The Well-Born Strumpet

By Pornelope

Alyssa is a good girl—until her father dies and their home is sold to pay his gambling debts. Lord Worthington may have hired her to tutor his grandchildren, but first she has to reach his fine manor safely after being abandoned in a horrible storm! The four virile men who run the country inn where she takes sanctuary are happy to offer her food and lodging...in exchange for her innocence!

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Nate kept telling her more stories that were so funny, she barely even cared when they began bordering on raunchy. Her blushes, she assured herself, could be written off to laughter and the stove’s heat as easily as virginal embarrassment.

“But that was afore Khenan joined us,” he suddenly interrupted himself as he washed dirty dishes and stacked them neatly on the counter. “Gods alive, what a stir that caused! Brigands stole the ship he was on, and killed or ditched most of the crew; he was one of the few who made it safely to shore. He wandered about for a few days—daft in his head, you could say—and finally chanced on our little inn just at dinner’s hour when a certain high lordship and his fair lady were stayin’ the night.

“Now she’s such a one that a man’s interest just has to stand and salute,” he added enthusiastically, and wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis. “No way around it, and to my way o’ thinkin’, that’s the finest praise any man can pay a woman, be she maid or maiden. And this one...” He sighed in blissful delight at some memory only he could see. “What a woman she is, and none too proud to reward a man for admirin’ the view.

“Then Khenan staggers in, naked as the day he was born, with his staff already hard and high from spyin’ our cleanin’ girl out in the yard. And a fine pretty lass she is, too, and never too busy for a kiss or a toss in the hay.

“So this fine lady,” he grinned, noting that Alyssa hadn’t understood a single one of his lewd references, “jumps up from her table and coos over him like a mother hen with a wounded chick. Nothin’ would do but she take him up to her own room and nurse him back to full health, so to speak, and she even barred her rich husband from the room so they wouldn’t be disturbed. He was in a fine takin’ over that, believe me!

“But our Betsy, who’d followed Khenan inside, took his lordship in hand, you could say, and soothed his ruffled feathers half the night, bless her heart. None of us got a wink of sleep with Khenan and her ladyship upstairs, and Betsy with his lordship downstairs, and half the other patrons makin’ their own party in the dinin’ room. It was a wild night we’ll never forget!”

Alyssa envisioned an entirely different scenario, and nodded her confused agreement.

“Her ladyship insisted on stayin’ an extra three days ’til she was sure Khenan was in top form. He bore it like a trooper, to be sure, and decided the country life was so much to his likin’, he stayed on to tend our horses.”

So he wasn’t a slave after all, she realized, and tried to wrap her mind around the concept of a black man being a valued employee.

“...she had to be carried out to their coach, poor woman, she was that tuckered out,” Nate was saying when she finally recalled herself. “But his lordship had enjoyed the stay, and Betsy got a nice purse from it, so everyone was happy. And she makes certain they pass through here every fortnight or so—to check on Khenan’s, ah, good health.”

“She sounds like a remarkable lady,” Alyssa murmured, baffled but warmed by the woman’s obvious devotion to the massive black stablehand.

“Aye, that she is.” Nate chuckled, and turned away to unobtrusively adjust the fit of his breeches. Just the lurid memory had made him hard as rock, and Alyssa’s obvious innocence was an extra thrill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Mar 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463365380

Pornelope

Remember the old Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys books? Everyone thought they were written by Carolyn Keene and Franklin W. Dixon...but they weren’t. Over a dozen different authors contributed ideas and used those two author names, no matter which one of them actually wrote the book.That’s who Pornelope really is: a group of close friends all collaborating on stories and sharing the same author name. Why? Because collaborating makes our stories spicier and more interesting...and brainstorming and working together is fun!You may notice some differences in writing styles or word choices, but one thing will always remain the same:Pornelope offers well-written high quality erotica that’s sure to rev your engine!

Book preview

The Well-Born Strumpet

by Pornelope

Copyright @ 2019 – Pornelope

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

~~ All characters in this book are 18 or older. ~~

She was lost, alone…and terrified.

It wasn’t her fault. Truly it wasn’t! Alyssa kept assuring herself of that as she stumbled along the long rutted lane, dragging the heavy trunk that held her few clothes and personal belongings. It looked as battered as she felt, and the icy rain dripping from a leaden sky only deepened her grim plight.

It wasn’t my fault. The words echoed through her mind like a rhythmic mantra. Doggedly she forced one foot in front of the other, barely even wincing when the heavy trunk caught her heel and nearly sent her sprawling into a deep puddle. She was beyond caring—almost beyond pain and exhaustion.

Lightning crackled overhead, and a fresh gust of wind brought with it the welcome homey scent of a turf fire. The elusive scent had been teasing her for nearly an hour, making her nostrils flare and then slipping away again like a mischievous child playing seek-and-find.

She had no idea whether it was coming from a crofter’s hut or a fine manor, and had long-since ceased caring. She only knew the high thorny hedgerows kept her from plunging through into the fields beyond the lane to search for much-needed shelter. Like it or not, she was forced to continue on and on until she chanced upon a crossroads or some private drive that wound its way into the hills.

It wasn’t my fault. She repeated the litany even as darkness swallowed the sullen clouds, and she had to strain her eyes to avoid treading through a pungent scattering of horse droppings.

She wasn’t a lowly peasant or indentured slave. A gentlewoman fallen on hard times, that’s what the creditors had called her after her father’s death, when she’d discovered that his gambling debts had far outweighed the meager sum in his lockbox. A good girl of good breeding with a fine education that seemed useless now as she trudged wearily along, concentrating only on the next painful step, and then the one after that.

The magistrate, a crony of her father’s, had taken pity on her plight and made inquiries to one Lord Augustus Worthington, a mutual acquaintance, about hiring her as