<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/e/e4/Natehunter.png/437px-Natehunter.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Nathan Hunter<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Senior Deputy (Law Dogs)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 1, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Camp Gǒu<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Margeurite, Closed<br/><hr/>“<strong>[A crime,]</strong>” he agreed, giving a small groan, grateful for the moment for the cessation of movement and the bare chance it afforded at regaining his composure.<strong>“[No, that's... not illegal in California.  You have to have been... tried... found guilty...]” </strong>He shook his head, finding it impossible to explain at the moment.<strong>“[Contract's...not lawful.  Trust me,]”</strong>he said a hand stroking up and down her bare side to reassure her.  For a moment he simply reveled in her, in the beauty of her breasts as they swayed, while she took in a breath, in the momentary cessation of the activities which had him straining so hard against his trousers.  The memory of her poor husband was slipping with the tiny sheen of sweat in the valley of her breasts, and he lifted a hand to cup, to gently caress one heavy mound.<br/><br/>He blinked at the question, flushing a with shame.<strong>“[Uh... Twenty dollars,]”</strong>he admitted.  Despite his profession, he meticulously avoided the brothels.  In Gomorra it would have bought him a beautiful woman for the evening and part of the morning.<strong>“[I mean... ten minutes.]”</strong>He gave another small groan when she dismounted, his trousers tenting as though they might burst the fastenings on their own at any moment.  He started to sit up, presuming his explanation of the time had brought it to an end.  Then her hands moved confidently over his trousers, freeing him, his hips giving a small jerk as her hand slipped within the waist and wrapped around him.<em>Take care of ...</em>He blinked and his eyes widened.<strong>”No, you don't have to … </strong>”<br/><br/>He felt crude for enjoying the touch of her fingers, the stroke of her hand, the sight of her breasts bobbling in the gas light.  He licked his lips, the awaiting husband drifting to the far corners of his mind.  He was just having the thought of the mess he might make himself, moving to turn on his side in the hopes that it would at least cover the floor instead of his suit.  Then her mouth descended, and he gave another syllableless protest, reaching a hand to stop her until her angelic mouth wrapped around the crown of his cock.  He gasped again, unaware of the titters of Chinese outside the tent, the amused speculation that she must like him indeed to try to finish him off twice in ten minutes.   He gave another groan, low and deep and throaty, the hand which had been bound to stop her instead sliding over her neck, tangling in her hiar.  There was a brief tightening of fingers, as if he meant to seize control and slam the thick shaft to the back of her throat, but again restraint compelled him.<br/><br/><strong>“God in heaven,”</strong>he groaned aloud, praying to a deity, though perhaps part of him would much rather be supplicating to the goddess on her knees in front of him.  He did his best to keep his temperament, to abide by gentlemanly conduct, but there was a certain truth to the core ideas of the laws of manners and breeding – an acknowledgment by Victorian philosophy that beneath even the most civilized of men was a primal savage.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m3q9jdqfFs1qbujxso1_400.jpg)</div>She'd coaxed the tiger from it's den, and when his hand suddenly tightened on her neck, when she felt a surprisingly strong hand take hold of her neck, He took a measured breath, slow and controlled, then his hips thrust upward, forcing more of it into her mouth than just the tantalizing work her expert tongue did on his cockhead.  He groaned again, though this time it sounded more a growl of desire, a savage beast that had finally beaten back the bars of its civilized prison.  When he was spent,, the beast could be brought sulking back into prison, ensconced by guilt and obligation.  But in the moment, there was only the savage hunger hidden deep below the surface, too long repressed, and his shaft stroked in and out of her mouth, his hand tight on her neck keeping her in place while he worked to sate himself.    She would have him – bound by her body, drawn by his arousal and wrapped around a finger.<br/><br/>He pulled the head free from her skillful lips, the light of the fire snuffing out.  Quick, agile hands rolled her back onto the bedding, a hand yanking her canvas pantaloons up her thighs.  He covered her with his body, his weight sinking into her, that whiskered mouth covering hers with a kiss that was rough and hungry.  He didn't align himself expertly – his hand was shaking with desire, but he gripped his shaft, the fat crown slapping over her little tiny pearl of pleasure before finding the warm wet it sought.  He shoved into her, ramming into her in the darkness, his hips beginning to rut like the most common of animals.<br/><br/>“Margeurite,” he growled in her ear, her wicked wiles undoing the last semblance of self control.  A hand slipped to her cheek, a smal, gentle touch as a finger drifted over her mouth while he rode her in the darkness, his shaft buried inside of her.