The bar beneath the brothel was bustling. Loose girls flirted with men while serving tipsy drinks. Tight corsets propped up their wares and spreading whispers advertised their vague services. One of the younger women stood out the most. Her regal act toward the men always intrigued them. They ironically called her Virgene, although it seemed right for her. Whenever taken upstairs, she giggled and was as sensitive as a virgin. Other girls tried to lead the guys, but Virgene preferred to be lead.
A few usuals knew where to tickle her, or where she liked to be kissed. But when she was with one Knight, it felt right. She would often run her fingers across his stubbled chin while he was in the bar just to have their bare skins touch again. After he was done with his dinner, and they were alone in her room, she flirted and teased him. Running her fingertips across his soft lips, down his muscular chest. He would, in turn, squeeze her waist, tickling under her chin. For most customers, this would cost them extra, but she didn't mind so much with him. Not with Brinley. She rarely charged him the full amount. One night, after they had finished, he was dressing to leave. She stretched, nude, on the bed, on her back, arms reaching for him. "Oh, Brinley," she moaned sadly, "do you really have to go? I can give you another free," she added, trying to tempt him. He grinned.
"Not tonight, Armelle-" she loved it when he said her real name "-I've got to get back to the Grand Duke."
"Oh, is that who's running the country these days," she said casually. His deep chuckle washed over her.
"Yes, ever since the King died without an heir, about ten years ago," Brinley answered. Now fully-clothed, he walked back to the bed. He rested his hands just under her breasts, then, as he lowered his lips to hers, he lowered his hands to her inner thighs. This upside-down kiss was the cherry topper to Virgene's night. After he pulled back up, she turned over onto her stomach.
"Mmm," she hummed, "I'm gonna miss that." She propped herself up with her arms, pressing her cleavage to be more defined. Her legs folded at the ankle and bent at the knee as she looked at him. She loved looking at him; his muscle that had just engulfed her small body, his dark eyes that swallowed up her attention, his auburn hair that had just entangled her slender fingers. Her legs swayed rhythmically. How restless she was. He simply smiled vaguely at her, dropped a clanging bag of silver coins on the bed, then left.
The next night, the bar was visited by a vague, well-dressed gentleman. Bright blue eyes were framed by dark skin and smooth black hair. She'd seen him before. "Hello, dearie," greated Virgene, "what can I get you to drink?" He casually ran a finger up her leg.
A few usuals knew where to tickle her, or where she liked to be kissed. But when she was with one Knight, it felt right. She would often run her fingers across his stubbled chin while he was in the bar just to have their bare skins touch again. After he was done with his dinner, and they were alone in her room, she flirted and teased him. Running her fingertips across his soft lips, down his muscular chest. He would, in turn, squeeze her waist, tickling under her chin. For most customers, this would cost them extra, but she didn't mind so much with him. Not with Brinley. She rarely charged him the full amount. One night, after they had finished, he was dressing to leave. She stretched, nude, on the bed, on her back, arms reaching for him. "Oh, Brinley," she moaned sadly, "do you really have to go? I can give you another free," she added, trying to tempt him. He grinned.
"Not tonight, Armelle-" she loved it when he said her real name "-I've got to get back to the Grand Duke."
"Oh, is that who's running the country these days," she said casually. His deep chuckle washed over her.
"Yes, ever since the King died without an heir, about ten years ago," Brinley answered. Now fully-clothed, he walked back to the bed. He rested his hands just under her breasts, then, as he lowered his lips to hers, he lowered his hands to her inner thighs. This upside-down kiss was the cherry topper to Virgene's night. After he pulled back up, she turned over onto her stomach.
"Mmm," she hummed, "I'm gonna miss that." She propped herself up with her arms, pressing her cleavage to be more defined. Her legs folded at the ankle and bent at the knee as she looked at him. She loved looking at him; his muscle that had just engulfed her small body, his dark eyes that swallowed up her attention, his auburn hair that had just entangled her slender fingers. Her legs swayed rhythmically. How restless she was. He simply smiled vaguely at her, dropped a clanging bag of silver coins on the bed, then left.
The next night, the bar was visited by a vague, well-dressed gentleman. Bright blue eyes were framed by dark skin and smooth black hair. She'd seen him before. "Hello, dearie," greated Virgene, "what can I get you to drink?" He casually ran a finger up her leg.
