The Courtesan of Whitechapel is now out on Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1520936 and Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CV7977J7 This is a segment from the start of Chapter 2 where the protagonist, Athena, is seducing her patron George to try and go to a society ball that evening. The story is set in 1903 London and if there is popular demand I'll include more sections soon.
“Why are you doing physical callisthenics today?” he called from his bed, his voice tinged with annoyance. Every morning without fail Athena worked out, building her physique and practising her fisticuffs.
“This body doesn’t build itself, lazy man,” she called back. Rather than relaxing when she had made it to a West End address, she had continued to build her physique, determined to avoid becoming reliant upon a single suitor. Should George not provide all of the opportunities she sought, other options needed to remain open.
Reclining on her back, Athena executed each hip thrust with precision, elevating her hips into the air while firmly holding weights across her knees with one hand. The other hand carefully explored the contours of her buttocks and the back of her leg, ensuring that she was focusing on the targeted muscle area. Whether for better or worse, Athena had attained a remarkable level of definition within her hamstrings, revealing a distinct split between the two prominent muscle groups that adorned few other women’s forms.
“But we might dance at the party tonight,” he protested. “Come back to bed.”
Dancing–that’s hardly exercising.“That’s if you let me come,” she scoffed.
“Please come back,” he pleaded.
“In just a minute,” she murmured, her eyes scanning the pages of the most recent issue of Strength and How to Obtain It to make sure she was performing the exercise correctly. Her fingers traced the detailed drawing of the exercise as she read. “I can still dance after I give my legs and biceps some attention.”
“Well, if you insist on doing them, could you at least perform them with fewer garments? It might be liberating, in any case, and provide for more… entertainment.”
“Mr. Abbott, that isn’t very gentlemanly,” she said through a naughty grin. Athena continued her hip thrusts, each movement deliberate and suggestive. She extended one leg upward with an enticing grace, the subtle contours of her silhouette accentuating the allure of the moment. As if in a daring tease, she briefly caught his gaze stealing a glance at the private curves. She added some purposeful and playful grunts each time she pressed upward amping his desires further.
“I am not concerned with propriety at the moment; I desire a fit and youthful woman by my side rather than beneath me,” he declared boldly, his gaze lingering on her leg.
Allowing her grin to widen, she shot back, “You might be the first passionate old man who can still rise to the occasion that
isn’t seeking a woman beneath him.”
“Well, with the two of us, as you know, I’d prefer you to be on top, or wherever the mistress wants,” he grinned.
“Perhaps if you joined me, you’d understand the importance of physical fitness.” She knew all too well that he had little interest in exerting himself, his indolence serving as a stark contrast to her own relentless dedication to honing her body. It was a reflection of her determination to not merely rely on the whims of a single benefactor, but to create opportunities for herself.
“Oh, I understand. I just like mine in a bed and not below it,” he retorted, his words tinged with innuendo.
George Abbott, her first benefactor, had plucked her up out of the gutter. Well, not literally. He’d found her at a public library. Athena had spent hours there that day, engrossed in scribing a poem, which had become a particular passion of her self-education. Stifled with the unwelcome guest of writer’s block, she reached for a book in a quest to alleviate it. Ironically, she’d been reading a book entitled
Feminine Athletics, which challenged the notion that women should possess a figure that “had powerless arms and a wasplike waist.”
What’s so amusing?” he’d asked, coming to a stop in front of her with a stack of books in his hands.
Athena dropped the book and looked up at him subtly flexing her biceps. Corded muscles popped to attention. “Just the description of a woman as completely helpless.”
“You look far from that,” he said approvingly, his eyes virtually drinking her in. She blushed appropriately and he continued. “But if I’m not mistaken the author also argues that muscular women are powerful. It’s quite controversial.”
“You are correct. And what, pray tell, is your opinion on the matter?” she inquired, acutely aware of his eyes scanning her body, seeking cues about the physique concealed beneath her cherry-red dress. She understood that muscular women typically left people perplexed due to societal conventions. Such unconventional women inevitably raised questions about gender. With people disarmed, she often found herself in an advantageous position around men—a sensation women seldom experienced.
“If I’m not mistaken, I believe that the author compared muscular women to panthers,” he said, his voice slightly shaky as he gulped. She nodded and he continued. “He said that strength development builds the well-strung muscles under polished alabaster skin into rounded and hard-as-marble physicality which one cannot hope to appreciate.”
“I believe so,” she affirmed, licking her lips suggestively. She could sense his discomfort and almost hear his breath quicken as he described a muscular woman.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a woman like that, so I would hesitate to form a definitive opinion.”
She elected to roll the dice and bet that he was both enamoured with muscular women and those with a little authority. “Well, perhaps if you’ll show this lady around the town, you’ll catch a glimpse of an athletic woman unbound by convention.” Her statement was remarkably forward for a woman of that era, but she sensed that it would only stoke his desire. It came out even more boldly than she had intended, but something told her he would respond favourably.
She all but observed the gears turning in his mind, as if she could witness his inner turmoil. After a brief pause, he finally responded, “I’d like that.”
He tilted his head in contemplation before smiling, dropping his stack of books, and offering her his elbow. They walked out of the library together, arm and arm, knowingly defying societal conventions, and embraced the warmth of a surprisingly pleasant spring day. It didn’t take long for her to disclose her profession and her aspiration to find financial security through a single suitor.
“Well,” he stammered uncomfortably. “Since my wife passed. I… I think I could fulfil that role.” A few hours later, she had skillfully taken control, entwining herself atop him and securing him with leather straps, his groans turning into ecstatic sighs. Her sweaty, sinewy, extreme muscularity pulsed with mass that produced a flash of emasculating insecurity within him. Her size and confidence subverted the traditional gender order of their impending relationship. It was the dawning of an emphatic femininity that he came to worship. Minutes after that, he willingly acknowledged her newfound dominance as his superior and fervently begged for more.
Though a dozen years older, he worshipped her, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit that she cherished the attention. The way he valued her intellectual ability was highly irregular for the time. As a solicitor with deteriorating eyesight, when he brought his work home she read his papers to him aloud. When she stopped and asked questions or made suggestions, he didn’t brush her off. He was patient and at times accepted her advice. Though he appreciated her mind, he was enraptured with her body.
“Which is it to be, Mr. Abbott,” she teased, “Courtier or courtesan?” She laughed as her paramour blushed. “Don’t answer. It’s more fun to leave it unspoken for the time-being.”
She moved over to one of the machines George had purchased for her, an arm-exercise machine invented by Dr. Gustav Zander. The device used a variety of cables and weighted pulleys to produce resistance and enforce rigid adherence to proper form. It was not simply a toy for Athena’s amusement; it was a deliberate investment in Athena’s physical prowess, and her continued improvement. One that allowed George to become a voyeur, indulging in the rewarding spectacle of watching her sculpt her strength. The idea that his money was helping build her muscles struck a chord within George. He understood that, in a way, he was part of facilitating her continuing transformation. He was the silent patron helping her lay the foundation for the building blocks of her physique. It helped provide a unique connection between them.
Athena spent several minutes going through the variety of exercises the machine permitted, then released the handles and took a deep, cleansing breath. Her powerful pecs bulged from beneath the fabric and wide nipples stung her top. She smirked as George’s eyes were drawn to the valley of her pectoral cleavage and her brawny shoulders.
After all,” she declared, rising and effortlessly lifting two dumbbells and proceeding to curl them slowly upwards. “If men around here are so badly behaved, an honest woman needs to be able to defend herself.” A triumphant grin adorned her face as the weights intensified the growing pump in her muscles. Both of them knew George couldn’t lift one repetition of the weight but she seemed to move it up and down again and again with confident ease. The muscles in her arms bulged with definition as she continued the controlled ascent, the veins on her arms surfacing with increasing prominence as the repetitions continued. Athena choreographed each movement with an unspoken allure.
George gulped. “I think most men would be smart enough to leave a woman like you alone, despite the uh...temptations.” A subtle sense of inadequacy gripped him, his eyes involuntarily drifting down to his own arms, perhaps measuring them against the display of Athena’s strength. An appreciative yet unsettling leer crept onto his face. His desire mixed with an uneasy acknowledgment that at will she could easily overpower him.
“One can never be too sure,” she replied, the rhythmic repetition of her movements accentuating the sculpted grace of her arms. The sinewy fibres literally rippled beneath her taut, glistening skin. With each repetition, her muscles seemed to swell further, captivating George and leaving him mum. As she squeezed out a last few reps, the intricate dance of tendons tightened, exerting force on the bulbous muscles that crested into a formidable, sinewy mound.
Finally, she dropped the weights and it felt like the room exhaled as the spell of her performance ended. Raising her arms into a triumphant flex with a subtle grin played on her lips, she asked, “Do you think I can protect myself?” The room seemed to shrink in comparison to the magnitude of her presence. Her eyes fluttered with the power and her vein filled biceps shimmered. She felt as the hot blood surging through her ropy veins, pushing the pump to even greater heights.
George was visibly awestruck, and a subtle grin adorned Athena’s visage in response. His eyes traced the contours of her sculpted arms. “Yes, oh my, yes. And me too. You’re amazing, simply amazing.”
“Amazing, indeed, but still confined in isolation. Some men prefer to leave their women alone at their home putting them in a gilded cage. That’s why I have to be strong enough to break out of those constraints.” She knew he got the message, but he failed to respond causing the disquiet to linger between them.
