The New World
Copyright© 2024 by Dark Apostle
Chapter 17: Marketplace of Degradation
Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 17: Marketplace of Degradation - The story follows James Smith, a man who dies and finds himself in a surreal afterlife courtroom, where his life is judged as "zero sum"—neither good nor evil, just utterly average. Dissatisfied with being consigned to eternal mediocrity, he manipulates the cosmic bureaucracy into granting him a second chance in a new world, where he is reincarnated as a child with his memories intact and perks... - edited by my lovely Steven.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Mult Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fan Fiction Farming High Fantasy Rags To Riches Restart Alternate History DoOver Extra Sensory Perception Body Swap Furry Magic Incest Mother Sister Politics Royalty Violence AI Generated
Anna led James through the bustling lanes of Castletown, the scent of bakeries competing with the reek from tanneries in the autumn air, until they reached a narrow, tucked-away storefront painted a fading blue. The sign above the door was nothing fancy—just “Maddoc & Sons: Tailors” scrawled in gilt. Inside, the air was cool and heavy with dust, bolts of rich wool and linen stacked high on every surface. The shop smelled of old money and mothballs, and the clutter was barely contained, as if the owner couldn’t decide whether to run a business or hoard every scrap of cloth in the city.
Maddoc himself, a wiry, ancient man with a hunch and sharp, appraising eyes, paused mid-stitch when Anna swept in, her heels clicking with that predatory confidence only a whore-queen could have. She had James by the arm, her nails painted blood red, her smile all fangs. Maddoc’s gaze climbed up James’s body—lingering on the arms thick with corded muscle, the broad chest, the scars peeking from under his cheap shirt. For a second, the old man looked confused.
Anna’s hand landed possessively on James’s chest. “This will be my new lover,” she purred, squeezing his pec like she was showing off prized cattle. “And as such, I want him dressed appropriately.”
Maddoc’s mouth worked for a moment. “You must be a good fuck to tame Anna,” he said, voice rough with amusement.
James didn’t even blink. “I pounded her so hard she shit herself.”
“Twice,” Anna added, her grin wolfish, eyes glittering with pride. “I saw him pound a womam from the marketplace and knew I needed to try him.”
Maddoc barked a laugh. “Gods, word will get around. So, what are you after, then? Aside from breaking women in half.”
James was all business now. “Clothing for events—an outfit that’ll make people stare. Another outfit that I can disappear in, when I need to blend into the shadows.”
Maddoc sucked his teeth, circling James, eyes narrowed. “That might be a bit difficult, given the sheer bulk of you,” he admitted, grabbing a tape measure and stretching it across James’s shoulders. “I’ll need half a tent just for your chest.”
Anna laughed, and James just smirked, taking the comment as the compliment it was. Maddoc worked fast, measuring every inch, sometimes mumbling to himself about the cost of fabric, sometimes just grinning like a man who’d been handed a puzzle. Anna leaned against a table, openly watching James, her tongue tracing her lower lip, clearly relishing the spectacle of him being sized up like a prized bull.
As Maddoc took his notes, he paused, finger hovering over a notepad. “You want silk, wool, or something a little more ... resistant to stains?” His eyes twinkled. “Given your praise from Anna, I’d suggest something you can just hose off when you’re done.”
Anna grinned, “Something sturdy. He gets rough.”
James shot her a look that promised more of the same. The tailor nodded, chuckling,
James shot Anna a look that promised she’d be limping home again before the week was out, and she just smirked, proud and insatiable. The old tailor—Maddoc—kept on chuckling, tapping his quill against his pad, eyes darting between the two of them like he was half-expecting James to fuck her right there on his measuring stool. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said with a sly wink. “Give me a few days. Maybe warn the laundresses this time, eh? Don’t want to ruin any more fine linen with your ... exploits.”
James grinned, rolling his shoulders, feeling the tailor’s tape tighten around his bicep. “Also, I need gear for daily use. Nothing flashy—just solid, hard-wearing stuff. I don’t want to walk around looking like I’ve just pissed away a year’s wages on new threads.”
Maddoc scribbled that down, peering over his spectacles. “Understood. You want to look like you belong in the streets, not in a noble’s lap. Practical. Smart. Anything else?”
“A cloak,” James added, voice dead serious.
The tailor looked up, quirking an eyebrow. “Why a cloak?”
James shrugged. “It’s cool.”
That caught Anna off guard; she snorted, covering her mouth with her hand, and even Maddoc couldn’t suppress a grin. “Of course it’s cool. Who doesn’t want a bit of mystery, eh?” The old man shook his head, muttering to himself as he rummaged through piles of swatches—heavy wool, battered leather, and one faded scrap that looked like it had seen more weather than most farmhands. “But I get it about the money. You don’t want to look like a walking target, not in this city.”
“Nailed it,” James nodded, eyes locked with the tailor’s. He could feel Anna watching him, hunger and approval mingling in her gaze. The entire exchange felt like a game, the kind where everyone was in on the joke—except maybe the city guards who’d have to deal with the aftermath if anyone tried to mug him.
“Before we go any further, who is going to pay for this? Once I start cutting, the material is yours. So I will need to have half upfront.”
James smiled, “I will be paying you. Let me know the cost, and I will give you the coins before you start. In fact, if you can give me the price now, I will pay you now.”
Hearing that, Maddoc moved with unexpected energy, darting around James with a tailor’s confidence, pinning fabric in place, tugging at seams, making little marks with chalk that vanished almost as fast as they appeared. He muttered about chest size, thigh circumference, and how “it’s like sewing for a fucking horse.” Anna offered opinions now and then—she wanted deep greens and midnight blues for the evening wear, earth tones for the street clothes, all of it rugged, masculine, impossible to mistake for a noble’s. “He needs to look dangerous, not expensive,” she declared, and Maddoc nodded, scribbling.
As Maddoc finished up, he ran a calloused hand over a bolt of heavy wool, holding it up to James’s frame. “Cloak will be like this—keeps the rain off, good for hiding bloodstains if you get into trouble. Hood’s deep enough to shadow your face. You’ll blend right in—assuming you don’t smile. That grin’s got ‘trouble’ written all over it.”
Anna laughed, sliding her arm around James’s waist. “He’ll behave, for at least the first five minutes.”
James grinned wider, enjoying the simple truth: he looked like a monster, but tonight, dressed in rags or silk, he’d be the one everyone remembered.
“I will do your cloak first. Then one suit per week. And you will have to come back for a final fitting for each one. Once that is done, I will finish the clothes. Where shall I have them delivered?” Maddoc asked, already gathering up swatches and scribbled notes.
“My brothel,” Anna said, her grin devilish. The tailor’s eyebrows shot up, but he just nodded, as if whores, legends, and monsters were all in a day’s work for a man who’d seen every kind of flesh and scandal pass through his door.
“I will need to see to cloth availability before I can give you a final price. I will have a boy bring you the costs by tomorrow night. Can you read or should I send it to Anna?”
“I can read, but send it to her brothel as I am staying there,” James replied.
Anna put her hand on his arm, approving, and together they stepped out into the sharp daylight, Fel rising from where he’d been sprawled on the cobbles. The massive Fenrir yawned, a jaw full of teeth snapping shut as he stretched, tail swishing with lazy menace.
They made their way through the morning crowds. Market-goers parted, whispering about the brute with the wolf and the whore-queen at his side, but James barely noticed. He was already thinking about what came next. The city felt different now—like something he could mold, shape, and claim. He took her back to the brothel. “Fel, let’s go see what they are doing to the tavern.”
“Why, it is a ruin and should be torn down.”
James laughed. “If I tear it down, it will take a year to rebuild. I need it sooner.”
Back at his new tavern, the work had begun. The place was a chaos of laborers, each shouting and cursing ... Sawdust hung in the air, catching the sunbeams that managed to sneak through the broken, grime-encrusted windows. Two masons argued over the best way to reinforce a load-bearing wall, hands and faces smeared with lime. A pair of sweating boys hauled rotten timbers out into the alley, tossing them onto an ever-growing pile of junk that would later be sold for firewood or, more likely, stolen by beggars. He didn’t care either way; it would be gone and no longer his concern.
Walter, the carpenter, came up to James and laid out the plan. “First, we are going to rip everything out. It is so old and decrepit that it’s cheaper to replace. Once the place is empty, Richard over there will start fixing the walls so the roof won’t fall in.”
Which one is Richard?” James asked.
‘The tall one, the master mason. The short guy is William, his journeyman.”
“What is the timeframe for all of this?”
“We will have the place empty by tomorrow. It always goes fast when we don’t have to save anything. I can’t tell you how long for the walls until I get told. I’ve worked with Richard before, and he does quality work.
Once the walls are done, the roof is next. No reason to start on the inside until then. One rain shower would ruin any work. The roof will only take a week since we are going to put extra men on it. You told me to hurry, and that always costs. Do you still feel that way?”
“Yes, the speed is important, and if a few more coins can speed things up, all the better.”
Walter continued, “Assume we start on the inside in a month. That will give time for the blacksmith to get a stove ready. It will take another month to finish the insides so you can open.”
“Ugh! Is there anything that could be done to shorten the time?” James complained.
“Only one thing, pray to your god for good weather. If it rains, we can’t work on the roof. And this is a small building. If you put too many people in here, they will trip over themselves.”
“Could we work at night with a second shift?”
“The town council would have to approve it. Do you have enough to bribe them? Even if you did, it wouldn’t be worth the money. At most, you’d save a week. I’ve got my apprentices working on the fence. It needs to be done, but it’s a different area than the building.”
“Walter, I appreciate what you have done, but this is my first project and I am anxious.”
“You are no different than anyone else. They spend years saving for their dream, and so they want it immediately.”
“Thank you. I will come in a couple of days and see the progress.”
James walked out in the yard, a journeyman carpenter measured for a new fence, his apprentice lugging fence posts and cursing every time he stubbed his toe. Someone had started hacking at a stubborn patch of brambles near the privy, discovering a cluster of rat nests and a half-rotted boot.
Fel padded into the main room, his heavy paws leaving dusty prints. He sniffed at a barrel, eyed the laborers with detached hunger, and finally flopped down in the shade, tail thumping. “I cannot wait to hunt again,” Fel declared, his deep voice rumbling, making the nearest carpenter drop his hammer.
“I will bring the best meat.”
“Of that I’m certain,” James said. Let’s go back to the Brothel and see what is available,
“I am hungry,” Fel rumbled, his massive jaws cracking in a wide yawn that showed off teeth like daggers.
“There are no rockbirds in this area,” James replied, giving the wolf a sideways look as he rummaged through Anna’s pantry. There was not enough meat to feed Fel.
“Fine. I shall hunt something,” Fel announced, already pushing to his feet. His muscles rippled beneath that thick pelt. Fel stretched—first his front legs, then his haunches. He picked a direction, nose twitching, then gathered himself and leapt. It was more than a jump; it was a fucking launch. For a heartbeat, James and everyone else got a perfect view of the wolf’s massive underbelly soaring over the alley.
Fel landed with a thunderous crash somewhere beyond the brothel’s walls, the impact rattling windows and making a flock of crows shriek into the sky. A moment later, a woman’s scream pierced the afternoon air—sharp, frightened, and then quickly stifled. James heard the mutterings of apologies in that deep, grumbling voice: “Pardon me, madam ... My apologies, child...” Then another leap, heavier and more distant, and the city echoed with the sound of tile roofs giving way and startled dogs barking.
James shook his head, grinning. Only in Castletown could his kitchen be empty and his pet monster go shopping for dinner by terrorizing half the neighborhood. Somewhere out there, Fel was hunting—and soon enough, there’d be fresh meat on the fire.
Standing at the end of the alley was a man who looked like he belonged on a stage, not skulking around the back alleys of Castletown. He was short and fat, with a round belly and a grin stretched across his face so wide it looked painted on—more like the Joker than any merchant James had ever seen. A top hat perched at a cocky angle over thinning black hair. He leaned on a cane of polished ebony, its head capped in silver—elegant, almost theatrical, and probably heavy enough to crack a skull. He wore sharp trousers, a fine tunic, and a long coat with elegant tails—all of it black and deep purple. In this world, purple was a color you didn’t wear unless you were wealthy or mad enough to invite envy.
“Who are you?” James demanded, stepping forward, eyes flicking over every detail—the polished shoes, the rings on his fingers, the subtle way the man kept one hand wrapped around the cane’s silver head.
“I am Beloukas,” the stranger said, bowing with a flourish, his smile never wavering. “And I have an offer just for you. Business, I assure you!” He let out a cackle that sent a chill down Subotai’s spine. “I can offer you help—cheap labor, the best in the city, for a reasonable price, of course.”
James didn’t answer immediately. He took in the cut of the coat, the sharp creases in the man’s trousers, the glimmer of wealth without the crassness of a noble. A man like this had coin—and connections—but he was showing off for a reason.
James kept his face neutral. “Fine, I’ll take a listen to your offer. Subotai, stay here. Keep an eye on things.”
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