A brief overview of the culture:
In Terre D'ange, prostitution is considered a religious act, and those that participate are called Servants of Naamah. Velvette is one such, and Carrock a former patron of hers, now her closest friend. Their relationship is interesting.
It was that
night that Velvette found herself properly in the arms of her lord again. She
waited until her wards were well and truly settled in their beds, checking in
on them before she went to him. She also looked in on Evander and Fane, the
former still awake and pouring over a book he no doubt borrowed from her own
library. She had given them free reign, given they would be deathly bored
during their days while Rosa and Gabriel studied.
Then, when
she deemed it safe, she went to him. Carrock was waiting. His sculpted chest
was bare and he sat up in his large bed fit for two, he too reading. His eyes
widened to see her step into his room. Having changed, Velvette was clad in a
soft violet gown, tight around her empire line and low in the bust. She stepped
inside his doorway and shut it softly behind her. Her gown fell to the floor in
one smooth movement. Carrock’s eyes widened still.
Beneath the
gown, Velvette wore nothing whatsoever. Her skin was smooth and pale as
alabaster in the faint moonlight that came through the window. An icy breeze
blew in and she shivered slightly, not with displeasure. She stood before him a moment, but could
resist no longer; stepping towards the bed, she climbed over the foot of it,
angling her behind towards the doorway with an arched back.
Carrock smiled
to see her crawl towards him so. She had ever known how to tease him, he
remembered, her demeanour so joyful in the torture of his desires. He held
himself with pride as she approached, leaving one soft kiss on his lips and
then keeping her face out of reach of his. He carefully folded his book closed,
Caerdicci histories forgotten.
Under the
bedsheets, Velvette could see Carrock’s phallus rising unbidden. She drew back
the sheets, feeling herself wet with desire. Somehow, they always found
themselves here, and she comforted herself in knowing they loved each other,
even in their own way. Nay, they could never marry nor have children together,
but they could love each other from time to time in their own way.
She leaned,
rump in the air, to perform the languisement on her oldest patron and most
treasured friend. He sighed with pleasure, hands fisting her burgundy locks and
eyes sighing closed. Her own arousal built until she could contain it no more,
and it was then that she withdrew her head to kiss him. As she did, she shifted
forwards until she hovered over him, and buried her hands in his ebony hair,
pulling it free of its ties at the nape of his neck.
Breaths
comingling, Carrock bucked his hips and ran his hands over Velvette’s porcelain
skin. Then he gripped her hips steadily and eased her down, gentle but firm,
until he was sheathed inside her to the hilt. Ah, Elua, but he had missed her,
and she him! They sighed together, then began to move, each bucking their hips
in a pattern they easily fell into. They were well accustomed to the body of
the other, and they soon melted into one, until neither was sure where they
ended and the other began.
Finally, in
gasping, raging, violent shakes, Velvette reached her climax, and this in turn
brought Carrock to his. They were so in tune. He fell about in a mess of kisses
on her face, gasping her name and Elua’s, Naamah’s, any that might listen.
Curled up in his arms, she found her peace again, only in the respite she earnt
after attaining her pleasure; such was her nature and the strength of her
desire, and hence her calling.
“Bársony,”
Carrock whispered. “I love you.”
Velvette
sighed. None other than he called her that name, save when she visited her
former Kumpania in Kusheth. “Carrock, I do not go by that name. Not here. Not
to D’Angelines.”
“But it is
your name.”
“Yes, and
no,” she replied. She no longer felt like the young Servant of Naamah she had
when she had entered his bedroom. She felt like the grown woman she was again.
“I go by Velvette. Bársony is my Tsingano name. Elua himself knows what name I
was given at birth.”
Carrock
pulled her tighter. Of all her patrons, he was the only one she had told her
secrets to. She trusted him implicitly, and he her. And in return, he kept her
secrets. He would not call her Bársony in public.
“I must
dress, and return to my room.”
Thus ended
their clandestine meeting, though most likely it would repeat itself the next
night. Velvette no Eglantine pulled her gown over her singing skin, smiling. As
she left the room, she whispered quietly, unsure if Carrock would hear. “I love
you, Carrock.” And she did, in her own way.
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