This choice: Your work is disrupted by a visit from a whore • Go Back...Chapter #5Your work is disrupted by a visit from a whore by: Yote   As the night progresses, there comes the tap-tap of heels upon the stairs. The door swings open and one of the whores leans in, breasts spilling from her gown. You have worked with her before, a woman named Sarya. Like many of the women who work at Sweet Sanctum, she is half-elven, her silver hair plaited and pulled back to expose the slender ears that the clientele love so much. Only exceptionally talented human whores make it into Sweet Sanctum. The clientele desire for rarity more than they do quality, paying for exotic delicacies that stretched the boundaries of feasibility and legality. Just last week a hashaan diplomat had swanned in and demanded with perfect sincerity to bed the Goddess herself. The brothel madam had plied him with drink and a beautiful aasimar girl, and swindled him out of a small fortune.
"Customer for you, ma'am," she says.
You bristle. "Do not refer to me as ma'am when I am not in dress," you say sharply. "Nor do I have "customers". What I have are targets, or marks. Do not mistake me for a common whore such as yourself."
"Easy mistake to make," she smirks with a shrug, slipping a little more from her loose dress.
"Watch your tone, whore," you bark, flames flickering in eyes.
She pouts teasingly. "So I guess you aint interested in this guy then. 'Cause I'll take him off your hands if you don't. Got a wallet out to here." She sighs theatrically. "Guess I'll just tell General Volkov of the Ordanian military that our top girl aint free tonight then."
General Volkov! You jump up from your chair so fast it tumbles over. "Volkov is here?! Now?! Downstairs?!"
"Him and half his army," she grins. "Haven't even got through the lieutenants yet and my jaw's already sore."
A large chest sits in the corner of the room, the only other item of furniture besides the desk and bed. Your hands are shaking as you unlock it and throw open the lid. Inside are your most prized possessions, your collection of husks. Fourteen empty skins, each unique, exotic, gathered together over decades. They are neatly folded into two piles.
"Have you made him comfortable? Does he have wine? What mood is he in? Has he been serviced yet?" You glance between the two piles. "Men or women?"
She giggles. "He didn't say. He just asked for the book so we sat him down in the red room. Nobody's gone near him yet. He's all ready and waiting for you."
One does not keep a general waiting long. You doff your robes, feeling no shame as you stand naked before her. After all, you've seen each other naked before, having shared clients on occasion. As you remove your spectacles, the world becomes fuzzy.
The skin you lift from the chest is a tiefling maiden with curly black hair and creamy white skin. The empty face is folded facing upwards, sharp little horns topped with corks to save them from damaging the other precious skins, the bundle tied up with a slim black tail. You let the skinsuit hang, teasing open the mouth wide enough to slip your bare legs inside. You wriggle yourself down into it as fast as you dare without tearing it. The velvety, warm, elastic interior tightens and seals itself against your skin. Your look down to see the ugly bulge of your crotch melting away into a female mound, your ass swelling, hips widening. As you work the suit up over your chest, the weight of the breasts hangs on you. Your beard you have to tuck inside the head of the suit. Finally you pull the face over yours, holding it in place until it suckers on like a hungry limpet, sealing you within the tiefling maiden form. You test for articulation, flicking your muscular tail side to side.
Sarya smiles. She knows this body well, both inside and out. She has even named it, as she does many of your husk-forms. "Oh, Chastity, it's good to see you again," she giggles, pulling you into a hug, her soft tits pressing against your own. "Why can't you be you more often. You're so much nicer than that mean old wizard."
The new form responds to her proximity, a strange buzz building within you as her lustfulness quickens your tiefling blood. You can almost taste the wanton thoughts inside her mind. You push her away before it has a chance to really affect you.
"Go ready Volkov for me. Tell him I shall be down shortly."
You select a low-cut purple dress to wear and apply makeup and perfume generously. Then, bracing yourself, you step out of the sanctuary of your study, descending into the brothel proper.
http://ragea.net/rpgimg/index.php?q=imag...
Sarya wasn't exaggerating. There are Ordanian military officers everywhere, many still in uniform, medals pinned to their chests as they queue for rooms or are even serviced out in the corridors. Goblin girls hurry back and forth with pitchers of wine in their hands and bundles paper money stuffed between their breasts. The eyes of the men follow you as you descend to the Red Room, sweaty hands grabbing for your tail. You merely giggle and pull it away, batting your eyelashes as though flattered by the attention.
You slip discreetly into the Red Room, closing the door quietly behind you. A four-poster bed draped in red velvet sits in the center, on which General Volkov reclines, naked. A book lies open beside him. His thick, hairy arms have hold of Sarya by the ears as her head bobs up and down in his lap.
You examine him as you creep closer. His face is scarred, misshapen, and ugly - the man has seen a great deal of combat. There is a gold band on his finger - the man is married. That's good. People often liken the Ordanians to bears, and Volkov is no exception. His expression is ferocious, his muscular, barrel-like chest covered in thick, black hair. The manhood between his legs, upon which Sarya is sucking, is of a magnitude that makes your knees go weak.
The things I do for my country.
With a demure cough, you announce your presence, and his dark eyes turn to you as you lift the dress and sink into a curtsy, making sure to flash him both cleavage and what lies beneath your skirts. He licks his lips, sizing you up. He barely even notices as Sarya removes her mouth from around his cock and takes her leave.
Once alone, you seat yourself in his lap, feeling the throb of his meat against you. You wriggle closer, coiling your serpentine about the base of his shaft. Though he is evidently pleased to see him, his expression remains like a stormcloud. You lean back and twist to kiss his lips. "A thousand apologies for keeping you waiting, master, but I am here now." You stroke your fingers through the fur-like hair of his chest. "So... have you decided? What would you have of me?"
He grunts something in a foreign tongue and jabs a finger at the tome that lies open on the bed beside him. It is the Book of Mortal Delights. It is a book that you had made yourself, years ago, and it has been an invaluable tool throughout your job as a seducer and blackmailer. It is a catalogue of services, each of its three hundred pages depicting a single act painted in exquisite detail. It begins innocuously enough with 'cuddling' and quickly escalates from there through oral, vaginal and anal until by the middle third of the book things start to become... unusual, acts that (while not necessarily illegal) could easily tarnish a man's reputation if made public. Using a whore is one thing, but using it for that is much worse. By the latter third of the book, the acts depicted have progressed to a level of depravity generally sufficient to be illegal in most places, while those in the final few pages are an affront to the gods themselves.
The trick is to get your target to choose from as far into the book as possible; it makes blackmailing them later far easier. You see that the page he is pointing to is...   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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