Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 18, 2010 20:48:11 GMT -5
The contract is signed, and I bow politely to my patron-to-be, smiling. I know I should flirt perhaps a little; my smile might be wider, more inviting. He is… handsome, with his mother’s lovely face and a promise of his father’s strong bearing, and I catch myself almost asking if the latest batch of tea I sent to the lord his father has eased the old riding injury that ails his back in rainy weather. This is not that kind of business; the last thing my young patron was to hear about are his father’s old injuries or his mother’s summer migraines. He flirts with me, hesitant at first. The response to his words comes automatically to my lips as we move to the appointed quarters, and he laughs, slowly growing at ease.
Everything he sees fascinates him, and I let him examine the room to his heart’s content for a long while before I move to remove his clothing. It is an art, it is such a delicate art; it can be done, it can be done well, or it can be done exquisitely. I can manage the first and the second, but the third eludes me more often than not. I’m distracted, the other adepts tell me. Eisheth draws my attention when it should be Namaah I ought to focus on. But I cannot help it; the pulse and beat of life under his skin, the color, the scent... all these tell me a story, and I’m enthralled in the telling, seduced by it rather than being the seducer. He turns and kisses me, and I kiss back, more interested in the taste of his health than in proper technique.
“You are so beautiful.” Unbidden, he loosens the clasp keeping my hair back, and snaps me back to my senses. My patron. My duty.
“My lord is too kind”, I murmur, and I can feel a blush, damnable thing. To keep him from making overmuch of it I start the massage, the oil warmed and scented with my own recipe. Uncertain as he was at first, his youth and zest are promptly drawn forth by my attentions. He’s a strong lover, with all the boundless energy of one dedicated to nothing but enjoying life as if it were sweet golden wine from an endless glass; as the night ends and morning comes I know I’ve pleased him. His patron gift is small, a token and likely all he can afford, but heartfelt, as is his parting kiss. “Maybe I’ll see you again?”
“I would be honored, my lord” His flavor lingers in my mouth, his scent on my skin. He has the ghost of his mother’s digestive problems cropping up. That much, at least, I know I can help with better skill. Namaah forgive me for being a less than ideal servant, but what I have, I offer as best I can at her altar, and what else can any of us hope to do?
Everything he sees fascinates him, and I let him examine the room to his heart’s content for a long while before I move to remove his clothing. It is an art, it is such a delicate art; it can be done, it can be done well, or it can be done exquisitely. I can manage the first and the second, but the third eludes me more often than not. I’m distracted, the other adepts tell me. Eisheth draws my attention when it should be Namaah I ought to focus on. But I cannot help it; the pulse and beat of life under his skin, the color, the scent... all these tell me a story, and I’m enthralled in the telling, seduced by it rather than being the seducer. He turns and kisses me, and I kiss back, more interested in the taste of his health than in proper technique.
“You are so beautiful.” Unbidden, he loosens the clasp keeping my hair back, and snaps me back to my senses. My patron. My duty.
“My lord is too kind”, I murmur, and I can feel a blush, damnable thing. To keep him from making overmuch of it I start the massage, the oil warmed and scented with my own recipe. Uncertain as he was at first, his youth and zest are promptly drawn forth by my attentions. He’s a strong lover, with all the boundless energy of one dedicated to nothing but enjoying life as if it were sweet golden wine from an endless glass; as the night ends and morning comes I know I’ve pleased him. His patron gift is small, a token and likely all he can afford, but heartfelt, as is his parting kiss. “Maybe I’ll see you again?”
“I would be honored, my lord” His flavor lingers in my mouth, his scent on my skin. He has the ghost of his mother’s digestive problems cropping up. That much, at least, I know I can help with better skill. Namaah forgive me for being a less than ideal servant, but what I have, I offer as best I can at her altar, and what else can any of us hope to do?