A Goddess Cheated
Marek Chopin was in a very good mood.
He'd done it. He'd really done it. He'd gotten what he was after, looking down at the collection of scrolls in his bag, ancient writings, recipes for alchemical regents that would make him a very wealthy man. Among other things.
Such as the means to hide oneself from the eyes of the divine.
Like a certain serpentine goddess from whom he got these scrolls from.
The one who demanded his servitude. The one whom he had outsmarted.
It wasn't easy, he was sure of that. He had to use other skills of his, other knowledge he'd learned, to ensure she could not find him.
But he succeeded, and now he was far away, in a place she could not follow without him knowing.
Those scrolls saw to that.
A Goddess of Knowledge Vetiscia may have been, but not all knowing.
The man of forty years was pleased with himself. And all it took was enduring that divine wench's admittedly exotic and irresistible pleasure.
He wasn't going to forget the touch of her scales gliding across his skin any time soon, the tightness around him, slowly drawing out his breath as that impossibly wet mouth and tongue wrung him near dry, and that womanhood drained the rest...
But that pleasure would not ruin other women for him. He was confident in that. And it was not worth serving her for a year, not worth risking his life on her proposed errands.
Or rather, why assign worth to such things when you could just... have what you wanted?
He chuckled to himself, his cheeks flushing in his triumph.
And what better way to celebrate his triumph, than indulging in wine and women?
It was a place in the city of Mokern, a small but classy establishment, a brothel with all sorts of exotic girls. Including some beastfolk and a pair of elves as well.
They provided wine too, and Marek was certainly going to be generous with the coin; it wouldn't be a resource to conserve for much longer.
As such, the man walked through the black polished door of the stone building, creepers running up its whitewashed exterior.
The interior was mostly wood, though the floor was made of rough-cut, flat stones loosely meshed together in crude tiling, aesthetic in appearance. The wood used for the walls and the ceiling was a dark sort, varnished and polished to give it a rich sheen, while dim lanterns lit the interior.
A wooden desk with almost maroon hues met him, and behind that, the matron of the brothel.
"Welcome to the Dulcet Parlour~" she greeted, the older woman looking quite conservative in her dark blue dress and her salt-and-pepper hair tied in a neat bun. Her brown eyes were bright and professional, and her red gloss shined in the light. Her eyes then narrowed slightly, before recognition set in. "Oh, if it isn't Mister Chopin, how are you sir?"
He smiled warmly, his upbeat attitude obvious even to the Matron, though professionalism still mattered.
"I'm rather well, actually. Splendid, really. Eager to celebrate a fine achievement, with some fine wine, and finer women~"
The Matron chuckled, and nodded in understanding.
"In that case, I can find you a room, Sir, and send the girls in one at a time, and see who you like," she answered, clapping her hands together. "What sort of wine would you like, sir?"
"Hmm... give me a vintage white, whatever you might have on hand."
"Very well, if you'll follow me."
Marek nodded, and trailed after the dainty woman, moving through a narrow hallway with widely spaced doors. If he focused, he could faintly hear the sounds of moaning, grunting, and laughter through the thick walls and doors.
The Matron led Marek to a room at the end, unlocking the door with a key, and gesturing him to enter.
He nodded appreciatively, and looked upon the familiar sights of the room.
Though he hadn't been in this specific room before, it was very similar to the other rooms he'd been in over the years, sporting a single queen-sized bed with velvet maroon covers. Animal-hide rugs covered the stone floor, and a privacy screen was set up on the left side of the room, with a small basin for rinsing oneself before 'proceedings'.
The wooden walls were decorated with small hanging planters filled with tiny vines, evocative of the creepers clinging to the building's facade, but far more manageable. To the right, was a small set of wicker chairs with cushions and padding on the seat and the interior sides to provide comfort wicker usually does not.
Small brass fixtures held numerous candles, providing a dull, moody lighting, and giving off a flowery aroma, lavender especially.
The bed was flanked by small dressers, each with only a single drawer, and probably not much in them either.
Other than that, there was a clothes rack beside the privacy screen, and there were naturally no windows.
It was a simple environment, but it was just perfect for anybody looking for a nice, discrete, and raunchy time. About the only thing that really stood out were the metal rings bolted to the legs of the bed, for anyone that wanted something more... depraved.
Not Marek, he had his fill of bondage. He was rather keen to take the leading role with whatever girl he picked.
The girls here were always nice, even if they weren't always the same. The Dulcet Parlour prided itself on being a respectable establishment.
He sat down on the bed, taking off his grey travelling coat, letting his beige shirt breathe. That's when he saw the mirror on the back of the door.
He was reflected back at him, the man of forty years. Average height, average build, his hair cut short and almost scratchy, only slightly longer than the stubble around his lower jaw.
The cut on his left cheek was still there, mostly healed now. A souvenir from his journey to search for the goddess.
He hadn't realised it, but despite how animated he felt - and he could see that he was upbeat - the journey had clearly worn on him a little, subtle bags below his eyes, his complexion a little bit paler than the normally sun-kissed tone.
Still, he looked jubilant and healthy, his rounded head not a picture of masculinity, but that was a matter of age softening his features just slightly. 'Prince Charming' he wasn't but nor was he remotely ugly.
Good enough for a goddess at least. And he was sure to make up for his looks with enthusiasm for whichever girl he picked.
It wasn't enough to simply have her bounce on him until he was satisfied, he
wanted
to hear her moan, Marek chuckling quietly to himself.
He had a shameless perverted streak, and he wasn't sorry for it.
He kicked off his brown leather boots, and rubbed down his tough, long-legged pants, suited to travelling, but perhaps a bit stiff for this sort of environment.
He checked his ears, noting they seemed a little red. He mustn't have worn his hood as much as he should've. Oh well, they weren't hurting, so they weren't his problem.
His precious bag, he placed under the bed, out of sight, with the scrolls he worked so hard for safely tucked inside.
Not like the women here would know their value. And even if they had an inkling, they'd never be able to steal them without him knowing, save for a very convoluted and unlikely scheme.
He was willing to take his chances. After all, he fooled a goddess.
There was a knock at the door, and the matron came in with a small wooden tray, upon which perched a bottle of white wine, a simple, clean glass sitting next to it.
She placed it on the table near the chairs, and bowed politely.
"Your wine, sir."
Marek nodded appreciatively, rising from the bed and moving over to the table.
"Many thanks, Madam."
The Matron smiled.
"I will send the available girls for you now, sir." With that, she politely left the room.
Marek poured himself a glass of wine, and sipped it.
It was still a little cool. Not chilled, but good enough for Marek, and its taste was still crisp.
He sipped some more while waiting for the first girl to enter.
There was another knock at the door.
"Come," Marek called, taking another sip.
He almost spat it out when he laid eyes on the woman who entered.
Clad in a simple white silk dress that seemed more wrapped around her than not, it nonetheless accentuated the dark, curvy beauty that had just walked through the door, closing it behind her.
That dress exposed her thighs and her cleavage, and seemed almost transparent, revealing black underwear beneath.
Her skin was a rich chocolate hue, with curves to die for, curves Marek was sure he could sink fingers deep into.
And there were no deficient areas in her voluptuousness, her bust and rump perfectly proportioned, along with her thighs and everything else.
Plump, but not too much. And silky smooth.
Her face was pure beauty, a bit more slender than her body, sporting plush lips with a black gloss that shined in the candlelight of the room, not unlike the curls of her dark, springy hair, golden highlights flanking her face.
Perhaps the most unusual part of her bewitching beauty were her violet eyes, bright and glittering.
Not unheard of, but rather rare to see such unusual eye colours.
She smiled warmly, and did a small curtsy in greeting.
"Hello, sir~ My name is Vanessa~" she introduced, her voice soft, slightly bubbly, and sensually rich.
Her breasts jiggled ever so subtly from her little bow.
Marek was almost lost for words, staring at this beautiful, dark skinned wonder, before he finished his sip and shook his head.
"Vanessa, huh?" he remarked, drinking in her details with almost obsessive focus. "Are you new at this establishment?"
"A week, sir~ You're rather lucky, actually, I've already proven to be quite popular~"
Marek could see why. He had to keep himself from licking his lips.
