The Abode of Peace - Scenes of Antiquity

[Light Ice]

I would like to thank those that made contributions, however small, to this concept.


From 1099 to 1291 the Christian Crusaders of the Western World celebrated their possession of the Holy City of Jerusalem. The Crusaders, men from all walks of Christian life, imported many things that reminded them of their homelands. During this time, against common perception, the Brothel was a very popular element in Christian Society. Brothels, and courtesans, operated not only with the Church's permission but frequently with their encouragement.

This thread is a place for short or extended scenes involving characters from all walks of the Medieval Crusades. Within Jerusalem, at the height of Christian rule, Arabic courtesans and noble families were adopted under Western Ideals and allowed to live as they would choose (provided they followed the rules). This setting was chosen to allow for writers a diverse range of character concepts to select from while still maintaining a setting whose rules are familiar to those that we follow today.

There is no limit on who or what you can play, or how frequently, or how briefly, you scene. There will be no over-arcing plot. This concept is designed to allow writers to experiment with various elements within the world at their own discretion.

Abode of Peace
A nickname translated from Arabic, Abode of Peace is commonly used to refer to the Christian-ruled empire seated within Jerusalem during this time. It is also, however, the name of our featured brothel. The Abode of Peace, a massive and famous brothel, is filled with resident prostitutes and courtesans of many tastes. European women, once traveling with the various columns of Knights, have taken up positions within the AoP's walls. Exotic women of the Far East, Africa, and other tribal areas fill its rooms as well.

The diversity of men is, without a doubt, just as extensive.

There are rooms for rent for patrons as well as public and private baths. Those with sadistic or masochistic tendencies can find their urges fulfilled. Voyeurs will be satisfied. Exhibitionists will be given ample opportunities to shine. This is an indulgent place, decadent, most naturally catering to the wealthy. The amount of gold you possess is all that limits your experience within.

So, create a character and play.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Only known as Amaya, she came and went from the brothel by the back gate of the secret garden. She had a room here, in the Abode of Peace.
She served no man, except one when she was here. When she wasn't? Who knew who she was or where she went? No one.
Not even her lover, when he was in residence. Who had time for questions when there were the desires of the flesh to feed?

Desires of the flesh. Some light, some dark. She gives him what he needs when he needs it.
And sometimes.... she feeds her own.
Upon him.



http://images.alphacoders.com/115/thumbbig-115247.jpg​

 

[Light Ice]

The Kingdom of Heaven. Seat of the Son of God. It was a Christian homecoming. The Lords poured in from the Western Corridors of the World eager to serve the Church to whom most of the world now answered. It did not matter that most were only the most recent of converts. Gold, it seemed, purchased the Cross the most devout of converts. What greater a faith for those of deep coffers than Christianity? Where else could a man purchase absolution? And so they came, one after another, with cadres of men bearing the arms of their houses set beneath the Cross. They were here for God's work.

And the whores.

It seemed that prayer and prostitution were not so separate. A man to his left lectured one of his bannerman on Christ and the righteous cause to which they had endeavored. It was an impressive diatribe; not because it was filled with particularly strong rhetoric. It was impressive because it was given while the man's prick was expertly buried in the throat of a young Arabic girl who had drawn beneath the table with a pillow for her knees.

Still, not every man of faith could be condemned for hypocrisy.

He had served with Templar Knights for the better part of fifteen years. Many of those whom he’d met had been honorable men. Bound, not only by honor, but by a true devotion of faith to the cause to which they’d been called. His own particular motive had no place in conversation. His lack of faith well-known amongst those that mattered. For a moment the Templar spilling his rhetoric met his eyes and Tegyr saw recognition there. The man looked away. That was the way it was here.

He’d earned that.

And gold.

The women moved. Beautiful. His eyes cut towards them, sliced over them, flickered through the shifting crowd in an unforgiving appraisal of gentle curves and sleek, coltish legs. All at once his purse felt heavy, too heavy to manage. The urge to spend licked sharply through his belly, warming him, until he was rising from his place at the table’s end. Wine would dull the ache for now. His coin would see it soothed. And soon.

 

[DemureDryad]

The Kingdom of Heaven. Seat of the Son of God. It was a Christian homecoming. The Lords poured in from the Western Corridors of the World eager to serve the Church to whom most of the world now answered. It did not matter that most were only the most recent of converts. Gold, it seemed, purchased the Cross the most devout of converts. What greater a faith for those of deep coffers than Christianity? Where else could a man purchase absolution? And so they came, one after another, with cadres of men bearing the arms of their houses set beneath the Cross. They were here for God's work.

And the whores.

It seemed that prayer and prostitution were not so separate. A man to his left lectured one of his bannerman on Christ and the righteous cause to which they had endeavored. It was an impressive diatribe; not because it was filled with particularly strong rhetoric. It was impressive because it was given while the man's prick was expertly buried in the throat of a young Arabic girl who had drawn beneath the table with a pillow for her knees.

Still, not every man of faith could be condemned for hypocrisy.

He had served with Templar Knights for the better part of fifteen years. Many of those whom he’d met had been honorable men. Bound, not only by honor, but by a true devotion of faith to the cause to which they’d been called. His own particular motive had no place in conversation. His lack of faith well-known amongst those that mattered. For a moment the Templar spilling his rhetoric met his eyes and Tegyr saw recognition there. The man looked away. That was the way it was here.

He’d earned that.

And gold.

The women moved. Beautiful. His eyes cut towards them, sliced over them, flickered through the shifting crowd in an unforgiving appraisal of gentle curves and sleek, coltish legs. All at once his purse felt heavy, too heavy to manage. The urge to spend licked sharply through his belly, warming him, until he was rising from his place at the table’s end. Wine would dull the ache for now. His coin would see it soothed. And soon.

A young courtesan let her hazel eyes sweep the public bath house. Most of the patrons gathered in the common room, but a few couples waded in its pools, giggling, moaning, splashing.

When the infidels had come to Antioch, that was when she had been swept along with the army. The Templars and their religious, penitent rhetoric always had need for a whore. And they paid no small sum for Akilah. It had allowed her to keep her appearance from degrading... She did not have the haggard, used up look of the many of her sisters had acquired. It allowed her to choose her clients, whoever they may be.

Slowly, she lowered a dainty set of toes in the warm water, purring with pleasure as the liquid heat enveloped her tawny frame. Yes, she thought, the Christians had decended upon this region with a vengeance. But some of their men were utterly fantastic. The memory of nights spent gasping, writhing, screaming in utter heaven beneath their ministrations, was tempered by her recent memory. She had only taken one client today, and he had been very disappointing.

Nude except for her copious golden jewelry, Akilah slipped beneath the surface, drenching her long, midnight tresses. She felt refreshed and clean, if unsatisfied, after she scrubbed thoroughly with the herbal soaps provided. She sighed at the delectable squeals a sister elicited on her right, lazy eyes watching her as the man took her every which way he could think of. Doubtless an expensive night for him. However, something in her voice, a subtle nuance, told her that she was most definitely, without question, willing.

Slender tanned fingers, circled a dark nipple, "Ooh..." Her eyes twinkled as she watched their performance, feeling a lusty flame spark in her belly. Akilah had to tear her eyes away. It was not meant to be. Not tonight. As she climbed the rusty sandstone steps, she felt a rough, calloused hand encircle her wrist...

 

[Mav Unlimited]

Malik

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4oTeSCpGMOs/TekNBqxXXqI/AAAAAAAADgw/ciasp7lUxxM/s249/daniel-pimental-male-model-03222010-24-820x536.jpg

A six foot tall figure walked the halls of the Abode of Peace, moving through the crowds fluently and heading straight towards one of the rooms, not wanting to indulge in pointless conversations with anyone. Dark skin. Deep dark brown eyes. Thick jet black hair. The man only gave quick indifferent glances towards the whores that lined up the corridors waiting for their patrons. He knew them too well. He had nothing against them. But was not interested. Neither did he care for what went on under the name of Christianity and religion or what the Church or the other men thought of him. He even hung out with them sometimes. But he was here for her tonight, hoping she would be there, and if not, would be arriving very soon.

Amaya was her name. He never saw her outside of her room in the Abode of Peace. Never asked her where she came from or where she went. The need was only that of the flesh. She always gave him whatever he desired. Whenever he desired it. Tonight would be no different. He thought of her ivory smooth skin and those ripe luscious lips. The soft creamy thighs and the lovely delicate breasts that fitted just perfectly in his hands. And those beautiful hazel eyes when they stared at him.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She was running late today. Letting herself into the garden from the hidden gate, she kept her head down as she moved through the halls. Women mingled everywhere. Some with men, some hoping to attract their attention and some with that blasé look on their faces she has come to know well. Covered from head to toe in black, which made her stand out like a thorn, she hurried through the main room, weaving through the crowds. She had to hurry.


Cinnamon colored hair hung down to the small of her back. She was standing at a window overlooking a small courtyard, which was at the time, surprisingly empty. The day’s sun filtered through the window. She wore only a soft, simple, linen shift. The curves of her body could easily be seen through the material. She wore nothing under it, that was explicitly clear.

On a nearby table was a tray set with a jug of pomegranate juice and two glasses, both, the best money could buy. He had paid an obscene amount of money to insure she was only his. She was a bit of a rarity in the Abode of Peace. The courtesans here were dark skinned, sloe-eyed, exotic beauties. She envied them.

The door to her room opened on a whisper of a sound. Her heart began to pound. Her blood started to race. He was here. She turned slowly, still framed by sunlight coming through the window. Amaya’s eyes went to the door.

 

[Light Ice]

There had been little time. He was not a subtle man. The room's breadth had been crossed with heavy strides, weighted in purpose, until he'd been able to reach and secure the delicate stretch of her wrist in the paw of his right hand. She felt sylphlike beneath his fingers. Airy. And when she turned, without startling, the depth of her eyes found him and he felt abruptly, profoundly nude under the softness of her eyes. His own were not soft. They were ghostly. Blue-Gray. Pale and clear. He released her and thought to speak.

But as ever, words did not come for Tegyr. They hung amidst his thoughts, rattling around vacantly, before abruptly his hand fell to the leather pouch upon his side.

The sovereigns were gold. A rarity here. They were heavy as he put them in her small hand, not unlike his strides, and weighted in his intentions once more. He did not know her name. He'd remedy that. But, for now, his eyes raked across her in quiet, masculine urgency. They played across the soft hollow of her throat and slender shoulders, past the gold that draped her skin.

His own body was not built with such beauty. The angles were hard and sharp, planed with corded muscle and fair skin. He wore a mass of scars across most of his body, small and paler still, where blades had found their way past the rings of his armors throughout the fifteen years he had paid penance on this crusade. His crimes, of course, were not so much against God. Though, of course, the fanatics chose to say so. But it did not matter. Now, or ever, if not especially now when this soft-eyed beauty's hand was slowly filling with his gold.

"Lady." He said. It was to urge her to take him to a bed, to somewhere without so many eyes. It was to urge her to speak so that he might hear her voice. His own was a rumble, unwelcoming, low in tone and volume.

The tabard he wore, the leathers beneath for city travel, felt abruptly heavy. His mind dull with fatigue. Tegyr watched her, without so much a glimpse to the men and women that hung close and prayed to a God in which he did not believe she would not disappoint.

 

[DemureDryad]

"Lady..."

His voice was deep, and filled with poorly hidden passion and need. Eagerness. Desire.

His clothing draped over him, the scarred, battered skin showing upon his arms. Akilah wondered if he had been at Antioch. It did not matter. Her arm remained in his grasp for a moment, then two moments. The foreign gold was heavy and valuable. But Akilah was not poor, and her eyes did not linger on anything but his face. A hard man. A Crusader. But those icy eyes, they did not hold the crazed spark of fanaticism. They questioned, like a thinker. This was not a man to lay with in the midst of this busy bath house. He demanded privacy with that look. Akilah felt the desire to take him to her quarters. Not for a moment could she imagine denying him, though she denied many.

Water droplets still slid down caramel skin, dark curls plastered with wet to her back, and the inner slope of her breast. "Hello, Templar." Fingers curled around the hefty disk of gold. Hazel eyes continued to drink him in, twinkling as she met his gaze again. "Come, and sit."

She guided him to a bench, unashamed of her nakedness as she dried herself with the towels. She spoke as, hands upraised, she let the towel soak in the water from her hair. "My name is Akilah. Often, gold is not enough to gain my favor."

She tossed the towel into a clay bin, smiling coquettishly at him, letting her hips sway in time with her steps as she approached. Slender fingers traced the line of his jaw. "But I like your eyes. They ask forbidden questions."

She turned, the bangles on her ankle and wrist tinkling softly amidst the whisper of flowing water. "Come, Templar, and I will show you why you would wish to bring an arabic girl home to your lands."

 

[Mav Unlimited]

For Amaya

Money was never a problem. Nobody knew where it came from or what he did to earn it. Earn was not the correct word for some maybe. But he didn't care what people thought. He was there to satisfy his cravings and desires, whatever the price. Nobody could stop him. And why would they? He had never paid so much gold for anything or anyone. He still wasn't sure what made him pay her such an insane amount of money. Even though they had shared the room that he was about to enter several times before, she was still an enigma. He never liked to think of her as a whore. She was different. He was drawn to her for some reason.

As soon as Malik approached the door to her room, he felt there was a presence inside. He smiled. She was waiting for him. As always. He was not an impatient man, but it pleased him immensely to know he wasn't going to have to wait for what he had come for. The door opened slowly and he stepped in, silently, his eyes lifting from the floor towards the hazel eyed beauty standing in front of him, near the window. He gazed directly at her before moving towards the bed and sitting down. He noticed the jug in front of him sitting on the table, before his head turned and dark eyes trailed all the way from her toes to her head. She looked as delectable as ever, dressed in the simple shift that came to just above her knees. Large fingers ran over his head as he sat there and calmly said,

"I'm thirsty."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Malik

Those dark enigmatic eyes of his found her own hazel ones and she felt her throat go dry. Her lips parted slightly as she ran the tip of her tongue over them, to make them feel less parched. His eyes devoured her and she felt her breasts stirring in response. Her nipples tightening into hard tips pressing against the material of her shift.

How was he capable of making her feel like this? She, who donned armor in the dark of night and fought against those who sought to oppress. She raised sword and cut down those who sneaked through the night like thieves, robbing men of their lives. She simply returned the favor.

He broke the silence between them and Amaya moved with a lithe grace to the table, pouring him a glass of the juice. She had sweetened it with honey having found pomegranate juice, on its own, to be slightly bitter to taste. Turning, her foot falls took her to stand before him, where he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. The soft sound of tinkling bells came from her ankle. She wore an anklet of small silver bells. She loved the sound they made as she moved. She extended the glass to him.

 

[Light Ice]

Templar.

She had said.

Crusader would have suited better. The Holy Order of the Templar Knights, as they were referred to amongst the believers, would not have had him had he desired to be amongst them. He was a heretic in their eyes, useful only so long as his sword was on their side. The moment that was not the case he would be their enemy, without question or hesitation.

Still, he went with her. Their movements carried them across the stairs and floor, her hips a softly swaying lead to which he was intent to follow. Around him, unfolding at tables, benches, and chairs, were all acts of the debauched. He had, since his first venture into a whorehouse at manhood's cusp, been mesmerized by all things carnal. There had been few things to which he found offense. Most held him enrapt.

Still, it was the small of her back that held his eyes. The sleek line where her body turned from lean spine to rounded hips. Her skin was dark and foreign, exotic, as was the smell of the bath oils that she'd dipped herself in amidst the waters. Jade. Jasmine.

"Akilah..." He asked. The words low, beneath the rise of the sinful sounds that surrounded them. "There are no forbidden questions."

It was the only point he felt necessary to make. The only means to end the conversation that she'd started. A swirling twist of desires surrounded him as her voice trembled through his head, echoed in his thoughts. She was a woman concupiscent, utterly, from the carnally promising sway of her rounded hips to the earthy sensuality of her voice.

So he followed her.

And was surprised to find himself eager for her reply and less inclined to see their conversation end than he had first believed.

 

[Mav Unlimited]

Amaya

His eyes never left hers, staring at them intently as he reached for the glass and took it from her hand. He had noticed the effect he was having on her, right from the instant he had entered the room. The rim of the glass pressed against his lips as he took a sip, the honey flavored liquid filling his mouth, eyes closing for a second. When they opened, he gulped and placed the glass on the side table near the bed, opening the top button of his shirt.

"Tastes sweeter than usual. You added honey today?"

His eyes looked up into hers, fingers of one hand trailing up her left outer thigh all the way to her hip where it rested for a minute. The other hand slid up the front of her almost bare right thigh, also to move around to grab her other hip, only the thin piece of undergarment separating her from his touch.

"I'm not here to drink pomegranate juice. You know that, don't you?"

Saying that, his right hand trailed down her thigh once again to grab the glass and take another sip before he handed the glass back to her.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Malik:

Her eyes watched his movements, as he sat there. She watched the glass press against his lips as he drank of the juice. Her eyes closed briefly. She knew all too well how those same lips felt pressed against her womanhood as he drank of her. Her legs shifted restlessly. Her eyes were drawn to his fingers as they opened the button on his shirt. She nodded.

“I did. Do you wish me not to next time?”

Her voice held a ragged edge of growing passion to it. That passion spiraled as she felt his hand slide up her left thigh and come to rest on her hip, before his other hand came up the front of her thigh and came to rest on her other hip. The only thing she could think of was….

How is he going to want me today?

"I'm not here to drink pomegranate juice. You know that, don't you?"

"I know."

She took the glass from him, clutching it to her chest but unable to move away from his touch. It had been awhile since he had last come to her. She ached for him the moment he came through her door. Her voice, when she replied was almost breathless.

 

[DemureDryad]

"Akilah... There are no forbidden questions."

The statement was a powerful one, containing a sentiment that she did not disagree with. It was impossible not to see the blood soaking the sands of her lands and not ask questions. Blasphemous questions.

They approached the crimson silk curtains of her room, and before she pushed them aside, she turned to him, eyes turning serious for but a fraction of a moment, before reverting to their natural playfulness, hinting at ecstatic sexual romp. "Wrong. There shouldn't be forbidden questions."

Akilah pulled him into her room, smelling of incense. The stone balcony overlooked the holy city, framed with curtains of the same fine silk from the far east. Spires of christian temples and islamic ones lined the view. Her eyes paused on the shining curvature of the Dome of the Rock. The four poster bed at its center had been neatly made by the servants. Chilled wine and cheese rested on a table, though she sensed this one felt an urgency excluding such luxuries.

The medallions adorning the chain resting leisurely on her hips made gentle metallic music as she looked up at him, feeling small in his shadow. It excited her. Cool night air wafted in from the balcony. "Besides..." Her soft lilt held seduction and promise as her arms slipped about his neck. "Tonight, it is not Allahs' name that will leave my lips, nor the name of Jesus, in pleasure and passion. I cry out for a man, to whom I belong for one long, joyous night... What is his name, I wonder?"

Her hands fiddled with the fasteners of his tabard.

 

[Mav Unlimited]

Amaya

He noticed the restlessness as her legs shifted and she nodded. The drink she had prepared tasted just like her. He didn't mind, but the growing need inside him decided to ignore her question for now. The need to touch her. The need to feel her ivory white skin against his dark flesh, creating a contrast that he knew she craved just as much as him. It was not just a matter of color though. He was yearning to feel the softness of her skin against him. The warm depths of her sex engulfing him as they fucked each other in the semi-dark room illuminated only by the rays that creeped in through the window. It had been a while. His hand trailed over her thighs and her hips before one left them as she held the glass to her chest and stood before him.

His hand slid over to the front of her leg before the fingers trailed over the inside, curling, squeezing her flesh, then slipping underneath the shift and between her legs, as the fabric rode up her thigh. They were staring at each other. Pure lust in their eyes. He could feel his dick growing hard inside his clothes. His fingers confirmed her arousal as they felt the wetness underneath her frock. The middle finger dipped inside. All the way. Then drawing it out slowly, he brought it to his lips and inhaled her scent, closing his eyes just for a moment. When they opened he looked back into her eyes and parted his legs slowly.

"Kneel."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Malik:


She spoke with few words. Most men did not care for rambling. Women rambled when they were afraid or nervous. Obviously, she was neither. Lust made her words come clipped and sparse.

His dark eyes held secrets. Secrets that whispered to her. Her legs parted as she felt his hand slip under her shift. Her eyes stayed upon his even when she felt his finger slip deep inside her body. He pushed so far up inside her, she could feel where his finger ended at his hand. It was slow in retreating from her body. Malik inhaled her like a connoisseur inhales the bouquet of a fine wine.

“Kneel.”

His firm, yet softly spoken command, made her heart trip. Skip a beat. She set the glass on the floor as she lowered herself to her knees. Her eyes went once to his legs as they parted, but quickly returned to his face. She had to tip her head back slightly to meet his eyes with her own. Unlike most men who came to this place, he was dark skinned. That wasn’t what drew her to him, like a moth to a dark flame. But there was something sensual in the contrast of their skin pressed against each other as they fucked.

 

[Light Ice]

"Akilah... There are no forbidden questions."

The statement was a powerful one, containing a sentiment that she did not disagree with. It was impossible not to see the blood soaking the sands of her lands and not ask questions. Blasphemous questions.

They approached the crimson silk curtains of her room, and before she pushed them aside, she turned to him, eyes turning serious for but a fraction of a moment, before reverting to their natural playfulness, hinting at ecstatic sexual romp. "Wrong. There shouldn't be forbidden questions."

Akilah pulled him into her room, smelling of incense. The stone balcony overlooked the holy city, framed with curtains of the same fine silk from the far east. Spires of christian temples and islamic ones lined the view. Her eyes paused on the shining curvature of the Dome of the Rock. The four poster bed at its center had been neatly made by the servants. Chilled wine and cheese rested on a table, though she sensed this one felt an urgency excluding such luxuries.

The medallions adorning the chain resting leisurely on her hips made gentle metallic music as she looked up at him, feeling small in his shadow. It excited her. Cool night air wafted in from the balcony. "Besides..." Her soft lilt held seduction and promise as her arms slipped about his neck. "Tonight, it is not Allahs' name that will leave my lips, nor the name of Jesus, in pleasure and passion. I cry out for a man, to whom I belong for one long, joyous night... What is his name, I wonder?"

Her hands fiddled with the fasteners of his tabard.

The fasteners fought her slender fingers. They were hardened bronze, unyielding, and for long and sweet moments her forearms flexed against his broad shoulders and he felt the gentle plucking of her digits. She had slipped forward to fill the space between them with sudden, feminine warmth. It splashed across his belly, the front of his thick thighs, and surged through him.

But he did not speak just yet. He felt. It was not long before her fingers found success and the cloth fell away to the floor, crumpling and concealing the herald of his family in the process. There was no allegiance to that crest, none that touched him in any absolute way. Instead, all that he knew, was to step from her and begin to work on the buckles of his hauberk.

"Tegyr." He said.

The room's luxury did not suit him. He had only known of such riches in Jerusalem. She spoke of the Gods that he'd come to hear about. It meant nothing to him. In pieces his leather fell away to reveal the many scars that lay etched across his form. Each mark was, in itself, a story. They could have wasted hours, had he been inclined and she interested, sharing them.

When he turned he was nude. The light of the moon, as pale as his skin, filtered through the windows in the sandstone and lit the room. She was dark in its glow. Sultry. A thousand words that he did not know for beautiful and many beyond that still. He did not reach for her. Instead, he walked past her to the wine and poured himself a cup. The need for it, to be grounded, sudden as the words came from him.

"Akilah," he said over a rugged shoulder. "You are beautiful."

Reaching up, he shook out the short, chopped crown of his hair. Dark, raven-black. His father's had been red. His father's young bride-to-be had shared the coloring. These, and other memories, faded with his cup. It faded with the sound of her chains and their rustling at his back.

Yes, he thought, she would show him why he should bring her to his home.

It was a passing regret that he would not be returning home now, or ever.

 

[DemureDryad]

"Akilah, You are beautiful."

He took on the thinkers look again, as he poured himself a cup of wine. Her eyes flickered over him, noting his strength, and the epics told in chaotic, violent pictographs on his skin. A seasoned veteran of battle, it seemed. Soldiers were not supposed to think. Perhaps he had fought too long, and now he could no longer avoid whatever lurked suppressed in the back of his mind. It haunted him, that much was clear.

"Thank you, Tegyr." She thought of asking what plagued him, knowing that it could not be a forbidden question. Akilah walked to the wine, pouring herself a glass as well. He wished to take it slow, perhaps. "You are an attractive man. Strong, and evidently, not for lack of wealth. You must have a parade of women behind you."

Normally, her conversations were quite short, but the situation seemed to demand more. "I am good at seeing what resides in other peoples minds. I see that something is occupying your thoughts. I would like to know what it is."

She smiled and traced a scar on his collarbone. "Unless of course, that is a forbidden question."

 

[Mav Unlimited]

Amaya

Ever since he first saw her, she had always been a quiet girl. Not particularly shy though. Unlike the countless women he had fucked before he met her who didn't know when to stop talking. He was a man of few words himself. Some might have thought that to be odd, wondering how two people who did not speak much would get along. What would they talk about? Well, they didn't have to. Their minds did. The fucking. They didn't even know each other that well. Both had secrets. Deep, dark ones. Funny, but who cared about secrets in a place like this? Not these two. The secrets would be revealed eventually if they were meant to be. This was not the time for that. It never was, somehow.

The smile had already disappeared. His face showed no expression as she slowly sunk to her knees and looked up into his eyes. He reached his arm out, stroking her cheek with his fingers. So tender. Malik ran those fingers through her hair, glanced towards the window once and then back at her before rising from the bed, towering before the little lady. He dropped his clothes to the floor, revealing the rigid flesh underneath. He watched those lust filled eyes as they sought him. Her ripe lips that oozed sex, ready to engulf his manhood as it stared in her face. She knew what she had to do now. He didn't need to spell it out. The gold had already done that job for him. It wasn't just about having her to himself. It was also about her understanding what he needed, when he needed it, and exactly how, without him having to waste his energy in talking or idle chatter.

 

[Light Ice]

He did not smile.


This was not the business of smiles.


And when she touched him he did not flinch beneath her fingers. She was allowed, before the question found its resolution in his voice, to trace the answer present on his skin. The contrast between them was striking now, in the moon light, as they stood together. Her lips were fuller than his, fuller than the women he remembered from home, and she was softer too. There existed, in this moment, a gentle glow upon the surface of her darkened skin. It provoked him to reach for her. To graze his fingers above the chains of gold that hung across the feminine swell of her hip. She was lovely.

She had complimented him in a way that he could not remember being complimented. Attractive. Wealthy. It had forever been his strength. His sword. These were the qualities by which he was measured. These were the qualities, along with his sins, that the men that he fought beside counted his weight as a man.

"My father is the King." He began then. Beneath his fingers her skin was flawless, dark silk. His prick hardened rapidly. It was not difficult to ignore it just yet.

"There was a girl, just younger than I, whom I loved. She was arranged to marry my father after my mother's death. We met in secret."

Words. They had no justice in their passing. Had he known millions to speak they would have fallen short. But, even as she looked at his face and he looked beyond her to the window, there was much that escaped the space between them. The feelings that had once stirred him, the love that he had so briefly spoke of, had long come to its conclusion in his heart. It was a shadow and so, as the words came, he walked his fingers across her hip to the small of her back.

"My father sent all those close to me to this place to fight besides the Christians on their Crusade. I do not believe I will return. It is a beautiful place."

 

[DemureDryad]

His story was as powerful as his visage, and her eyes widened at the revelation that she stood in the presence of such an influential man. Or, she corrected herself, formerly influential.

Love... A dark skinned blacksmith's apprentice. Stolen kisses. Whispered promises. The word conjured up memories so good their recollection pained her. He was gone now. That humble, glorious dream of a small apartment, raising their children to the clang of a hammer striking pliant steel...

"Yes..." She looked away, knowing her experience filled the inevitable gap in language. It could not be that she could perfectly understand his words. There were no words, for such a thing. Love? A feeble substitute for meaning. And yet, she could do no better.

With that connection, the resonance of his feeble words, his hands suddenly felt like rough fire. Warm. Exciting, as they rested just above the pert, firm curve of her derriere. She stepped toward him, feeling the thick length of his manhood against her bare midriff. A gentle kiss on his shoulder. A whisper.

"I understand. It pleases me, that you would speak of these things. I am too cowardly yet to tell you why I see, and why I wish to comfort you. Keep your gold, Tegyr." She breathed against his neck, dainty fingers traveling slowly over his broad torso.

Noone had spoken to her thus. His story captivated her. She wanted him, for his words, now.

Now, she wondered, who needed who more.

 

[Light Ice]

Her breath rolled across his skin, abruptly hot, moist. All at once the softness of her words held a power in them. Electric. They coursed like a shiver, sudden and certain, and Tegyr felt the strength of his fingers answer by curling firmly into the slope of her spine. If she wanted for words, she'd have more of them. They came as he pulled her softly-curved body into the strength of his, crushed her silken shape into the hard stretch of his embrace.

The cup was abandoned on the table.

"I must pay you, Akilah." He said, his head bowing unbidden until his lips could brush beneath the delicate shell of her ear. The rumble of his voice was focused there, quiet and sure.

It had been nearly a year since he had last had a woman. She had not been like the sloe-eyed beauty against him now. The strength of his arms coiled around her, brought her into him, crushed her into the hardness of his chest and the imperfection of his scars. Unhurried now, despite the ache of his prick as its length crushed flat against her soft belly.

She may not understand it. There had been a time when he had promised, promised Chloë, that he would see her protected. She would be his, his alone, and never suffer another man. These were words. Empty, useless, impossible words. No questions were forbidden. But as he touched his lips to the soft line of her throat, Tegyr hoped abruptly that there was none necessary.

If he did not pay her. She'd begin to feel like his.

 

[DemureDryad]

"I must pay you, Akilah."

She could feel every battle hardened muscle flex beneath his skin. her breath hitched at the sensation of his low, irresistible voice, murmuring against her ear, lips brushing the lavish golden hoop. Goosebumps rose as those lips caressed the vulnerable flesh of her neck. It called her, his voice. It called her to give him everything she had. It was payment enough. Dark nipples tightened against him, an exclamation to the tawny pillows of her breasts. The flush of arousal colored her dark cheeks, perhaps far more slightly than the european girl he spoke of. But the effect was the same.

Slowly, her lips trailed down the length of him, as the young harlot fell to her knees. Gentle pecks along the maze of past wounds. She lazily made her way to his pulsing cock, pressing a final, concluding kiss on its base.

Her voice was husky, sultry... but gentle and sweet. What had come over her, to be acting in such a way? There were a thousand things to say, but only a solitary word left her.

"No."

Before he could reply, she closed her warm, wet lips about the bulbous head of his cock, eyes hooded and suggestive as her tongue massaged that spot just behind the rim of his tip, that drove men wild. Akilah wanted him to never forget her. She wanted to give him a magnificent gift, tonight. Because she knew his pain.

The moist suckling sounds seemed to make a symphony amid the soft moonlight, and the ceaseless cicadas.

 

[Light Ice]

The world stretched far beyond what he had known as home. He had travelled much of it with a diligence born of doubt and a certainty of sorrow. She spoke her sultry answer to the contrary, attempting to bestow on him a gift in trade. She would have it. The deal was struck.

His memory was a place filled with many things. He had never been a forgetful man. Akilah's place had never been for negotiation. It was assured from the moment her wrist had found itself captive in his fingers and he had felt her softness. It had grown when she had coaxed from him the tale of his travels to Jerusalem.

But in a man's mind there were many special places. Memories, moments, which came to define more than the timeless wealth that comprised itself as experience. There were instances in which a man's life, its summation, could be cauterized and bound to one unique and intoxicating sensation. These moments, such as a young prince's sudden realization that the crown he was promised and the joy of a father's pride did not measure itself to the great joy of a boy's love, were indelible. They were forged of steel thread, immune to the rust of time, and forged themselves into a critical strength in the tapestry of a man's life.

Whores were dangerous company. She proved it so.

Her kohl-lined eyes softened, doe-like, to reveal their amber centers and the gem-like flicker of brown and green surrounding it as she stared at him from the delicate bow of her kneel. Pleasure arced through him, sharp and sensual, until it was an erotic tremor that ripped its way across every synapse and nerve until his prick was a flexing tumult within the confines of her soft lips. Heat, and hard masculinity, mingling with the taste of his salty flesh and the spongy texture of his prick's velvet crown against her tongue and the roof of her mouth. The gentle, growing sparks of heat where her mouth was forced to strain to his tremendous girth.

His prick loomed a massive endeavor. Shamelessly hard. Pulsing hotly with the sensations she poured into him.

She stole from him feelings. Coaxed them as her mouth descended and his hips went rigid, strong hand dipping itself into the dark curtain of her hair to tangle it into a tight fist. Grounding himself. Fighting as she drew from him the great well of feeling buried beneath the scars and the calloused countenance he had grown throughout the years of his life. She stole from him the places in his mind that had been otherwise his, empty, and implanted herself there. The erotic, casual intensity of her affection underbound by the chord of understanding they shared. He would remember this as the single most sexually powerful moment in his life.

He would remember her for the way she made him love her, all of her, when she denied the gold he had passed to her.

Tegyr's balls tightened, drew up heavy and suddenly tight, as she continued. Were the night to be theirs, entirely, it'd begin now. A few moments, not long now, before the climax ripped through him and shattered his tenuous grip on restraint. It had been too long. She was too beautiful. And the ache she coaxed in his prick as ferocious as anything he had known.

"More." He said. Intent to spill within the heat of her silken mouth.

Confident, beyond doubt, that the hardness of his length would maintain so long as she was near him.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Malik

His fingers stroked her cheek. Her eyes closed to enjoy the sensation of his touch on her skin. The sound of his rustling clothes as well as the removal of his touch, brought them open again. He stood before her. Erect. Hard. Her hand surrounded him. Stroking slowly, from root to head. Her eyes after a sweeping glance of his entirety, came to rest upon his face. She loved watching the emotions play across it, knowing, she put them there.

Her eyes left his as she drew him against her waiting lips, rubbing the engorged head of his sex across them. Her lips parted over the slanted head, taking him inside her waiting, impatient, wet mouth. Her hands fastened around his thighs as he slid across her tongue, moving deeper into the dark recess. Her lips closed over him, sliding to the base in a series of dips and retreats. She held him, waiting for her throat muscles to accept him, waiting for them to loosen up then snug around him, just before the rippling sensation of her suckling began.

She was his to do with as he pleased. He had bought her time and her body for a good long while. Right now? Ruby lips, lips made to pass over a man's cock, were sliding along his and the porcelain countenance of her face was pressed against his groin.