Brothel

Anzu never knew there were places like that, nasty, stinking holes, with dreadful men in them, like that Mr. Pegasus. She doesn’t see how men could go to them, but she knows they do; and they bring back diseases, and give them to their wives. But not her Seto, certainly, not the man Papa wants her to marry. He’s a gentleman; he comes from a nice family; he’d never go to a horrid place like that. She shudders; he’d never consort with the creatures that live there.

This street is horrid too; it’s dark, and it’s damp, and it smells bad. There’s nasty pools in all the holes in the pavement, and she doesn’t like to think what they might be made of. She lifts her skirt, stepping carefully, looking for a street that will take her out of this place, bring her back to a familiar part of the city.

It’s no use; they all look the same; one dreadful, stinking street after another, all of them just the same. And there aren’t any cabs, of course; there wouldn’t be, would there? These people can’t afford the fare.

*That Mr. Pegasus, all he did was laugh at me.* Only that wasn’t all he did. His hands were white and smooth, pretty, like gentlemen’s hands, but.. he put them in places she’d never let any gentleman put his, not even Seto.


*”Mr. Kaiba comes here, my dear,” laughing pleasantly. “You know him, don’t you?”

“You lie!”

“Waving a hand, palm upward, “why would I do that?” He put his hand on her arm. “Would you like to sit down?”

The air in his little room smelled nasty, like vegetables cooking; poor peoples’ food. He sat too close, one hand around her waist, while the other played with her fingers. “We love your Mr. Kaiba.” His voice was silky. “So pleasant, so fond of all my children.” He laughed. “Especially the blond boy, my Jounuchi. Have you seen him?”

She gasped. “Why would I have done?”

“No reason.” He lifted her hand, kissing her fingers one by one. “Gentlemen don’t bring their paramours to visit young ladies.” Holding her hand, “If I were a young lady, I’d get bored.”

“I’d look for diversion.” Their hands were on her lap; she felt him, suddenly, squeezing someplace she’d thought one couldn’t even reach through all her petticoats.*


She can still feel his hand there… Here’s another narrow street, and it seems darker than the one she’s left. It’s getting late now, and the sun has set completely. She hears a footstep. Turning, she smiles into the face of the pale-haired gentleman. “Won’t you please help me find my way home?” As he comes toward her, “It’s getting dreadfully late…”

He takes her arm; she wonders, suddenly, why his hand is so tight. Then she looks up at his smile.


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He likes poor girls better; no one asks questions when they disappear. But this young lady is too easy: Here she is, all alone in Seven Dials at night; no one knows where she is…

He’s got her on the pavement, lying in the filthy stinking puddles she avoided so carefully before. Her petticoats are around her head. His cock goes in first, and she’s still alive enough to squeak a little, when he goes where no one has been before. Holding her shoulder with one hand, her mouth with the other; fucking her hard while she struggles…

After he’s done that way, his knife takes her. First he makes sure she’ll never tell anyone who did for her; then he cuts some more. The red is so pretty against her white skin.

His suit is ruined, of course, but he’s got a change of clothes at the apartment he keeps down here. By the time he gets back to Mayfair, he’ll be Lord Ryou again, and ready to charm the ladies at the Prince of Wales’ ball. They’ll like him there; the ladies always do.