"Mmm yeah, baby, you like that don'tcha?"
"Oh yes, harder, please!" I wasn't at all surprised to hear the lust and desire thick in my voice. I'd put it there, after all. I'd been trained too well and had too much practice to let my disgust leak out into my voice.
John Stone – the seventh John Stone this week – was actually Lord Doland Carston. The Gaelin kingdom had its share of gross men, but Lord Carston was a prize pig. He was fat, hairy, sweaty, and obnoxious. His hot, short breaths smelled like moth balls that had been soaked in diarrhea for a week. His grunts were shallow as he thrust his tiny prick into me, and there was a frog in his throat that he apparently hadn't noticed. I could hear it with every grunt, groan, and moan, and it made me want to clear my own throat or scrape his out with a rusty spoon. It was driving me nuts. My abs had been flexed the entire time he mounted me, just to keep his fat, heavy gut from crushing me. The stained velvet jerkin he wore hung open, trying to hug me, to pull me into that mass of jiggling, swaying fat. I suddenly had to keep myself from laughing out loud; I realized that his tits were bigger than mine.
But despite all this crazy shit pissing me off, I kept writhing and moaning beneath him like I really was enjoying it. And he bought it. They always bought it. That's why I was Madre's most profitable whore.
Lord Car-- I mean Mr. Stone's breaths grew shorter as his weak little thrusts grew faster. I urged him on. "Come on, mmm yes, cum inside me! Fuck me like the whore I am!" I moaned beneath him, nearly suffocating under all that... gross. The plead to cum inside me always set them off. I don't know what it was about being able to fill a whore's womb with their seed that men enjoyed so much, but whatever got them off faster, I was all for it.
I could feel him tightening his body above me, and I exploded into a fake orgasm just before he spewed into me. I bucked underneath him, clenching around him as he released, until he finally fell exhausted beside me. Thank the Gods he didn't collapse on top of me. I think I might have vomited if he did.
He tried to wrap me in his big, flabby arms, but I slipped off the bed with smooth alacrity. I could feel his slimy eyes caressing my ass, so I slipped on a pair of panties and wrapped a thick robe around my slender body. I looked back at him and fought to hide a shudder. I smiled instead.
"You better get back to your Lady wife, don't you think?" My voice, when not shouting in false ecstasy, was smooth and slow, a little raspy. His body was coated in a sheet of sweat, making him look like a beached whale.
A look of shock at my knowing he was married made his face even uglier, but then realized he was still wearing his wedding ring. "Fuck my wife," he spat as he sat up, his stomach bulging all the more.
I could wear a fake smile like a comfortable glove, but I was quickly growing tired of this slob. "Maybe you should start taking your own advice before she comes looking to remove unfaithful portions of your anatomy." I sat down at the small table across the room from the bed and started going through my appointment book. I looked back over my shoulder, all warmth and welcome now gone from my gaze. "Maybe you should start now."
He must have heard the dismissal in my voice, because he rose from the bed. His fat jiggled as he stood, and I had to turn away. He was grumbling something under his breath as he dressed, but I didn't want to hear it. As far as I was concerned, this John Stone was already out the door. A few seconds later, I heard the muted clink of gold coins as they landed on the bed. "Flaming bloody whore," he cursed as he left. He undoubtedly would have liked to punctuate his anger with a backhand across my pretty, slutty face, but Madre would hear about it. And then Lord Carston would be in a lot of trouble. When the door slammed shut, I slumped down in the chair, sighing heavily.
Why the hell do I put myself through this? I know enough dirty little secrets to turn this joke of a kingdom on its head in a matter of days, and my bank account is more than big enough to buy myself a safe exile for the rest of my days. So why do I keep putting myself through this? Just as the questions formed in my mind, a sharp knock on my door drove it out.
Who the hells could that be? My next appointment wasn't for another hour. Without thought, my hand reached under the desk and slipped the small stiletto from its hidden sheath. With my palm facing behind me, I hid the sharp blade against my wrist as I stood. It was probably just Madre checking to see whether any of her daughters needed anything. But you could never be too careful. The glint of gold on the bed caught my eye. I reached over, snagged the coins, and stuffed them into the enchanted pocket inside my panties before straightening again.
"Who's there?"
"I have need of your services," came the reply from the hall. It was a man's deep, cultured voice. I was perplexed by this; Madre never let anyone past the front desk without an appointment. And even if by some unheard of change of Madre's policy he was able to make an immediate appointment, I had not been told.
"Sorry, I don't do walk-ins." I was a bit surprised at the rigidity of my spine as I stood staring at the plain door. There was only one thing you came to a Red Moon house for, and it wasn't tea and crumpets. But something in the inflection of his voice said he wasn't after sex. I can't say how I knew, though. All I knew was that something was not right.
"May I come in please? I have important matters to discuss with you."
"Who the hell are you?"
"I am just a man who walks beneath the lonesome light of the moon."
My skin felt like it was trying to crawl away. That was Madre's password. Not so much the words, but the very precise inflection of those words. She only taught this exact cadence to the few people she trusted with her life. I was one of those people. And apparently this man was another. I found myself reaching out to the doorknob and turning it slowly. When the door swung inward, the breath was torn from my lungs as the most amazing set of eyes fell on mine, eyes of the bluest summer sky. I wanted to float in his gaze, to feel it on me, to wrap it around me like a warm comforter. But the sound of his rich voice brought me out of the trance. I felt embarassed and ashamed for having been so beguiled by a stranger. I had to search my mind quickly for what he'd said.
"Yes, come in." I hoped the pause wasn't too long. As I stepped aside to let him in, I just had time to notice how handsome he was before his scent filled my nose. It wasn't a smell that I could put a name to, except maybe strong, confident, soft. It was intoxicating.
"Thank you. You have a nice place." He stood a few feet inside the door, looking around at my sparse apartments with a soft smile. It made him even more handsome.
My apartment was just one large room with an oversized bed, two chairs, small desk, and a wardrobe to furnish it, all crafted of expensive black oak. The polished hardwood floor was covered with a huge Katsuin rug that cost more than a small farmstead. The molding around the one window was carved into vines, leaves and flowers; attractive enough to leave it without treatments. The walls were painted a warm rose. Not what you might expect in a whore's room.
"You flatter me," I said as I stepped around him. I tried to ignore his scent this time. "Come, sit down." I gestured to one of the two comfortable chairs facing each other on the far wall, flanking the window. He nodded his thanks and followed me across the room. Everything about this man was throwing me off. He was very courteous and polite, not doing anything without being invited. Such etiquette was very rare in a whorehouse patron. He waited for me to sit down before lowering himself nimbly into his chair. I met his eyes again, but the previous intensity was gone. I sighed in relief.
He was wearing black, wide-legged pants and a matching jacket that reached nearly to his knees. The mandarin collar was high and square. The front was fastened with plain black frog closures. He was a very handsome man, regardless of his expensive wardrobe. His face was lean and angular, almost elvish, though his ears weren't pointed. His short hair was a dark charcoal color, stylishly messy. I wanted to run my fingers through it.
This was a man who clearly didn't have to go searching for a woman to share his bed; so what was he doing in a whorehouse? His eyes held mine for a silent moment, and I suddenly felt extremely underdressed in my bathrobe.
"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jaden." He leaned forward and offered his hand. His handshake was perfectly polite. I could feel a hint of the strength in his body, like a brisk wind before a vicious storm.
"A pleasure, Jaden. I'm Serenity. What brings you here?"
"Well, as I mentioned, I have need of your services." He leaned back in the chair, legs crossed casually, hands draped over the ends of the armrests. He looked as though he belonged in that chair. His eyes were serious, but still comfortable to look at. They weren't pawing at my body as most men did. He knew I was a whore - the best and most expensive in town - but he apparently didn't care. The respect he'd shown me almost made me ashamed of my profession. Almost. I nodded and he went on.
"I am from a small kingdom called Aeryx near the-- You've heard of it?" He was looking at me questioningly, one sculpted eyebrow arched. I realized that I'd been smiling, but not because I recognized the name of his home. I had been watching his lips move. The way they formed that name invoked images of a sun-bathed meadow with a soaring castle sparkling in the distance. I lay beneath a hot, cloudless sky, long green grass tickling my naked body, looking up at those blue eyes above me. I could almost feel the pressure of his manhood against my thigh as Jaden's moist, bow-shaped lips parted slightly and drew closer....
