Murder and Love for Hire on South Street

By Morgan Synatra

The story of the madam of a "bawdy house" on South Street Manhattan at the close of the nineteenth century. Interracial sex, murder, tenderness and cruelty, and murder highlight the stories of the madam and her clientele. Racial slurs, commonly in use at the time, are used throughout the book to illustrate the ignorance of the times. If this offends you, please do not purchase this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Morgan Synatra
• Release date: Dec 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223009832

Morgan Synatra

Morgan Synatra writes erotic short stories in the genres of dystopian sci fi, Master/slave, hucow (human cow), and sissy transformation. These stories are intended for adults over the age of 18. Morgan also loves a steamy erotic romance story with powerful, handsome heroes, evil barons, and women who like their men hard and deep. You can contact Morgan at [e-mail] Or visit Morgan's web site at https://morgansynatra.wixsite.com/morgansynatra-com

Book preview

Murder and Love for Hire on South Street: The Gilded Ladies of the Night

Preface: Some racial epithets and slurs against various minorities are used throughout this story. I have done this merely to illustrate the cultural bias at the time in which this story takes place, and to highlight the ignorance of the people of the time. If you are offended by this, please do not purchase this story.

Chapter 1

Y ou know what I like about you, Maisie?

No, Nathan, what do you like about me? My furry blonde cunt?

That’s certainly one of the things, but the main thing is you remind me of my little sister. She’s a real firecracker, that one, just like you. I remember one morning she fell right into the shitter. She hated sitting on the seat you see, so she’d lift it and squat over the hole. That seat was nothing compared to what was under it! Well, her foot slipped and she fell right in. She was screaming up a storm, her little white nightgown all shit-stained and stinking to high heaven. She even had it on her face. God almighty. Had to run outside and fish her out myself. She reached up her hand to me, standing knee deep in the family turds and hollering like a banshee. God, what a mess. I dragged her down to the creek, pulled that nightgown off her, and threw her into the water. She fought me something fierce and cussed at me when she hit the cold water. I sat on a rock and laughed my ass off. When she was done washing the shit off her body, she stood there naked with her hands on her hips and told me to go get her a clean nightgown. I told her, go get it your own self, and left. She had to run back home naked through the cow pasture holding a branch in front of her. So the next night, she sneaks into my room with a bucket full of shit from the outhouse and pours it on me while I’m sleeping. I screamed like a bear and the old man came running in. He tanned her hide good, so I got the last laugh. He chuckled to himself as he remembered the incident.

So you’re saying I look like I’m covered in shit.

Naw, I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you’re both birds of a feather. You both got a temper and fire in your eyes. I like a woman with some spunk in her.

Maisie held open the maroon velvet curtain on the window that looked out onto South Street. Her thin white cotton chemise clearly showed the outline of the luscious gap between her legs against the light of the street lamp outside, and the pleasures therein. She generally didn’t wear all the layers demanded of ladies’ Edwardian fashion; certainly not in the house, anyway. There were too many men to serve. It was easier just to pull the chemise over her head and spread her legs. Men wanted the tits, too, not just the pussy, and the corset was too much bother for her to take off and put back on so many times a day. She was a practical woman.

Across the street, the dark outline of commercial steam-powered ships and three-masted schooners gently bobbed in the darkness at the docks on the East River. A horseman drove his empty carriage down the street, the horse’s hooves clap-clapping on the cobblestone. Gas streetlights illuminated him as he passed under. Electricity had not come to Manhattan this far south yet. This is where the whores and longshoremen worked, and would probably be the last box checked on the list to be electrified. The rich folk uptown already got their electricity. That’s just how things have always worked, and always will.

The horseman looked up. He smiled and waved as he drove by. Maisie lifted her chemise and flashed him her pussy and tits, then closed the curtain.

Do you want to fuck me Nathan, or are you going to tell me stories all night about the stupid farm you grew up on? I’ve heard all about it for a year now.

I just miss it is all.

She pulled the chemise off over her head and threw it on a chair, then pulled the hairpins from her hair and shook it loose. Her blonde hair came halfway down her back. She reached back and split the hair into two parts, then pulled them around to her front to cover her small breasts.

Now you see them, now you don’t, she said with a smile.

She had a slim waist that flared widely to shapely hips, and there was a wide gap between her thighs at her pussy. Her inner lips were long, teasing him like a thin tongue sticking out from a sideways mouth.

Nathan unbuttoned his shirt and pulled down his wool tweed work pants. He was wearing a sleeveless cotton union suit underneath, his hard on pressed against the thin material.

You know what I like about you, Nathan?

My boyish charm?

No, that bat you have between your legs. You could beat a horse to death with that thing.

The only thing this bat is going to beat is the inside of your cunt, my little whore. I’m going to scramble your eggs from the inside.

Prove it, big man. Let’s see what you got.

He unbuttoned the union suit and stepped out of it. He picked up the girl in his thick arms and tossed her onto the bed.

Do it rough, big daddy. Churn my insides like butter.

He got on top of her and slid his cock inside.

Oh! Fuck, it hurts, asshole!

That thing ought to be good and stretched out by now.

It doesn’t stay stretched out, you know. I’m a delicate flower.

He ignored her and continued fucking. She reached back and grabbed onto the metal rails of the brass bed headboard to steady herself, her underarms thick with dark blonde hair. Shaving was unheard of in those days. The bedsprings creaked something awful, raising a racket that she knew everyone heard, not that it mattered. The other girls all had the same bedsprings.

She rarely had an orgasm with