More Than A Kingdom - A Short Fantasy

More Than A Kingdom

"I'm not in the mood," she said, turning away.

A hand clamped on her arm and spun her back towards him. "You'll GET in the mood," he hissed. "I don't pay you to have 'moods,' I pay you to fuck!"

She jerked her arm free with a twist of her shoulders and smiled coyly up at him. "Don't assume you own my emotions just because you paid for me." Her stance softened. "But I can always be put in the mood. Know what puts me in the mood?"

He growled but she was undaunted. She stepped close to his chest and rested her palm against him. Her lips brushed his coarse chest hairs as she kissed his warm skin. "Money puts me in the mood, darling. Only money."

"Money's not an issue, you know that." He grabbed both her arms and gave her a shake. "I want you and I'll have you, whether you're in the mood or not!" He tossed her down on the bed and suited actions to words, thoroughly and at length. When he had finished with her, he rolled onto his side with his back to her and was soon snoring evenly.

Kiara stood, naked in the warm light of a dozen candles, and strolled to the liquor stand to pour herself a glass of dark wine from a carafe on a silver tray. She carried it to the full-length mirror and inspected her slim, toned body while she sipped the wine, turning from one side to the other, extending a leg, then an arm to examine their exquisite proportions. She was beautiful and she knew it. She loved it, in fact, because she knew how to use it. That's why Kiara had become one of the highest-paid whores in the city. But if her body was the tool she used to make her living, her keen intellect and street smarts were the hands that wielded it. Her position at the top was no mistake, and fate had nothing to do with it, either. She had carefully guided her career to make sure she didn't end up like any one of hundreds of other whores, some even prettier than her, barely scraping by while suffering all manner of indignations. It was her cunning, her ability to manipulate people, her uncanny knack for reading people and knowing how to control them and how to get what she wanted from them that had skyrocketed her to the top. She was even more proud of her street smarts and grit than her undeniable beauty. Plus, she knew the beauty would fade some day but she would still have her wits to battle the world.

She spun gracefully toward the dressing screen to fetch her silk gown. The fabric felt like cool water against her sensitive skin, causing the tiny hairs on her arms to perk. She brought a fold of silk to her cheek and lips to savor the sensation and thoroughly shivered with delight.

Yes, she was beautiful and cunning and tough, but she was also greedy. She knew it, but it didn't bother her. She accepted her greed along with her other attributes. She enjoyed nice things. She wouldn't apologize for that. She didn't want to live squatting in a dirty alley, scraping by and relying on the whims of others to survive. She wouldn't be beholden to anyone. That's why she didn't have a souteneur; some cruel, sadistic man to lord it over her, acting like he owned her while claiming to be protecting her and managing her affairs. Kiara hired her own muscle when she needed it, which was rarely. That meant she kept all the money she made and managed everything on her own. On the rare occasions when her persuasive arts weren't enough, she knew a few tough men who were happy to do some dirty work for the right price. A necessity of the trade, she'd found.

Accompanied by the audible somnolence coming from the bed, she crossed the room to her writing desk. Everything was neatly arranged just as she liked it. She sat daintily on the leather chair, feeling the cool, supple caress of the leather through the thin silk. Sensations were a treat to Kiara in ways that seemed lost on others. She had seen other women handle silk as if it was a dead fish. They had no capacity to actually appreciate the rich sensations that life had to offer. That's what she'd concluded, anyway. How else could someone not delight in the liquid smoothness of fine silk or the delicate frill of lace at the exciting edge of a ladies undergarment? The rough hands of her clients, the manly musk of their flesh, the grate of their sharp stubble against her lips; these were the sensations of life, to be savored and experienced to the fullest. She mused that maybe this was another reason for her success. She really did enjoy the sex. And she was good at it!