Closed [House of Immortal Pleasures] Dark Inquiries (Aislin)

[Abashai]

"It is understandable, that you would assume I come here to seek the pleasure of another woman." his accented voice was low and slightly breathy, tempered by the soothing ministrations of the whore's hands. Though the massages was thoroughly therapeutic, both smoothly relaxing his muscles while invigorating them with enhanced blood flow, Aislin employed subtle seductions, skilled use of fingers in his hair, teasing reaches towards more private regions. Abashai found it necessary to concentrate on maintaining fortitude, subduing the masculine tension naturally triggered at such sensual stimulations and an environment designed to foster such yearnings. As if a voice instructed him, a beneficent coercion, Abashai closed his eyes for a long, pleasant moment.

After indulging himself for a few chimes in the firm, oil-slick applications of her hands on his warming skin, the Benshiran's eyes slowly slid open again. "What I want from you will actually require less effort than it takes to bring a man to his pleasure." Fact was, he was sure that the talented harlot could bring a client to his climax with little effort, and as soon or as delayed as she desired. "I simply have a few questions about a certain client of yours."

He had laid out his purpose, his 'pleasure' for the moment. Information. Whether Aislin was willing to divulge this information or not remained to be seen.

[Aislin]

The whore's pale lips curled into a wide grin, the outer ridges of each sliding up the length of either of her cheeks. Two white marble stones, glistening with her saliva shown from behind each as they parted with her own pleasure. Her hands gliding up and down the length of the Benshira's back as the flickering firelight cast by the candles strewn across the room illuminated a small portion of her features. Her hands glistening, for they were still moist with the remnants of a masseuse's instruments. Altogether, she seemed a slightly less radiant version of the sun. Her iced irises sparkling as they caught the flames and a soft laugh escaped the back of her throat. She could feel the noise rumbling along the length of her neck as she forced herself to press her lips together, and bring an end to it. Causing it to seem almost clipped, in a fashion. "Somehow, I doubt that," Aislin commented, as her thumbs flowed in and out of the gentle rises the knobbed bones which lined his spine produced along the length of his back. Skin stretched tautly over a sun-baked glow she had fabricated. Her nails drew lines against the oils she had been driving into his skin, as they dug lightly against the tanned hide. "But in any case, I will not question you," Aislin added as her smile began to shrink, and the scented oils welled beneath the surface of her nails. Tickling her flesh, warming it, as she had done his body, leaving her stomach to rise and fall evenly as she kept her eyes trained on him. Waiting for an answer as her heart began to pick up the pace, pounding lightly against the hollowed ivory bone which encased her vital organs. As Aislin listened to the rest of what the Benshira had to say, thin lines made their way across her forehead. Casting expression into the empty mask she had been mere moments beforehand. Her right brow arched, falling into one of the lower lines she had so recently created. "A client of mine?" the whore inquired as she lifted the lower portion of each of her hands off the man's back, leaving only the tips of her fingers to dig into the skin. Push it higher and higher, towards his shoulder blades. For a time, she maintained this simple motion, before lowering the bottoms of her hands and lifting them again, effectively patting him down as her appendages hungrily circled his back, seeking both of their pleasure, or so it would seem, given the fervor she was granting a man she scarcely knew. As she worked, her mark grew warm, searing her flesh. She began to feel as though the stretch of skin were an ant beneath a magnifying glass. The Benshira the boy holding it against her, so that the sun may burn her skin away from her abdomen, what little remained of her bone. "I take on many patrons," Aislin whispered, keeping the unease from her voice. "If you wish to know of one of the others that have the pleasure of sharing my bed, you are going to have to be more specific," she continued, as her hands fell against him again, and then stopped, instead favoring a simple slide over his supple skin. Wretch. "But it will cost you," the whore whispered sweetly, the words rolling from her lips as her brow fell back into place, and her eyes sparkled menacingly, although the man wasn't like to see.

[Abashai]

Diligently, Aislin applied, finger, heel and palm of hand against the corded muscles than lined Abashai's spine without respite as they conversed. The aroma of the oil was heavy in the air now, a generous coating now glistening on the flesh of his back and the slender, skilled hands of the masseuse. Aside from actual sexual activity, the Benshiran could not remember experiencing a more sensual satisfaction. But the heat of Rhysol's mark, having not ceased since he first drew near to the Chaon whore, served to keep the Salvatrice servant on task.

"But it will cost you."

Of course. Information was rarely free, and never so in Ravok. Abashai had plenty of mizas. The Salvatrice family was small but wealthy, and Kialandra gave him ample funds to grease palms and silence witnesses. But the sticky quality to Aislin's voice hinted that purchasing her information would not be so easily paid. A low, gutteral laugh escaped his throat.

"Of course. The subject of my inquiry had just left. A man short of stature, bald with an unkempt gotee, his name is Galeal." The Benshiran hesitated. He must proceed cautiously. To accuse Galeal of passing secret information to Aislin would also implicate the whore in the crime against the Salvatrice. "You know this man..." He spoke matter-of-fact. Abashai had witnessed the two of them conversing on several occasions in the main lobby, and disappearing together up the same staircase he himself had climbed behind Aislin. "I have an interest in the nature of his conversations with you. Now...name your price." The true matter of his visit revealed, Abashai waited with some anticipation, to hear the price she would exact upon him, and if she would continue the divine ministration of her hands on the muscles of his body.

[Aislin]

A delicate grin passed the whore's lips as her hands continued to prod Abashai's warm flesh. She could feel the fine raven hairs that lined the back of her swan's neck bristling as his accent continued to fill the air. Flowing between the dense currents that seemed to whirl over them; smoky tendrils from candles she scarcely seemed to notice anymore. Save for the flickering of light playing off their skin, causing it to shimmer playfully as her eyes darted back and forth over his coiled muscles. "I would not know," Aislin whispered as her fingers pushed against his skin, pressing the folds into his spinal column. "If the man you speak of is the one who comes to mind now, then you should know he never speaks his name." The woman fell silent then, her tongue playing across her lips, as though wetting that which had dried under the man's scrutiny. The fire's heat. As she moved, her mark still tingled and burned unpleasantly. As though in warning, or perhaps to beseech its being called into practice, to add the whore in any way possible, in such a strange situation, which would likely only end badly. As she listened, Aislin could feel her body tense, although she fought to keep this from the tips of her fingers; the breadth of her hands, for she knew it would effect her ability to give Abashai a proper massage. She was not so sure how successful she had been, for she could see the twisted bones which connected knuckles to wrist tightening, or rather, the skin around it tightening as she continued to push her fingers into the side of his spine. Nibbling her lower lip as he continued to speak to her, she considered his words alongside the appearance of the occasional bead of sweat along the length of her brow, the gentle drumming of her heart, growing ever faster. After a few ticks, so as not to seem too forward, or perhaps the opposite, too frightened and meek, the whore pulled her teeth off her lip. A paler pink, now that the color had drained, and two small rectangles had been etched in the flesh. Now, so slowly snapping back into place. "In any case, it doesn't matter. If you say I know him, presumably because you have seen the two of us together, talking perhaps, than I would suppose I do." The Chaon's eyes seemed to smile for her, as she guided her fingers to the opposite side of Abashai's spine and half heartedly prodded him there. Pushing the flesh against the column as she thought, and she spoke, softly. So as to keep with the tone of the room, the setting by which they found themselves. "But, that does leave a single question unanswered doesn't it?" Aislin asked. "Just what about our conversations matter to you? Or rather, what about them do you think would interest you?" Her nail drew against the length of his bone as she thought to herself what a peculiar man she had managed to dig her nails into. Considering this man, the one named Galeal which he seemed so intent on going after rarely spoke. Although he did do other things, a number of other things. Like moan quite loudly, and squirm beneath her for example. "When it is known what you would like to know, perhaps then a proper price could be named," Aislin finished as she kept on with her massage, hoping it would be enough to lure him into a false sense of security; knock the able man off his game. At least, temporarily, so that she may maintain the upper hand. Relax, the magic insisted. Just enough to be open. Honest. Fall.

[Abashai]

The Chaon woman spoke in silky whispers and hushed tones, the sound conjuring images of dark gossamer brushing against soft flesh in a desert breeze. Small hands, now warmed with the small amount of friction allowed in their oiled movements, continued to lull the Benshiran's muscles into a state of profound rest. In paradox, the very sensation of the skilled woman's hands upon the broad expanse of his bare back, her enticing fragrance that lingered in his nostrils, and the caress of her smooth voice in his ears enticed other tensions to engage. Neither the pervasive relaxation, nor the stirring arousal, proved to make his interrogation any easier. Yet, Abashai pressed forward.

"You know him, if not by name, for I have witness conversations between the two of you. In fact, he left this place less than a chime before I entered." It was futile for the whore to deny she knew the man. Abashai's voice was deep and resonate, but any reverberation was muffled by the pillows beneath him, keeping his words close to them. "If he does not use his name, he has more discretion than I give him credit." Was that hesitation? The Benshiran thought he detected a hitch in the whore's ministrations.

Abashai had no misgivings that Aislin was quite aware whether she knew what he wanted to know or not. Certainly, Aislin already knew he worked, was owned by, the Salvatrices. Kialandra had tattooed then branded her House seal upon the back of his shoulder. The clever harlot could easily determine on whose behalf he had come. It was now a matter of cat and mouse, give and take, to determine whether the woman would offer answers or deny him her assistance. A voice within warned him of danger. He was rather defenseless, and the fact that the whore, if she felt threatened, could shove a dagger between his ribs before he could react was very real. But Abashai was confident that Aislin would not resort to such violence. Murdering clients, and other people's servants, made for unpleasant consequences.

"I am only concerned with conversations relating to the Salvatrices." A safe statement, one that should be easily answered, if she were without guilt. "What price would be exacted upon me for such information"? Realizing he was squirming slightly beneath her gifted hands, Abashai stopped. Maybe he should have sat up, to conduct the questioning from a more sincere posture. But the man could not find the will to make Aislin stop. Besides, he was less threatening in his vulnerable position, perhaps it would help facilitate a more amiable exchange.

[Aislin]

Aislin smiled weakly as her nails slipped against skin. Shimmering crescents forming against the alabaster as iced irises looked on. Melting as the flesh did around her ministrations. And so the truth comes out, she thought to herself, like so many others, he watches and waits in the shadows. Hoping that his chance comes this fine day. Her eyes cracked, as though the frozen waters they bore were being smashed with a hammer. A glassiness overcame as her arched nails dragged against Abashai's sides; once that gave the impression as though she were about to fall into a rain of tears. But those never came, like so many nights she let her mangled heart swallow everything her mind wished to create. As her hands continued to move, helping to lay the curtain that would blind, the Chaon spoke softly, her words little more than the whispers of mere moments before. "The Salvatrices?" she began, as though to question whether or not she had heard him right. "The dark birds of the blackened sun?" Mere puppets in the grand scheme of things, or so many of the songbirds seem to sing. The whore would wait a few moments for the Benshira to make another of his remarks, or hold his tongue, before continuing. "Their names leave his lips from time to time, as do so many others," Aislin whispered. "When it should please him." Again, she paused as she pressed the tips of her fingers into his flesh, and twisted her wrists upwards and to the lefts, twirling the skin beneath before she lifted her hands and allowed it to snap back into place, before repeating the process a little further up along the length of his spine. Up and then down, and then a few more inches outwards from the column, so that the entire surface had been administered some sort of calming, or perhaps more peculiar, pleasure. "He does not often speak of his work, but in any case, I would suppose I know enough of it to warrant a fair enough price," the Chaon continued, treading carefully through turbulent waters. That which she could feel beginning to grow warm, just before the point of rumbling into a rolling boil. "A few silver mizas should do the trick, if not a few gold, depending on the sort of phrases you seek to circle your ears." A delicate smile crossed the woman's lips as she kept on kneading Abashai's skin, her wrists beginning to sting, her ivory colored bones experiencing a light tugging sensation, as though someone had reached in and was trying to pull them back out through a wall of pale flesh. "I suppose then, Benshira, that the only question left would be if you could accept this price for what it is you seek," Aislin whispered as her hands slowed and fell against his shoulder blades. Her fingers pressing along the curve; she pushed her arms around as the flats remained two appendages sprouting from a singular place. "And perhaps, if you should know just how to extract the information you need to help the twisted house." With that, her smile widened. If I even have it... Inwardly, she was chuckling. No... Cackling.

[Abashai]

Aislin proved to be as subtle and elusive as one would expect from a Chaon harlot. There were gains to be had, above the fee Abashai would pay for her occupational performances. The dance now ensued to determine what secrets there were, whether they would be spoken, and what value could be laid upon them. All the while, Aislin plied Abashai's muscular torso with gifted hands, and caressed his ears with sultry tones that laced every word with soothing temptation, regardless of their semantic meanings.

Pampered nails dragged down Abashai's side, affecting the sensitive nerves of the skin with a scintillating sensation, sending jolts through his groin and forcing an unbidden sigh from his throat. The Benshiran could not discern whatever haunted the whore's thoughts, her face hidden from him, his attention divided between the inquiry he was posing and the pleasure of the thorough massage she administered. Neither was there anything detectible in her hushed voice, though there was a hollowness to the unflattering description of his mistress' family, which went unanswered.

Aislin's voice continued in no more than a whisper, embellishing the intimacy of the encounter, as she work his now relaxed and warm muscles. The harlot was shrewd, offering hints and lures, promising a prize but not yet willing to disclose its value. She could be bluffing, she may be avoiding incriminating herself. Certainly she was intelligent enough to know what details would pique the Behnsiran's interest, if she knew anything. His own lips spread into a smile as she named her price, more than fair.

"That is acceptable, I will place an exact value on your information, once I hear its relevance." The Benshiran replied, attempting to edge his voice with something that sounded like business, though a husky quality bled through.

Abashai was confident that he would finally learn what the woman knew, though the process that had taken him to that place was not regretted. But Aislin threw a twist, one the Benshiran did not fully understand.

"...if you should know just how to extract the information you need..."

Abashai could hear the wry smile in her voice. Wretched wench. Aislin was a Chaon, one did not earn that by making life easy for anyone. No, their Chaos Lord found delight in the devious, and Abashai felt an anxiousness as she hinted that there would be more required of him.

"And what method, pray tell, would I use in order to receive the answers I seek?"

[Aislin]

Inwardly, the Chaon chuckled at the man's confusion, his grass-lined belly glistening as the oil from his back began to trickle down the sides. Falling with the flow of his breath, the delicate rise and fall of his chest. "If you need ask, Abashai, you should not be present," Aislin whispered as she continued to ply his flesh. "But in any case, here you are," within the lion's den. Her eyes glimmered softly as she continued to work a few moments, allowing a silence to fall between them. A gossamer veil fluttering in the breeze, struggling to fill the tension that rose with the ease of their voices into deathly oblivion. Eventually, she broke it first with the soft click of her heels, and then the sound of shifting fabric as she brought her leg over. Mounting the Benshira as one would a saddle strapped to the back of an unruly stallion. From atop the small of his back, the harlot looked down upon him, her palms pressed firmly into the center of his back for her support; one on each side of his spinal column. Do not move, the magic insisted as her thumbs began their dance. Sliding back and forth in a roughened crescent. For a time, Aislin remained silent and poised before her shoulders rolled back and her body came forward. Her breasts pressing against Abashai's skin as her arms bent at the elbows, and tucked underneath as she slid closer and closer. Her legs bunching, pressing against his sides, so that she appeared a feline crouching upon a rock. Her lips came forward, parted slightly so that her warm breath could be felt against his neck. You never should have come here, she thought to herself as she locked her heat against his. Allowing their bodies to grow warm as the shadows cast by the candle's flickering light trailed across their forms. Still, her fingers kneaded him slightly as her iced irises settled on the back of his neck for several ticks before she crossed the distance. Closing her eyes as she pressed her lips against his, softly at first, and then with a little more force. Her tongue parting pale pink petals; she let the tip slide against his own, darker, rougher. She wet them for a tick, before pressing the end against his lips, waiting for them to part so she could enter. Slide her tongue against the roof of his before she circled it hungrily, luring him into her mouth so that she may suck on it passionately. Perhaps hinting at what she could, and would do to him later. You are mine, Aislin's magic whispered as a delicate moan escaped her, emanating in the back of her throat. She could feel it rumbling against her esophagus as she continued to deepen the kiss, her hands resting a moment as she pushed her mouth a little further. Now. For a second she lingered, before opening her eyes and pulling away. Looking into his own as a knowing glimmer flashed within the recesses of her dilated pupils. Her heart hammered against him as she pushed against his back in slight, lifting her face away, the ends of her hair brushing her arms, his shoulders. Tickling, always tickling. "Now tell me what you would like to know," Aislin whispered, as her hypnotic djed wove itself into her words. Beseeching that he gave her more. Gave her everything. OOCIf there's a problem with this, just PM me for tweaks.

[Abashai]

Then encounter with the brothel whore had maintained a status quo for quite awhile, Aislin massaging him as he eased his way into his questioning. A lethargy had seemed to engross him, a result of her skilled fingers and probably more, though Abashai could not explain what, if he had noticed at all. An answer to his question lay pending in the warm, scented air as the woman held her silence. Abashai's answer came in increments, hints that she undraped without words. Barely realizing her movement, the Benshiran became aware of her weight at the small of his back, her hands resuming their methodical application. It was not an unusual position for a massage, he surmised, giving the girl a better angle to apply her slight weight to her work. But the dynamic altered at the feel of her body against him. The press of her curves, the clutch of her thighs against his sides, the warm breath at his neck. The posture was blatantly seductive, subtly possessive, definitely arousing.

He should not have been surprised at the press of her lips against his, no innocent peck, or even the oral embrace of lovers. It was the kiss of passion, lust even, assertive, insistent, probing. Abashai, in his relaxed state, responded, allowing access to the invading tongue, embracing it.

"Now tell me what you would like to know."

Perhaps it was the spike of lust that brought clarity, the very tangible, sloppy nature of her affections that elevated the Benshiran's awareness above the fog of seduction and relaxation. A price had been agreed upon. He was not there to dip his manhood into a strange well, though his physical state assured he was more than ready. He had permitted himself to be lured into a compromising position, one that could be corrected with physical exertion, or tact. For now, Abashai employed the latter.

"I thought I made myself clear, Aislin. My body is for the delight of my mistress, and her alone." That was true, mostly. A thought haunted him again, that he belonged to someone else. Though that person may have been the soul behind his Lacun mark, a muttered whisper told him, that person was not gone. That sensation even made him feel a bit unnerved when rolling with Kialandra in her bed. His body and soul belonged to someone, or it should have.

"Now, I will pay you the price agreed upon, and for services rendered. But nothing more. If that is the understanding, we can proceed." It was with no small effort that he rebuffed the sensual woman, draped as she was across his back.

[Aislin]

The Chaon smirked as her iced irises sparkled, the light of reflected candles dancing across her pupils as her fingers hungrily circled the supple curve of Abashai's shoulder blades. The ivory bone, scarcely concealed beneath a tanned hide, shimmering with the beginnings of sweaty beads. "A kiss is hardly what one could consider pleasure," Aislin said rather simply. Matter of factly; her voice rather low. Laced with nothing; edged with nothing, neutral. "Intimate perhaps, but no where near as erotic as some of the other things a woman could do with her mouth." At that she chuckled, the last of her words uttered in such a suggestive tone she doubt the Benshira would manage to keep himself down, unless he devised some great feat of strength, or perhaps, self restraint. "In any case, if you do not care for the taste of my lips, perhaps you could be satisfied by the mere sound that leaves them." Her smile widened then as she lifted herself further away, but quickened the pace by which her fingers needled him. Following the length of bone as though it were the only thing left in the world. "As for your family, Galeal speaks of them," Aislin began, the words dripping off the edge of her tongue in what one may consider a man's measured stride, "but only from time to time." She paused a moment, allowing what she had said to settle in before continuing as she forced the majority of her weight into the lower portion of her body, serving to pin the man beneath her down with a greater amount of her strength as her palms rested against his shoulder blades. Serving to keep her in place as the thumbs danced back and forth. "He claims they are one of the darker broods; crows, he calls them, for on their wings come sinister words, and from their lips, raucous caws for more." She paused a moment, considering how best to phrase, to continue, to lead. "But in this they are a secretive lot. As many of the other well known houses of the city are." She nibbled her lower lip a moment as her thumbs stopped to awaken the press of her palms against the bone. Sliding up a few inches, before they pulled back, only to repeat the process quite the number of times over. "He claims they hide in the crook of rafters, and within the city's invisible trees. Listening; waiting. In constant wonder." "Waiting to strip a morsel of meat from the most recent butchery; a rotting corpse. They fly alongside fleas; sucking the blood from the deceased before tossing it to the fish that inhabit the lake," Aislin continued, her smile widening as she continued to work at her tale, and on the Benshira's back. "It is said that for the scraps from their proverbial table, the fish provide the birds with an extra set of ears. Although, it is known they bite them off each other. Wrench them really, in the hope that their own set grows stronger." Inwardly, the Chaon chuckled, silently wondering if her dark brother believed any of the words that had left her soft lips; for it was truly well known that the fish had no ears. Only puckered lips, and tight groupings of silver scales. Follow the line of lies, the magic insisted. Expertly strung, deftly woven words; let them reel you in as a fisherman does a pull on the string. Let them wash over you. Let yourself believe them all. Even that which isn't entirely true... All the while, Aislin's hands kept on working. Never truly letting the Benshira go. OOCI should be a proud mother, Aislin being ever so devoted to her work... P.S. No, I have no idea where it is I am going with this. Just in case you were wondering...