<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/69/Marguerite_Tuerny01.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Marguerite Tuerny<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 1, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Camp Gǒu<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Nathan Hunter, Closed<br/><hr/>She considered.<strong>"Coercition..."</strong>The French word for duress was perfectly understandable even if he didn't know a word of the language.<strong>"Non.  [I was... perhaps it was my best option to not starve or freeze, but I could have walked away.]" </strong>And she'd been crying at the time.  Sarge had left her.  Walked off, never, she suspected to return.  He wasn't happy about it, she could tell didn't want to leave her, but his choices were to leave or to fight and die.  She thought maybe he would have fought - if his death could have saved her.  But it wouldn't help her if he died, and they both knew it.  So he left her alone with a gang of Chinese coolies, and they shared her for weeks before the supervisor found out about her and forced them to sell her, making her sign the contract as part of the exchange.  Oddly, the supervisor never touched her - he barely looked at her in fact.  But he did vend her contract, and she ended up in the guard's tent.  Rooster normally couldn't have afforded her - but he'd just returned to camp after winning big at one of the Gomorra casinos, and he blew most of his winnings on her contract.  Though the whole tent put money into the pot, more than half came from the Big Cock.<br/><br/>Making sure the supervisor found out about her at just the right time was one of her proudest moments.  She was a woman alone and helpless in a camp full of vicious little men who spoke an alien language.  And she'd learned enough about the men and about how things worked and enough of their language that she got sold into exactly the tent she wanted.  All without ever revealing she was directing any of the moves.  But those plans, while something to be proud of if you looked at them in a skewed way, those plans were now useless.  This man arrived and with him came a new plan. A better plan.  The were fucking now in all but reality - their healthy, hearty bodies grinding into each other in rapid and complex rhythm, her hot sex grinding along his length through both of their trousers.  It would be so easy to undo the string holding up her pants - to undo his belt and the fasteners of his trousers... So easy...  Yet, he'd feel bad about it even though she could give him the ride of his life.<br/><br/><strong>"[Two days.]"</strong>She agreed as she pushed herself off his chest while continuing the sway and grind riding him now while upright.  Her hands pressed hard into his shoulders, slender arms snaked forward as she worked her flexible magic with torso and shoulder and pelvis, her heavy mounds just elastic enough to slightly defy gravity as they slapped against her ribs, the undercurves skimming over his broad chest.<br/><br/><strong>"Marguerite Tuerny"</strong>She replied, her name the same of course no matter what language she spoke.<strong>"Late of Baltimore."</strong>She wondered if he had heard of her - her father after all was at times very rich indeed, a real player in Westward development with his investments and  patronage of explorers, inventors, and prospectors.   And though he probably wasn't old enough to remember  - her parent's romance was big news in the Social Section of every paper from Boston to Charleston - the French Princess and the Rail Tycoon.  And of course, even without all that, she was supposedly a property owner in Gomorra - a town that was near enough to the camp that workers sometimes went there to blow off steam or buy luxuries at prices below Company rates.<strong>"Are you from Gomorra?"</strong>She asked in return.<strong>"What brings you to Iron Dragon Construction Camp Gǒu?"</strong>She asked.<strong>"Mister..."</strong>She let the title hang as an implied question.<br/>