Chapter 20: pleasure weep

The chamber of women was a world unto itself, a sanctuary of silk and sin, draped in the languid glow of oil lamps that cast trembling golden light upon every curve and shadow.

Incense coiled lazily through the air, thick with the scent of jasmine and myrrh, mingling with the lingering perfume of bodies well-versed in pleasure.

Cushions of brocade and velvet sprawled across the marble floor, their surfaces indented from hours of languorous indulgence.

A fountain murmured at the center, its waters cool and sweetened with rose petals, a stark contrast to the feverish heat that ruled this place.

Sheer curtains fluttered like ghostly lovers in the warm breeze that drifted from the open balcony, the moon beyond casting a glow as silver as spilled pearls.

Scattered across this decadent haven were the courtesans, daughters of desire, draped in gossamer silks that concealed little, their bodies adorned with golden chains, tiny bells chiming with each indolent movement.

Some lay entwined on their cushions, limbs tangled in an embrace that spoke of practiced ease; others sipped pomegranate wine from delicate glass goblets, their lips stained a bruised crimson.

It was amidst this tapestry of indulgence that the madam entered, her presence an unwelcome intrusion upon their paradise.

She stopped before Evelyn's abode, where the courtesan reclined like a golden black cat, draped in silk, her skin glowing under the dim candlelight.

Around her, women lounged in a haze of pleasure, their delicate fingers grazing her arms, stroking her thighs, as if drawn to her warmth like moths to a flame.

Clearing her throat, the madam forced her voice to remain composed. "Pardon me," she began, though her tone dripped with impatience. "But I assume you are the only maiden with the skill to take His Highness to bed."

Evelyn arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her lips curling into an amused smirk. "However do you mean, madam?"

The woman shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks burning despite her attempts at restraint. "I mean," she whispered, voice laced with frustration, "you are the only one who can fulfill the duties of the bedchamber with His Highness conveniently."

Evelyn laughed, a rich, sultry sound that sent a ripple of intrigue through the room. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Rae, but the woman remained in the depths of her nap, her breathing slow, undisturbed.

Rising with feline grace, Evelyn crossed the plush bedding, each step deliberate, her silks whispering over her bare skin.

She stopped before the madam, her chest rising and falling with tantalizing ease. "You mean I'm the only one who can ruin him?" she purred.

The madam barely had time to react before Evelyn's fingers wrapped firmly around her throat, tilting her chin upward.

"Madam?" she mused, her voice like velvet and steel.

The woman's eyes flared with indignation. "How dare you lay your hands on me!" she hissed.

Evelyn smirked, her grip easing just enough to let the madam breathe. "The queen must be growing desperate," she murmured, leaning in. "You look unslaked, madam."

A ripple of knowing laughter passed through the women. They had long endured the madam's misdirected frustrations, her punishments laced with her own bitter longing.

"Madam, we have all decided to punish you," Evelyn continued, her voice saccharine.

Before the woman could protest, two courtesans seized her arms, guiding her onto the bedding.

"What are you doing?!" she sputtered, half-rising, her body pinned beneath their delicate yet unyielding hands.

Evelyn's lips curled in satisfaction. "We are going to give you pleasure," she purred. "Perhaps it will soften your temper, yes?"

The madam's cheeks burned crimson, her lips parting as Grace, the most brazen of them, stepped forward.

With an air of quiet command, she lifted the thick skirts of the madam's heavy blue gown, baring the curve of her hips and the sheer underthings that did little to conceal her.

Evelyn let out a soft sigh of appreciation. "Now, we shall see if you truly object."

Mary, ever playful, leaned in, tracing her fingers over the madam's trembling shoulder. "I've seen you staring at my breasts before," she murmured, slipping her gown just low enough to expose the pale rise of her décolletage, the dusky pink of her nipples standing pert beneath the candlelight.

The madam swallowed hard, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

Grace chuckled darkly. "Oh? You want them?" she whispered, her breath hot against the woman's ear.

Lowering herself, Grace traced a slow path from the madam's ankle, up the tender skin of her thigh, her tongue teasing, never quite giving.

"S-stop," the madam gasped, her body betraying her protest with a delicate tremor.

The women giggled in unison.

"So?" Mary teased, nudging her breast against the madam's parted lips. "It is not our fault your husband fails to satisfy you."

Grace's tongue flicked against the heated core of her captive, and the madam arched with a strangled moan.

"Ahh… uhhh… oh…" The sound tore from her throat, raw, needy.

Evelyn leaned back, retrieving a finely carved ivory comb from her bedside. Its thick, rounded handle gleamed in the flickering candlelight as she traced it along her palm.

She licked its length, her eyes locking onto the madam's wide, breathless gaze.

"Or," she murmured, her voice a husky whisper, "we can pleasure you until you weep."