He likes a challenge, she thinks to herself as she continues deeper into the room, not stopping before the chaise but circling it as a predator would prey as she examines him from all angles. It must be boring, confined within these walls with only yourself for continual entertainment where concubines come and go with the wind. Lonely even.
"Pleasure, above all else," she says from behind him. Her voice is gentle, feminine, pleasing to the ear, and arousing to the base instincts within every man (and even some women). "Which pleasures do you prefer, Empire? I am conversant in many subjects, some of which most companions lack training in."
Not that she would ever let him know, but Jessica knows of their origin, of the long-forgotten world of Earth in the Sol system that is nothing more than a myth to the people of the Empire. She knows of Earth's histories, the art, and songs that belonged to the planet, doomed to be forgotten if it weren't preserved by her long line of sisters. If her memory serves her right, they even have a preserved oil painting from Vincent Van Gogh, Thatched Cottages at Cordeville, 1890.
"I have been told my hands and body bring as much pleasure as I do with the subjects I am versed in." Jessica finally stops circling him; now, a mere few feet separate them. The freckles littering her skin and the striking blue of her eyes that peer through thick lashes now visible.
no subject
"Pleasure, above all else," she says from behind him. Her voice is gentle, feminine, pleasing to the ear, and arousing to the base instincts within every man (and even some women). "Which pleasures do you prefer, Empire? I am conversant in many subjects, some of which most companions lack training in."
Not that she would ever let him know, but Jessica knows of their origin, of the long-forgotten world of Earth in the Sol system that is nothing more than a myth to the people of the Empire. She knows of Earth's histories, the art, and songs that belonged to the planet, doomed to be forgotten if it weren't preserved by her long line of sisters. If her memory serves her right, they even have a preserved oil painting from Vincent Van Gogh, Thatched Cottages at Cordeville, 1890.
"I have been told my hands and body bring as much pleasure as I do with the subjects I am versed in." Jessica finally stops circling him; now, a mere few feet separate them. The freckles littering her skin and the striking blue of her eyes that peer through thick lashes now visible.