not starve. But a part of me mourned the girl I'd been, who could never return.

Henri pulled out and stood, tucking himself away. He seemed satisfied, barely sparing me a glance as I sat up and smoothed down my rumpled chemise. My cheeks burned as his seed trickled from between my thighs, an uncomfortable reminder of what I'd done.

He fished another coin from his pocket and set it on the rickety bedside table. "You earned it," he said with a smirk. "Might seek you out next time I pass through."

I forced a polite curl of my lips, saying nothing. The moment he left the room, closing the door behind him, I sagged in relief. I snatched up the second coin, holding the two pieces of silver in my palm. They felt heavy, significant. These small discs meant I could eat, find lodging, maybe even purchase a few simple necessities. They were salvation—bought with sweat and humiliation.

Gathering my scattered clothes, I dressed quickly. My hands shook, and I noticed a bruise blooming on my hip where Henri's grip had been too hard. A mirthless laugh escaped me; it seemed even paid encounters left their marks.

Before I left the room, I caught sight of myself in the mirror again. My hair was mussed, lips swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed. There was a glow in my eyes that hadn't been there earlier—a spark of defiance.

"It's just a beginning," I whispered to my reflection, clenching the coins until the metal bit into my skin. I had discovered a way to survive, one that utilized the only assets I had left: my body, my allure, and my will.

It was a costly revelation, but it emboldened me. If I was to live in the gutter of society's esteem, I would make it my kingdom. The first seduction would not be my last.