Courtesan (Patreon)

I have a weakness for historical captions... 😁

I think this unfortunate young gentleman is probably in for a life of corsets instead of breeches! 

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Standing outside Grande Armée Major Théodore Morjuet’s impressive manor, Oliver waited for what had taken so long and cost him so dearly: a meeting. Napoleon’s forces were rampaging across Europe, and there seemed little doubt he’d soon turn his greedy eyes on England. Oliver’s commanders had gotten word Morjuet would divulge Napoleon’s battle plans in exchange for a sizeable reward.

“You will seek out Morjuet in Normandy,” Admiral Lockwood had said. “And you will bring word of Napoleon’s plans back to England.”

“Yes, sir,” Oliver had said, pleased to be assigned this mission.

“Do not be too eager,” Lockwood replied. “There is a wrinkle. You see, you will be disguised as a woman.”

“But sir! I’m no woman. I’m a marine.”

The admiral frowned. “Although you have no feminine mannerisms to speak of, you are the most diminutive soldier in your company. Also, I spotted you in last summer’s regimental performance of Romeo and Juliette. You made for an extremely convincing Juliette. How long did you work on perfecting that feminine contralto?”

Oliver squirmed. “Just a few months, sir,” he’d mumbled.

“And it is that contralto which you will use to charm your way through France. They are looking everywhere for spies, but English courtesans are sadly commonplace. Now, you will first be sent south to spend time with a Frenchwoman named Carmine. She will coach you in the ways of a courtesan. Then you will travel to Paris dressed as a woman, where you will meet Morjuet and charm him into giving you whatever information he has. But you must be careful. If you are discovered, we will not be able to help you. You will be on your own. Do you understand?”

Oliver nodded, a pit stirring in his gut. He knew all too well the price of failure.

“Good. Take this letter to Mrs. Carmine. She will give you a woman’s name and station in life to aid you in your disguise. You will also be given tinctures to make you look far more feminine. Something Mrs. Carmine has devised. I am told it is not permanent.”

Now, nearly one year later, Oliver peered down at the breasts he’d sprouted under Mrs. Carmin’s careful ministration. They certainly seemed permanent enough...

A gruff-looking French soldier appeared in the doorway. “Mademoiselle, before the Major will meet you, I must inspect you to make sure you are suitable. Take off your gown and undo your corset.”

With a gulp, Oliver began to disrobe. The still-unfamiliar weight of his breasts made him careful as he removed his bodice, corset, and chemise. He felt more vulnerable than ever before. The French soldier, hair chopped short, face scarred like a veteran’s, did not try to disguise his lust as Oliver stood in nothing but a corset and wig.

“You will do,” the soldier declared. “Now follow me.”

Oliver was escorted into the manor and led to the drawing-room. A man dressed in a French officer’s uniform stood near the fireplace, his back to the door. The soldier stalked forward and spoke in rapid French. The officer turned and looked Oliver up and down as if he were inspecting a horse. No doubt this was Major Morjuet. His lip curled when his gaze settled on Oliver’s chest.

“You are my gift from the Admiralty?” Morjuet said in heavily-accented English.

Oliver shook his head in confusion. “Gift? I don’t understand.”

“You are a gift. To me. I made my demands clear. I would not betray the Emperor for anything less than fifteen thousand gold doubloons, and a young man with nice breasts like a woman, and a pleasant face. I must say they have outdone themselves. I did not think they could find someone suitable for my unusual tastes. You will be my toy until I tire of you, then I will send you back to your masters.”

Oliver’s mind was reeling. The idea of someone making demands of his body was so foreign he had difficulty comprehending it. “Sir, you must be mistaken. Admiral Lockwood would never give me as a gift.”

“You are no prisoner,” Morjuet hissed. “Yet. You may leave. But either you are mine, or England is doomed.”

Oliver’s life seemed to melt away from him as Morjuet strode toward him. Although Admiral Lockwood had betrayed him, he could not let England down. “All right, sir,” Oliver said, dropping to a curtsy. “I... I am yours.”