<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/OV6LkpI.jpg)</div><br/><br/><strong>Name:  Chantal (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=266077.msg13129713#msg13129713)</strong><br/><br/><strong>COURTESEAN</strong><br/><br/><strong>Situation:</strong>Engaged for the evening<br/><br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Araxis<br/><br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong><em>None</em><br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>The funny thing about her line of work, or so Chantal believed, was not the giving and receiving of pleasure through the various acts that best facilitated that goal, but rather the element of romance.  Those who had trained her in the art of pleasing a man, back in the day when she had known that they were separated by only such classifications as birth, beauty, wealth, and perhaps temperament, had been quick to discount love and romance.  Even so, they had emphasized the trappings of it, even while insisting that it was an illusion that lasted only so long as it took to get the legal right to claim a woman as his.<br/><br/>Now, she understood more clearly, if only in that it was she that must be adaptable in action and thought to prosper, unless, perhaps, she found herself on the other end of the spectrum, like Madame Celeste, Araxis, or many of the others that came through the doors of the One-Night Bride seeking … whatever it was they were seeking.  Physical pleasure, certainly, but Chantal would have been a poor bride indeed if she did not know that this ultimate goal was but one of many, even if it was the most obvious.<br/><br/>She entered the room, the sound of the door closing behind her akin to the little bell that was rung to signal the onset of a fight, a battle, put on for display in one of the many Bazaar locales.  They fought for prestige, for enjoyment, for reward, to prove to themselves and others their skills, and if they were damaged or died in the process, so be it.  That made it an apt analogy in the courtesan’s mind, even if she stood still as his hands adeptly stripped away her clothing, moving only to raise her arms, a leg, to facilitate the process, until she was naked, bare, before his gaze.<br/><br/>Araxis, it seemed, did not care for the trappings of romance or seduction, or if he did, not this night, and not from her.  He, too, was naked, though his hands had been far too busy on her to have removed them manually.   Without asking permission, her eyes roamed over him, seeing the body of a man, a powerful body with its shaft jutting outward and up toward her, the glitter in those jawline eyes of his eager, or perhaps just impatient.<br/><br/>A part of her, the part of her that knew that she would never be one of the ones that came through the brothel doors, however much wealth she might accumulate, however much power from the gifts and trinkets that were bestowed upon her for myriad services, shivered,  the nipples of her full breasts hardening,  her tongue emerging to add glistening moisture to her lips, moisture that was also on her smooth nether lips, decorated with a tattooed fleur-de-lis in black and violet that stood sentinel over the pink folds.<br/><br/>At his command,  Chantal backed to the bed’s edge without question or complaint, her eyes returning to his face.   When she felt the cool sheets touch the back of her thighs – the height of the bed was adjustable by use of a small pressure plate at its foot – she sat, and pulled herself gracefully up on the bed, knees bent and parting as she waited for his words, or the language of his body, to tell her what he wished.<br/>