Not written by my hand but by voice; I sing of my life and last days as a courtesan to the Roman Empire. Love denies my heart its deepest emotion and sorrow now consumes the essence that gives breath to this body. To deny my heart is to deny the very fabric of life that covers every single living person, animal and heavenly entity. When the last echo of the note is sung, I shall die and take my love with me unto the Elysian Fields.
As Love spurns my advancements, so it is with this recollection that I shall take my vengeance upon Love, taking her beauty and romance away, filling it with sexual misdeeds that laughs in the face of romance and takes its true form as Eros; the love of lust or lust of love that consumes my burning core.
My dearest and most trusted friend Marcus Cassius sits now, listening to every word, recording each phrase so that I will have my place in Rome's History.
I am 18 years old, youngest daughter, Illaria to Lavinia, Woman of Rome, courtesan to men whose power within Rome itself is vast and thunderous in use. To name each would be treasonous yet their conduct shall not go unheard. My mother in her day was shared and shared alike for her beauty was beyond Heaven. Her feline eyes were shaded green, akin to the precious stones that have travelled from Persia. Her lips full, stained in rouge often could be seen attached to some Roman General's cock. Her tongue circling the head of the engorged member as she gripped the base firmly with one hand, the general's eyes widening at the strength my mother possessed within her small, dainty hands. Her mouth would encase the entire cock in one swift movement, her cheeks concaving as she sucked the flesh from the warrior taking him deeper still as she massaged the sack that hung from his body.
Lavinia's skin was the colour of singed papyrus, slightly dark yet not entirely black. Often she would bathe in water scented with the oils of the rose and coloured white by the milk that was to soften her skin from the harsh, unforgiving sun. During my tutelage; I would watch my mother and her many patrons, hidden by sails of material that hung from the marbled ceilings. Into the water she would walk naked, her hair in tiny braids elaborately coiled upon her head. She would mischievously look at me, knowing the exact location of my hiding spot before turning to face the men that acquired her services, exposing her rounded, fleshy buttocks to my eyes. Two men entered the room, their voices dark and sinister to my innocent ears.
" Your tits would look so much better woman, if they had my cock rubbing in between them."