A few minutes later — after the pharmacist had gently but firmly kicked us out with a wink and a "show's over, boys" — I finally broke the heavy, horny silence.
"Alright," I sighed. "Let's go. Let's head to the brothel."
Thorne nodded so hard I thought his neck might snap.
We used the two copper coins we'd just earned and grabbed two warm, crusty loaves of bread from the street vendor on the corner. Munching happily as we walked, the tension from the pharmacy slowly melted away. Soon we stepped into the lively red-light district and stopped in front of the biggest, most luxurious building in the whole village — The Velvet Rose Brothel.
Golden lanterns glowed softly outside. Gentle music and laughter drifted through the open windows. The air was thick with sweet perfume and expensive incense.
We pushed open the heavy oak doors and walked straight to the polished counter.
Behind it sat the owner herself — the stunning MILF Seraphine Vale. She was fast asleep, cheek squished cutely against her folded arms, her massive breasts softly pillowing against the desk with every peaceful breath.
I reached over and gave her shoulder a gentle shake.
"Miss Seraphine…"
She stirred with an adorable little yawn, blinked sleepily, then her whole face lit up with the warmest, most motherly smile I'd ever seen.
"Ahh~ My little brothers!" she cooed, voice soft and affectionate like we were her favorite kids in the entire world. "You guys came~ Here, take these."
She stretched lazily — which did incredible things to her chest — and handed each of us a broom.
"You know what to do."
Thorne and I answered in perfect sync, polite and well-trained. "Yes, ma'am."
Then we grabbed the brooms and headed off to start cleaning the rooms and halls like we did every single day.
---
I was halfway through cleaning one of the guest rooms when the full horror of the job hit me like a war crime.
Used condoms littered the floor like discarded party balloons. Thick, sticky ropes of semen had dried into crusty white streaks across the sheets and carpet. Dried squirt stains formed abstract art on the headboard and even the damn wall. The whole room smelled like a mix of sex, sweat, and cheap perfume.
I sighed, rolled up my sleeves, grabbed a damp cloth, and got to work scrubbing everything spotless. By the time I was done rearranging the messy bedsheets into perfect hospital corners, the room actually looked respectable again.
To my genuine surprise, Thorne was being a good boy for once. He worked quietly beside me, wiping down the furniture without a single complaint.
From the room right next door, the thin walls let through every muffled sound of the night's business: giggles, haggling over prices, and the occasional breathy moan slipping through like background music.
A few minutes later, of course, Thorne got bored.
He dropped his rag, stretched like he owned the place, and started strutting down the hallway humming a victory tune, spinning on his heels like some kind of brothel prince.
Madam Seraphine glanced up from the counter, saw him, and just smiled fondly while shaking her head. To her we were still the same two little orphan boys she'd been feeding and scolding for years.
Thorne was mid-spin when — BAM! — a huge, ugly thug coming out of another room shoulder-checked him hard enough to rattle teeth.
The brute stopped, turned, and shoved his scarred face inches from Thorne's.
"What's up, bro?!" he snarled, spit flying everywhere. "You wanna hit me?!"
Thorne calmly wiped the saliva off his cheek with the back of his hand.
Then he leaned in until their noses almost touched and grinned like an idiot.
"Ohh bro," he said cheerfully, "do you wanna hit me?"
The two morons stood there practically spitting in each other's faces like stray tomcats in heat.
Madam Seraphine had seen enough.
SMACK! SMACK!
Her hand moved faster than lightning. Both Thorne and the thug spun in perfect circles and face-planted onto the wooden floor with matching thuds.
I couldn't hold it in.
I burst out laughing so hard I had to clutch the doorframe, tears streaming down my face.
In my past life I died from overwork.
In this one I was going to die laughing at my best friend getting bitch-slapped by a brothel madam.
---
While Thorne and the thug were still groaning on the floor and I was clutching my stomach laughing, the front doors of the Velvet Rose suddenly SLAMMED open with a violent bang.
Ten real bandits stormed in — scarred, armed to the teeth, and radiating pure murderous intent.
The laughter died in my throat.
The entire brothel plunged into suffocating silence. Every mug stopped mid-air. Girls on the balconies froze. Customers slowly set their drinks down without a sound. The air itself turned thick and heavy, pressing down on everyone's chest like an invisible hand. These weren't drunk village thugs. These were killers. Men who had spilled blood before and clearly enjoyed it.
Thorne's face went bone-white. He let out a pathetic squeak and scrambled behind Madam Seraphine, clutching the back of her dress like a terrified toddler. My body moved on pure instinct — I darted behind her too, peeking out from her side with my heart trying to punch through my ribs.
"Big Sis…" we both whispered at the exact same time, voices shaking, "w-who… who are these guys?"
Madam Seraphine stood tall and regal behind the counter, completely unfazed. Not a single hair out of place. Not even a blink.
In a flat, ice-cold voice she asked:
"Gentlemen… state your business."
The bandit leader — a tall brute with a jagged scar splitting his cheek — stepped forward and raked his eyes over her body with open contempt.
"We want your best woman for the night," he drawled, smirking. "And we're not paying a single copper."
His men chuckled darkly, hands already drifting toward their weapons.
Madam Seraphine's expression never changed.
"No."
The bandits laughed louder and started advancing.
They never stood a chance.
In the blink of an eye, she moved.
She was a storm in human form.
The first bandit lunged — she stepped inside his swing, drove two fingers into his throat, and dropped him gurgling. The second swung a club; she caught his wrist, twisted, and used his own momentum to slam him face-first into the counter so hard the wood cracked. The third tried to stab — she spun, elbowed his nose into a bloody pulp, then kicked him so violently between the legs that he actually left the ground before collapsing.
One by one they fell. Screams turned to gurgles. Weapons clattered uselessly to the floor. In less than twenty seconds, all ten hardened killers were groaning in a broken heap around her feet.
Madam Seraphine calmly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, looked down at the carnage, and spoke in the same soft, motherly tone she always used with us:
"Clean this mess up before the girls see it, okay, little brothers?"
Thorne and I stared at her from behind the counter, jaws on the floor.
In my past life I died at a desk.
In this one… I was apparently being raised by a goddamn final boss.