Henna pressed her fingers to the collar around her throat as the door slammed behind her. Her gaze took in the room around her in a glance, her thoughts moving to what would soon be expected of her. She was different from the others, it made her an oddity that everyone claimed they had to experience. Such a demand gave her little time to relax, but it was hardly her place to complain.
Henna was a kept woman, held by a house, rather than a single person. Her name spoke of her heritage. The daughter of a harem mistress and a client, her mother had expected her appearance to change as she'd grown. Rather than the deep sable locks of her mother, or the inky black of her father, Henna's hair was gold. Where her mother was all curves and her father all sharp angles, Henna's body was lithe, curving just enough in the right spots to draw notice and flat enough in others so as not to detract from that. Her skin was fair enough to burn in the sun, completely opposite of her mother who's skin darkened into a tantalizing tan, or her father's, which kept the same olive complexion no matter what time of year it was. The only part of Henna's appearance that kept her mother from being thrown to the lions for sleeping with a man other than the sheik were her eyes. The color of honey, they nearly glowed when she was pleased. So much like her father's that her parentage was undeniable.
It didn't keep her from being sold away, however, after her mother passed on. At tweny-four, she'd led a sheltered life in the harem. Not expected to be anything other than herself, she'd been sold a virgin. That had been changed the night the House of Ryaki purchased her, though. They had no place for virgins. They had a big place for women with golden hair and eyes like honey. That she wasn't plump, had the right curves and tempted every man in the House on sight upon her arrival in the auction secured her place. Not that they'd ever touched her. Her virginity had been discarded by a woman trained in birthing who worked in the House. Memories of the long rod the woman thrust into her brought a wave of something Henna couldn't identify moving through her. She pushed the memory aside and moved across the room, taking in the furnishings around her.
The bed was draped in silks in tones of jewels. Amethyst, Ruby and Sapphire all vied for proper attention as they were draped over the canopy and held in place with golden velvet ropes. The pillows stacked halfway down the bed echoed the coloring and set off the same tones in the coverlet underneath. A pair of double doors stood open just to the side of the bed, a balcony of ivory marble stretching out towards the glittering water of the sea beyond. The moon hung overhead, low in the sky and large from her perspective. A sea breeze drifted through the open doors and lifted the ivory silk hangings from their slumber, stretching them towards her.
A fire roared in the grate to her left. A heavy sideboard held a collection of liquids that Henna knew to be alcohol. Whose nerves it was supposed to loosen was up for debate, since no one had told her not to drink it. A table stood near the fireplace, the wood matching the sideboard and bed in the flickering firelight. A double drawer cabinet nestled close to the bed, the top drawer opened a crack and a rich ruby colored length of silk draped down the front. Floor pillows lay scattered in piles in various places in the room and Henna smiled a bit, thinking of all the preparation that had gone into this room.
Her fingers traced the collar as she moved towards the doorway to the balcony, the thin white silk moving with the breeze and caressing her curves as she brushed the window hangings out of the way and stepped into the balmy evening air. The collar was a symbol of her purpose. It announced to the guests below that she was one of the Kept. It announced that she was not a servant and was available purely for their pleasure. It was the one garmet they were not allowed to remove. She could hear the tinkle of laughter from below and wondered what collection of guests Mirabelle had gathered for this night's entertainment.
The House of Ryaki was a house of entertainment, nestled into the warm air of Juran. It was well known and well thought of, despite its reputation and known sources of income. There were six of the Kept on the list for entertaining each party of the House; three women and three men. The party always consisted of, at least, six people. Sometimes there were more. In the case of this night, the House had been rented to a couple throwing a welcome home party for a close friend. It meant there would be a steady stream of people during the night house, coming and going from the house. Henna had no way of knowing how many would find their way to her room.
The party sounded as if it were in full swing below, though how many people attended was unknown. The sound of a bell ringing below was her signal to return to her room. The first guest would appear soon. She heard Mirabelle's voice carry through the air from below, explaining the rules, the schedules and the general layout of the house.
"First, let me welcome you to the House of Ryaki. We hope you much enjoy your time spent here and believe you will enjoy exploring all of the pleasures we have in store for you this evening. We have few rules, but those rules are important and we expect them to be followed. Not adhering to them will result in your immediate expulsion from the House. Our first rule is to respect the pleasures of those around you. There is a sign on every door of the house. If the room is in use, you have but to turn the sign. If you see a red sign on a door, please do not enter it, as you will disrupt the entertainment within. Our second rules is to respect the staff of the House. No matter their place within this evening's entertainment, they cannot serve others if they are distraught. The servants below are paid servants. The role you see them filling is the role they are paid to fill. Any attempts to lure them from their duties is a breech of this rule. The servants upstairs may be lured away, provided they give their approval and their duties have been served, met or they are waiting to serve those duties. The occupants of the rooms upstairs..." Mirabelle paused and Henna could nearly see the smile stretching across her lips. "...are here for your pleasure. The rooms are labeled and you will see the same signs as any other door upon these six doors. If the room is occupied, you may step to the door nearby and watch the room's proceedings unseen, unheard and unknown to the occupants in that room. I'm sure you all understand these rules. The last thing I will tell you is that everything occurring in this establishment is consensual. If anyone, at any time, says no, you are to respect that and look elsewhere for your pleasures. Are there any questions?"
There was a low murmur of voices, but no one question stood out and Mirabelle's voice didn't carry in answer to any of them. "Very well, then," she said, making Henna turn on her heel and move into the room behind her. "Please enjoy your time at the House of Ryaki and feel free to ask for any assistance you need." There was a smattering of applause and the sound of people moving around below her as Henna settled into the chair against the center of the far wall. The first guest would be arriving soon, she knew, and curiosity made her skin tingle with anticipation. What pleasures would this night's work bring?
Henna didn't have long to wait before the door to her room was opened. It swung back silently on its hinges, admitting a woman with rustling skirts. Henna didn't move from the chair as the door closed behind the woman. She took the opportunity to look at her guest, to try to gauge what this guest would require of her. The woman seemed to be taking in the room, nodding in approval at its appointments, her deep russet hair bound in a knot on the top of her head that bobbed as she nodded. Finally her eyes rested on Henna. Her green eyes lit with interest and she took another step towards the center of the room before halting.
Henna rose to her feet, then, moving to meet the woman in the center of the room. She bowed formally, her curtsey bent at the precise angle to show the crease of cleavage over her bodice. The woman's curvy frame reminded Henna of her mother a bit, or rather of Geanna, the closest thing to a sister Henna had ever had in the harem. "Greetings, my lady. I am Henna. How may I be of service?"
The woman stretched her hand to Henna's cheek, her fingertips caressing Henna's skin in wonder. Abruptly the woman turned, presenting Henna with the row of buttons that marched down her back. "First, you can free me from this dress."
