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The temple of Aphrodite was an infrequent but not unfamiliar haunt for the crown prince of Colchis. His time there had been sporadic, if only for the duties that waited him across the sea. Spending more time at war than at home, Vangelis satisfied his more masculine desires at a pace that other men might consider practically virginal. Instead, on the weeks that he was lucky enough to attend home, he paid tribute to the Goddess of Love often. Having returned to the Kirakles Isles only two days prior, this was to be his first sojourn if the year.
There had been little enough change to the temple since his last visit in the winter months. But then, when a city such as Midas was carved from the very rock on which it stood, there was little enough to shift and alter. The temple of Aphrodite was a masterpiece in craftsmanship. The temple closest to the entrance of the Hall of the Gods, it possessed a more frigid centre of devotion in the caves, alongside those of Athena, Ares and Hades, not to mention plinths and chambers of honour for the other Gods deeper within. On the outside of the Halls, however, lay a second entrance. This was carved from the mountainside and decorated with marble columns brought from overseas to flank the entrance. Long curtains of gossamer silk in shades of hibiscus were hung and then tied towards the base of the towers. The wind would catch within their textile bellies, billowing them into fertile curves and arcs of gossamer shine. The shifting in the wind fluttered the flowers fastened around their toes, the leaves and petal waving to lure in those who wished to pray.
There were slaves outside the temple’s entryway. Dressed in the finest and sheerest of silks to honour the beauty they had been given in their own physiques, they swept along the steps of the temple, refastened flowers into place and refilled fountains of water that ran down groves in the stone. In one of the highest locations in Midas, above even his own family’s estate, the air was pure and fresh.
Men occasionally entered or left the temples, but most did not hover. They would pause momentarily to offer a bow or prayer towards the recesses of the open temple but they did not loiter upon the steps. No priestess was ever seen outside the doors during their service. They did not move to the entryway, a parting kiss for their patrons, nor offer waves and smiles of farewell. The women who served here were not stand in wives. They were not romantic partners or there to offer companionship and connection. They were a tool of service. A beloved and worshipped sure that was owed respect and care, but a tool nonetheless. They were there to open the doors of worship for the great Goddess herself. A vessel that Aphrodite might use vicariously to accept the offerings and devotion of mortal men.
They performed a great service for the nation, maintaining a relationship of love and faith with the notoriously contrary Goddess of Beauty.
Arriving by horseback, Vangelis had only two guardsmen at his back that he shed as simply as he did his horse, dismounting in order to ascend the steps to the temple’s dark and shadow-y entryway. Barring the soldiers in full armour that now waited outside, Vangelis word little else that identified his rank. His sandals were of fine leather and wrapped to his knees and his dress was a simple tunic of off white, stark against the tan of his skin. He was darker than his usual tone after spending an unseasonably hot spring in the northern lands under the sun. There were lines of white around his waist where his underclothes had protected him from the light. He wore no jewellery barring his house ring and royal signet - each practically melded to his fingers after so many years. No crown graced his head, no cloak bore his shield of arms.
His lack of procession did not, however, hide who he was. His time away from his homeland, ironically saw to his face being well known among his people. The scarcity with which he appeared at public events or on show throughout the capitol had those that saw him remember his face. His presence was an event in and of himself and it lingered in the memories of his people. The same was true for the temple of Aphrodite. His visits were infrequent. Months or even years apart at a time. And yet he visited the temple more than he might the common market whilst in the Isles. He had no other needs that couldn't be seen to by another. It was only these trips that he was forced to complete in person.
As such, his face was recognised, as he mounted the steps to the entryway and stepped in through the doors of the temple. His presence scattered the servants and priests that lingered in the open foyer of white marble, ready to receive the next guest. A guest they had had no prior warning would be of royal blood, let alone the heir to the throne and crown.
As the High Priest of the temple hurried over, bowing low, he managed to avoid stammering in his surprise and eagerness to see the man welcomed. The tight manner in which he held his hands together was the only indication of his nerves as he spoke with a tone of calm acceptance and serenity.
"Welcome, my Prince." He offered to Vangelis, his beard dropping to head towards the floor as he lowered his head. "You honour us with your presence this morn. Do you wish to make an honouring contribution to the Goddess? Should I consider your usual preferences?"
Vangelis had known the man for many years. Practically since he had returned from his first war campaign at the tender age of eighteen. His delicate way of putting the questions were simple enough and Vangelis needed to only nod. By 'preferences' the man meant almost none. Vangelis had no special requirements of his women or priestesses, had no preference for blondes over brunettes, nor shape and curve of figure. And all of the priestesses within the temple were beautiful. His only specifications had been that he refused any girl that was new to the occupation and he rarely took the same female twice. This was nothing to do with his physical needs and everything to do with his state of rank. Those that held the allure of virginity or innocence were a draw for some men and Vangelis was masculine enough to share in that interest in some ways. But women tended to put great stock in such things and he did not need for a priestess to become overtly attached to some romantic notions beyond their role and profession. It was for the same reason that he rarely accepted the same more than twice or so - and never close together. He ne'er wished to imply an emotional preference where only the physical lingered.
At his confirmation of a need for a woman of experience, perhaps one that he had yet to use in his devotions to the Goddess, the priest was quick to cite a few names to a servant to see if they were available to offer service. The woman in question rushed away to seek out the priestesses that had been named and Vangelis was left to wait. He was quickly brought a cup of wine that he accepted, despite his reservations over alcohol, and dishes of fine fruit that he picked at a little as he waited to be greeted by a priestess, or shown to her chambers...
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The temple of Aphrodite was an infrequent but not unfamiliar haunt for the crown prince of Colchis. His time there had been sporadic, if only for the duties that waited him across the sea. Spending more time at war than at home, Vangelis satisfied his more masculine desires at a pace that other men might consider practically virginal. Instead, on the weeks that he was lucky enough to attend home, he paid tribute to the Goddess of Love often. Having returned to the Kirakles Isles only two days prior, this was to be his first sojourn if the year.
There had been little enough change to the temple since his last visit in the winter months. But then, when a city such as Midas was carved from the very rock on which it stood, there was little enough to shift and alter. The temple of Aphrodite was a masterpiece in craftsmanship. The temple closest to the entrance of the Hall of the Gods, it possessed a more frigid centre of devotion in the caves, alongside those of Athena, Ares and Hades, not to mention plinths and chambers of honour for the other Gods deeper within. On the outside of the Halls, however, lay a second entrance. This was carved from the mountainside and decorated with marble columns brought from overseas to flank the entrance. Long curtains of gossamer silk in shades of hibiscus were hung and then tied towards the base of the towers. The wind would catch within their textile bellies, billowing them into fertile curves and arcs of gossamer shine. The shifting in the wind fluttered the flowers fastened around their toes, the leaves and petal waving to lure in those who wished to pray.
There were slaves outside the temple’s entryway. Dressed in the finest and sheerest of silks to honour the beauty they had been given in their own physiques, they swept along the steps of the temple, refastened flowers into place and refilled fountains of water that ran down groves in the stone. In one of the highest locations in Midas, above even his own family’s estate, the air was pure and fresh.
Men occasionally entered or left the temples, but most did not hover. They would pause momentarily to offer a bow or prayer towards the recesses of the open temple but they did not loiter upon the steps. No priestess was ever seen outside the doors during their service. They did not move to the entryway, a parting kiss for their patrons, nor offer waves and smiles of farewell. The women who served here were not stand in wives. They were not romantic partners or there to offer companionship and connection. They were a tool of service. A beloved and worshipped sure that was owed respect and care, but a tool nonetheless. They were there to open the doors of worship for the great Goddess herself. A vessel that Aphrodite might use vicariously to accept the offerings and devotion of mortal men.
They performed a great service for the nation, maintaining a relationship of love and faith with the notoriously contrary Goddess of Beauty.
Arriving by horseback, Vangelis had only two guardsmen at his back that he shed as simply as he did his horse, dismounting in order to ascend the steps to the temple’s dark and shadow-y entryway. Barring the soldiers in full armour that now waited outside, Vangelis word little else that identified his rank. His sandals were of fine leather and wrapped to his knees and his dress was a simple tunic of off white, stark against the tan of his skin. He was darker than his usual tone after spending an unseasonably hot spring in the northern lands under the sun. There were lines of white around his waist where his underclothes had protected him from the light. He wore no jewellery barring his house ring and royal signet - each practically melded to his fingers after so many years. No crown graced his head, no cloak bore his shield of arms.
His lack of procession did not, however, hide who he was. His time away from his homeland, ironically saw to his face being well known among his people. The scarcity with which he appeared at public events or on show throughout the capitol had those that saw him remember his face. His presence was an event in and of himself and it lingered in the memories of his people. The same was true for the temple of Aphrodite. His visits were infrequent. Months or even years apart at a time. And yet he visited the temple more than he might the common market whilst in the Isles. He had no other needs that couldn't be seen to by another. It was only these trips that he was forced to complete in person.
As such, his face was recognised, as he mounted the steps to the entryway and stepped in through the doors of the temple. His presence scattered the servants and priests that lingered in the open foyer of white marble, ready to receive the next guest. A guest they had had no prior warning would be of royal blood, let alone the heir to the throne and crown.
As the High Priest of the temple hurried over, bowing low, he managed to avoid stammering in his surprise and eagerness to see the man welcomed. The tight manner in which he held his hands together was the only indication of his nerves as he spoke with a tone of calm acceptance and serenity.
"Welcome, my Prince." He offered to Vangelis, his beard dropping to head towards the floor as he lowered his head. "You honour us with your presence this morn. Do you wish to make an honouring contribution to the Goddess? Should I consider your usual preferences?"
Vangelis had known the man for many years. Practically since he had returned from his first war campaign at the tender age of eighteen. His delicate way of putting the questions were simple enough and Vangelis needed to only nod. By 'preferences' the man meant almost none. Vangelis had no special requirements of his women or priestesses, had no preference for blondes over brunettes, nor shape and curve of figure. And all of the priestesses within the temple were beautiful. His only specifications had been that he refused any girl that was new to the occupation and he rarely took the same female twice. This was nothing to do with his physical needs and everything to do with his state of rank. Those that held the allure of virginity or innocence were a draw for some men and Vangelis was masculine enough to share in that interest in some ways. But women tended to put great stock in such things and he did not need for a priestess to become overtly attached to some romantic notions beyond their role and profession. It was for the same reason that he rarely accepted the same more than twice or so - and never close together. He ne'er wished to imply an emotional preference where only the physical lingered.
At his confirmation of a need for a woman of experience, perhaps one that he had yet to use in his devotions to the Goddess, the priest was quick to cite a few names to a servant to see if they were available to offer service. The woman in question rushed away to seek out the priestesses that had been named and Vangelis was left to wait. He was quickly brought a cup of wine that he accepted, despite his reservations over alcohol, and dishes of fine fruit that he picked at a little as he waited to be greeted by a priestess, or shown to her chambers...
The temple of Aphrodite was an infrequent but not unfamiliar haunt for the crown prince of Colchis. His time there had been sporadic, if only for the duties that waited him across the sea. Spending more time at war than at home, Vangelis satisfied his more masculine desires at a pace that other men might consider practically virginal. Instead, on the weeks that he was lucky enough to attend home, he paid tribute to the Goddess of Love often. Having returned to the Kirakles Isles only two days prior, this was to be his first sojourn if the year.
There had been little enough change to the temple since his last visit in the winter months. But then, when a city such as Midas was carved from the very rock on which it stood, there was little enough to shift and alter. The temple of Aphrodite was a masterpiece in craftsmanship. The temple closest to the entrance of the Hall of the Gods, it possessed a more frigid centre of devotion in the caves, alongside those of Athena, Ares and Hades, not to mention plinths and chambers of honour for the other Gods deeper within. On the outside of the Halls, however, lay a second entrance. This was carved from the mountainside and decorated with marble columns brought from overseas to flank the entrance. Long curtains of gossamer silk in shades of hibiscus were hung and then tied towards the base of the towers. The wind would catch within their textile bellies, billowing them into fertile curves and arcs of gossamer shine. The shifting in the wind fluttered the flowers fastened around their toes, the leaves and petal waving to lure in those who wished to pray.
There were slaves outside the temple’s entryway. Dressed in the finest and sheerest of silks to honour the beauty they had been given in their own physiques, they swept along the steps of the temple, refastened flowers into place and refilled fountains of water that ran down groves in the stone. In one of the highest locations in Midas, above even his own family’s estate, the air was pure and fresh.
Men occasionally entered or left the temples, but most did not hover. They would pause momentarily to offer a bow or prayer towards the recesses of the open temple but they did not loiter upon the steps. No priestess was ever seen outside the doors during their service. They did not move to the entryway, a parting kiss for their patrons, nor offer waves and smiles of farewell. The women who served here were not stand in wives. They were not romantic partners or there to offer companionship and connection. They were a tool of service. A beloved and worshipped sure that was owed respect and care, but a tool nonetheless. They were there to open the doors of worship for the great Goddess herself. A vessel that Aphrodite might use vicariously to accept the offerings and devotion of mortal men.
They performed a great service for the nation, maintaining a relationship of love and faith with the notoriously contrary Goddess of Beauty.
Arriving by horseback, Vangelis had only two guardsmen at his back that he shed as simply as he did his horse, dismounting in order to ascend the steps to the temple’s dark and shadow-y entryway. Barring the soldiers in full armour that now waited outside, Vangelis word little else that identified his rank. His sandals were of fine leather and wrapped to his knees and his dress was a simple tunic of off white, stark against the tan of his skin. He was darker than his usual tone after spending an unseasonably hot spring in the northern lands under the sun. There were lines of white around his waist where his underclothes had protected him from the light. He wore no jewellery barring his house ring and royal signet - each practically melded to his fingers after so many years. No crown graced his head, no cloak bore his shield of arms.
His lack of procession did not, however, hide who he was. His time away from his homeland, ironically saw to his face being well known among his people. The scarcity with which he appeared at public events or on show throughout the capitol had those that saw him remember his face. His presence was an event in and of himself and it lingered in the memories of his people. The same was true for the temple of Aphrodite. His visits were infrequent. Months or even years apart at a time. And yet he visited the temple more than he might the common market whilst in the Isles. He had no other needs that couldn't be seen to by another. It was only these trips that he was forced to complete in person.
As such, his face was recognised, as he mounted the steps to the entryway and stepped in through the doors of the temple. His presence scattered the servants and priests that lingered in the open foyer of white marble, ready to receive the next guest. A guest they had had no prior warning would be of royal blood, let alone the heir to the throne and crown.
As the High Priest of the temple hurried over, bowing low, he managed to avoid stammering in his surprise and eagerness to see the man welcomed. The tight manner in which he held his hands together was the only indication of his nerves as he spoke with a tone of calm acceptance and serenity.
"Welcome, my Prince." He offered to Vangelis, his beard dropping to head towards the floor as he lowered his head. "You honour us with your presence this morn. Do you wish to make an honouring contribution to the Goddess? Should I consider your usual preferences?"
Vangelis had known the man for many years. Practically since he had returned from his first war campaign at the tender age of eighteen. His delicate way of putting the questions were simple enough and Vangelis needed to only nod. By 'preferences' the man meant almost none. Vangelis had no special requirements of his women or priestesses, had no preference for blondes over brunettes, nor shape and curve of figure. And all of the priestesses within the temple were beautiful. His only specifications had been that he refused any girl that was new to the occupation and he rarely took the same female twice. This was nothing to do with his physical needs and everything to do with his state of rank. Those that held the allure of virginity or innocence were a draw for some men and Vangelis was masculine enough to share in that interest in some ways. But women tended to put great stock in such things and he did not need for a priestess to become overtly attached to some romantic notions beyond their role and profession. It was for the same reason that he rarely accepted the same more than twice or so - and never close together. He ne'er wished to imply an emotional preference where only the physical lingered.
At his confirmation of a need for a woman of experience, perhaps one that he had yet to use in his devotions to the Goddess, the priest was quick to cite a few names to a servant to see if they were available to offer service. The woman in question rushed away to seek out the priestesses that had been named and Vangelis was left to wait. He was quickly brought a cup of wine that he accepted, despite his reservations over alcohol, and dishes of fine fruit that he picked at a little as he waited to be greeted by a priestess, or shown to her chambers...
A muted knock at her door roused Euterpe from her postcoital languor, having just waved away the acolyte who changed the bedclothes. Lazed back on a sumptuously upholstered kline not far from the foot of the bed, lush scarlet locks framed the courtesan’s head like a flaming halo. Nude as the day she was born, flickering candlelight illuminated and shadowed the dips and hollows of her creamy skin in a way that outlined her flesh like a painting. Idly, she wondered who would be coming to fetch her so soon after her last patron, or if the acolyte she’d sent away had forgotten something. Hazel eyes adorned with long, curling lashes slowly fluttered open at the sound, stretching her arms above her head and sitting up with a soft call of, “Come in,” ushering the woman outside into the room.
“Euterpe,” the acolyte greeted her in a hushed voice, her eyes wide and sparkling with concealed excitement. “Euterpe, the prince is here! The High Priest sent me to see if you were free!”
“The prince?” Euterpe repeated in surprise. “Me?” Her surprise was genuine, but it shouldn’t have been. Though she’d only served in her duties as priestess for the past four years, she was a popular one among the temple’s clientele. Renowned for her particular sensuality and the genuine devotion she brought to her work, there were already many patrons who sought her out specifically. The crimson hair that waved down her back only added to her allure, lending her an air of the exotic among so many blondes and brunettes. Why should she not be offered to one of the royals? She was every bit as worthy as any other woman here. The temple chose its priestesses well, and Euterpe was certainly no exception.
“Not that it matters, but which one?” she asked the other woman, her own cheeks flushing with a similar excitement. A chance to serve one of the princes of Colchis… divine calling or not, it was still an honor.
“Prince Vangelis himself,” was the acolyte’s grinning response, Euterpe’s brows raising in surprise. The corner of her mouth raised in a smirk, a soft chuckle parting her lips. She knew several of the other priestesses had lain with the crown prince in the past several years, and that, according to them, he lived up to his nickname the ‘Stone Prince’ in more ways than one. Of course she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to find out if his reputation was true.
“Tell the High Priest I’ll be happy to see him,” she told the younger woman, waving her out and raising up off the kline to prepare both herself and the room for the prince’s arrival.
Lighting the incense burner with a particular concoction she’d created in her downtime, the effusive scent of jasmine and vanilla wafting smoke tendrils that curled with a sultry heat through the room. Looking down at her lack of clothing, she laughed and shook her head. From what she’d heard, Prince Vangelis was a man who preferred to just… get to the point. No sense in redressing herself now.
Repainting her lips with a rich carmine a few shades darker than her hair, she carefully fixed the detailing of kohl lining her eyes. Quickly running a comb through her hair, she let it remain unbound and loose to flow around her back and shoulders. Dabbing the tip of her finger into a nearby dish of rose oil, she anointed her wrists, the hollow of her throat, the tips of her breasts, and the space between her legs with the floral scent, quickly glancing one last time in the looking glass. The face that looked back at her was pale with cheeks flushed, eyes bright with a mixture of profound excitement and a hint of nerves.
Normally, the status of her patrons made no difference to her. Rich or poor, young or old, noble or common, she’d lain with them all. After all, people were people, and they all felt love and desire. But who wouldn’t feel at least a little anxious at the prospect of serving the heir to the throne himself?
By the time the prince was led to her chambers, Euterpe was laid on the bed, lounged in an inviting position on her side facing the door. Her head rested in the palm of her hand, her knee pulled up just enough for the hazy light of the room to outline the supple curves of flesh that framed the young woman’s body. Hair pulled back over her shoulder to pool on the bed below her, the rest of her youthful form laid bare on proud display.
“Your Highness,” she greeted Prince Vangelis with a deep incline of her head, the closest she could get to bowing in the position in which she laid. “It’s my honor to be able to welcome you into Aphrodite’s favor tonight.”
Flicking her gaze briefly to his, she smiled and buried her nerves. She highly doubted the prince came to the temple seeking a woman who stuttered and shook as if it were her first time. Instead, she sought to project the confidence that normally came so easily to her, shedding her anxiety for the cloak of her goddess’s divine grace.
Slowly, she rose from the bed and made her way over to where the prince stood, each movement one of a practiced, yet fluid grace as pleasing to the eye as a dancer’s. Stopping in front of him, she bobbed in a bow a little more earnest than the one before, straightening back up to meet his gaze again. Careful and deliberate, her hand raised to stroke lightly against his jaw, stopping only to brush her thumb over his bottom lip.
“My name is Euterpe,” she quietly introduced herself, her gaze lingering briefly on his mouth. “I hope I am… pleasing to you.”
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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A muted knock at her door roused Euterpe from her postcoital languor, having just waved away the acolyte who changed the bedclothes. Lazed back on a sumptuously upholstered kline not far from the foot of the bed, lush scarlet locks framed the courtesan’s head like a flaming halo. Nude as the day she was born, flickering candlelight illuminated and shadowed the dips and hollows of her creamy skin in a way that outlined her flesh like a painting. Idly, she wondered who would be coming to fetch her so soon after her last patron, or if the acolyte she’d sent away had forgotten something. Hazel eyes adorned with long, curling lashes slowly fluttered open at the sound, stretching her arms above her head and sitting up with a soft call of, “Come in,” ushering the woman outside into the room.
“Euterpe,” the acolyte greeted her in a hushed voice, her eyes wide and sparkling with concealed excitement. “Euterpe, the prince is here! The High Priest sent me to see if you were free!”
“The prince?” Euterpe repeated in surprise. “Me?” Her surprise was genuine, but it shouldn’t have been. Though she’d only served in her duties as priestess for the past four years, she was a popular one among the temple’s clientele. Renowned for her particular sensuality and the genuine devotion she brought to her work, there were already many patrons who sought her out specifically. The crimson hair that waved down her back only added to her allure, lending her an air of the exotic among so many blondes and brunettes. Why should she not be offered to one of the royals? She was every bit as worthy as any other woman here. The temple chose its priestesses well, and Euterpe was certainly no exception.
“Not that it matters, but which one?” she asked the other woman, her own cheeks flushing with a similar excitement. A chance to serve one of the princes of Colchis… divine calling or not, it was still an honor.
“Prince Vangelis himself,” was the acolyte’s grinning response, Euterpe’s brows raising in surprise. The corner of her mouth raised in a smirk, a soft chuckle parting her lips. She knew several of the other priestesses had lain with the crown prince in the past several years, and that, according to them, he lived up to his nickname the ‘Stone Prince’ in more ways than one. Of course she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to find out if his reputation was true.
“Tell the High Priest I’ll be happy to see him,” she told the younger woman, waving her out and raising up off the kline to prepare both herself and the room for the prince’s arrival.
Lighting the incense burner with a particular concoction she’d created in her downtime, the effusive scent of jasmine and vanilla wafting smoke tendrils that curled with a sultry heat through the room. Looking down at her lack of clothing, she laughed and shook her head. From what she’d heard, Prince Vangelis was a man who preferred to just… get to the point. No sense in redressing herself now.
Repainting her lips with a rich carmine a few shades darker than her hair, she carefully fixed the detailing of kohl lining her eyes. Quickly running a comb through her hair, she let it remain unbound and loose to flow around her back and shoulders. Dabbing the tip of her finger into a nearby dish of rose oil, she anointed her wrists, the hollow of her throat, the tips of her breasts, and the space between her legs with the floral scent, quickly glancing one last time in the looking glass. The face that looked back at her was pale with cheeks flushed, eyes bright with a mixture of profound excitement and a hint of nerves.
Normally, the status of her patrons made no difference to her. Rich or poor, young or old, noble or common, she’d lain with them all. After all, people were people, and they all felt love and desire. But who wouldn’t feel at least a little anxious at the prospect of serving the heir to the throne himself?
By the time the prince was led to her chambers, Euterpe was laid on the bed, lounged in an inviting position on her side facing the door. Her head rested in the palm of her hand, her knee pulled up just enough for the hazy light of the room to outline the supple curves of flesh that framed the young woman’s body. Hair pulled back over her shoulder to pool on the bed below her, the rest of her youthful form laid bare on proud display.
“Your Highness,” she greeted Prince Vangelis with a deep incline of her head, the closest she could get to bowing in the position in which she laid. “It’s my honor to be able to welcome you into Aphrodite’s favor tonight.”
Flicking her gaze briefly to his, she smiled and buried her nerves. She highly doubted the prince came to the temple seeking a woman who stuttered and shook as if it were her first time. Instead, she sought to project the confidence that normally came so easily to her, shedding her anxiety for the cloak of her goddess’s divine grace.
Slowly, she rose from the bed and made her way over to where the prince stood, each movement one of a practiced, yet fluid grace as pleasing to the eye as a dancer’s. Stopping in front of him, she bobbed in a bow a little more earnest than the one before, straightening back up to meet his gaze again. Careful and deliberate, her hand raised to stroke lightly against his jaw, stopping only to brush her thumb over his bottom lip.
“My name is Euterpe,” she quietly introduced herself, her gaze lingering briefly on his mouth. “I hope I am… pleasing to you.”
A muted knock at her door roused Euterpe from her postcoital languor, having just waved away the acolyte who changed the bedclothes. Lazed back on a sumptuously upholstered kline not far from the foot of the bed, lush scarlet locks framed the courtesan’s head like a flaming halo. Nude as the day she was born, flickering candlelight illuminated and shadowed the dips and hollows of her creamy skin in a way that outlined her flesh like a painting. Idly, she wondered who would be coming to fetch her so soon after her last patron, or if the acolyte she’d sent away had forgotten something. Hazel eyes adorned with long, curling lashes slowly fluttered open at the sound, stretching her arms above her head and sitting up with a soft call of, “Come in,” ushering the woman outside into the room.
“Euterpe,” the acolyte greeted her in a hushed voice, her eyes wide and sparkling with concealed excitement. “Euterpe, the prince is here! The High Priest sent me to see if you were free!”
“The prince?” Euterpe repeated in surprise. “Me?” Her surprise was genuine, but it shouldn’t have been. Though she’d only served in her duties as priestess for the past four years, she was a popular one among the temple’s clientele. Renowned for her particular sensuality and the genuine devotion she brought to her work, there were already many patrons who sought her out specifically. The crimson hair that waved down her back only added to her allure, lending her an air of the exotic among so many blondes and brunettes. Why should she not be offered to one of the royals? She was every bit as worthy as any other woman here. The temple chose its priestesses well, and Euterpe was certainly no exception.
“Not that it matters, but which one?” she asked the other woman, her own cheeks flushing with a similar excitement. A chance to serve one of the princes of Colchis… divine calling or not, it was still an honor.
“Prince Vangelis himself,” was the acolyte’s grinning response, Euterpe’s brows raising in surprise. The corner of her mouth raised in a smirk, a soft chuckle parting her lips. She knew several of the other priestesses had lain with the crown prince in the past several years, and that, according to them, he lived up to his nickname the ‘Stone Prince’ in more ways than one. Of course she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to find out if his reputation was true.
“Tell the High Priest I’ll be happy to see him,” she told the younger woman, waving her out and raising up off the kline to prepare both herself and the room for the prince’s arrival.
Lighting the incense burner with a particular concoction she’d created in her downtime, the effusive scent of jasmine and vanilla wafting smoke tendrils that curled with a sultry heat through the room. Looking down at her lack of clothing, she laughed and shook her head. From what she’d heard, Prince Vangelis was a man who preferred to just… get to the point. No sense in redressing herself now.
Repainting her lips with a rich carmine a few shades darker than her hair, she carefully fixed the detailing of kohl lining her eyes. Quickly running a comb through her hair, she let it remain unbound and loose to flow around her back and shoulders. Dabbing the tip of her finger into a nearby dish of rose oil, she anointed her wrists, the hollow of her throat, the tips of her breasts, and the space between her legs with the floral scent, quickly glancing one last time in the looking glass. The face that looked back at her was pale with cheeks flushed, eyes bright with a mixture of profound excitement and a hint of nerves.
Normally, the status of her patrons made no difference to her. Rich or poor, young or old, noble or common, she’d lain with them all. After all, people were people, and they all felt love and desire. But who wouldn’t feel at least a little anxious at the prospect of serving the heir to the throne himself?
By the time the prince was led to her chambers, Euterpe was laid on the bed, lounged in an inviting position on her side facing the door. Her head rested in the palm of her hand, her knee pulled up just enough for the hazy light of the room to outline the supple curves of flesh that framed the young woman’s body. Hair pulled back over her shoulder to pool on the bed below her, the rest of her youthful form laid bare on proud display.
“Your Highness,” she greeted Prince Vangelis with a deep incline of her head, the closest she could get to bowing in the position in which she laid. “It’s my honor to be able to welcome you into Aphrodite’s favor tonight.”
Flicking her gaze briefly to his, she smiled and buried her nerves. She highly doubted the prince came to the temple seeking a woman who stuttered and shook as if it were her first time. Instead, she sought to project the confidence that normally came so easily to her, shedding her anxiety for the cloak of her goddess’s divine grace.
Slowly, she rose from the bed and made her way over to where the prince stood, each movement one of a practiced, yet fluid grace as pleasing to the eye as a dancer’s. Stopping in front of him, she bobbed in a bow a little more earnest than the one before, straightening back up to meet his gaze again. Careful and deliberate, her hand raised to stroke lightly against his jaw, stopping only to brush her thumb over his bottom lip.
“My name is Euterpe,” she quietly introduced herself, her gaze lingering briefly on his mouth. “I hope I am… pleasing to you.”
Vangelis held no awkwardness within the temple of Aphrodite. This was less to do with his frequency to the chambers and more regarding his upbringing, his sense of morals and divine worship. This was no tavern. It was no brothel. There was no shame or unease here - nothing to fear judgement for. The purchasing of sex and pleasure within these walls had nothing to do with the physical needs of man when it came to the judgement of value. It was the embodiment of worship to the Goddess of Love and Beauty. Something that was more significant than simply flattering the goddess' ego.
Aphrodite was many things in her great power and tenacity. She was as contrary as she was powerful. And she could affect far more than an ignorant foreigner might be able to fathom. Without her favour, wars could turn sour - a simple beauteous form being sent to hinder men of all experiences. The women of Colchis might lose their grace and loveliness, forcing a reduction in new births of men to defend their shores, or the failure of international unions that could bring more trade to their economy. The women of Colchis were as significant to their continuation and their thriving manner of life as their men and Aphrodite could change such things for the negative should she wish it.
Whenever there was the opportunity to slake any lusts within himself at either a brothel or a temple, Vangelis always chose a temple. Why not offer the Goddess all that he could, whenever he needed? Not to mention the fact that the priestesses were carefully monitored, ensuring a lack of pregnancy and the illegitimate offspring that Vangelis preferred to avoid at every opportunity.
The place in which he stood was a store of divine transaction. There was no need for shame or the embarrassment of broken privacy. Instead, Vangelis stood with calm indifference, as men that he knew and recognised the faces of entered and left around him. The foyer shifted in a slow and smooth undulation of activity. He drank from his cup and ate another grape before the acolyte returned with a flush to her cheeks and an eager look in her eye. She stared at the crown prince, despite speaking with the High Priest in a low voice.
Within moments, it had been ascertained that a priestess by the name of Euterpe was available to be seen and that Vangelis would be guided to the chamber as soon as he was settled with the refreshments that had been presented to him. Vangelis offered no delay by setting aside his cup almost immediately. He had not attended temple to sup wine and taunt his palette with sweetness. He had other duties to attend to after this and did not see a reason to linger.
Following the way that the acolyte led him through the temple, Vangelis was aware of the glances and surreptitious looks that he received as he strode the halls but he ignored them. Whether it was his role as crown prince that people recognised or the way that he moved like a looming tower, monstrous in his height and broad in the shoulder. Or, perhaps it was his reputation that kept them glancing his way. Some had heard of his brutal name of the Blood General. Others knew him as the Stone Prince. None held the impression of any form of softness in his character.
The corridors of the temple were sparkling clean and would have gleamed their whiteness in harsh rays of light had there been any windows to the dimming sunlight outside. Instead, they were kept private and intimate, lit by only torches in brackets along the way. They set the white marble into hues of peach and cream.
As they came towards the door that would lead to the aforementioned Euterpe, Vangelis held no hesitation in dismissing the acolyte and pushing the door open. He stepped inside the room and instantly sensed the shift in atmosphere. His nose picked up the musky, floral scent in the air, the pretty candlelight and the way the entire chamber was set with the warm of an intimate cocoon.
There was an open and invitingly large bed to one side, the frames hidden beneath sheets and silken scarves, the deep and plush mattress depressed by the figure of a woman that lay bare for his perusal.
Vangelis shut the door behind him and took a few strides into the room, his gait sure and heavy. His eyes trailed over her lithe frame, where it dipped at the hips, tucked at the navel and, in between, flared into generous curves. The line of her thighs and bottom were fertile in essence and smooth as butter. Her lips were plush and slightly parted, her eyes large and flickering dark in the dim light.
Her hair was a tumultuous cascade of red that had his interest piqued. She was likely popular within the temple. For red hair was so rare in the Grecian lands. Either she had been blessed by the Gods in her siren call of russet locks or she sported foreign bloodlines.
Regardless, she was pretty, well-formed and as sensual as she was beautiful. She was an appropriate representation of the goddess whom she served.
When she greeted him from the bed, her head lowering and shifting those red curls further over her shoulder, Vangelis gave no reaction. He had no need or responsibility to offering her an equal show of respect. Regardless of the divine duties she offered, she was still mortal. And he was still prince.
He watched, as she stood from the bed. Her body was strong as her legs took her own weight. She was no waif or delicate little thing. But a woman of substance and appeal. She moved towards him, her hips cradling the red between her thighs and moving to stand before him. She held no nervousness over her nudity, nor did she appear unsure of his rank and role. Her confidence was an assurance to him. He did not faze her. So, she would not see him beyond his existence as patron to her goddess.
“My name is Euterpe... I hope I am… pleasing to you.”
Vangelis knew that he was hardly a man who emoted. He did not smile; he did not offer her much encouragement besides the words he spoke in a deep and rumbling tone.
"You're a testament to your Goddess, Euterpe."
Despite the lack of personal compliment, it was, in its own way, a fine compliment for one of her calling.
With no need to romance or seduce the woman before him, Vangelis had grown used to the efficiency of such things. He would be expected to honour the Goddess with care and effort. But he also did not have to make the situation romantic between the mortals. He did not undress- for his tunic hung to his knees and could simply be pushed aside. Nor did he remove his sandals. There would be no need for a gentle undressing and the intimacy of full nudity. Instead, he simply reached out to wrap a hand around the girl's waist, drawing her close against his body. His other hand found her breast in a way that was confident but not rough. He watched her face a little, to follow her guidance on just how she reached her connection with Aphrodite, before his arm lifted her weight as if she were nothing. Her toes brushed over the top of his feet as he walked forwards, taking her backwards towards the bed...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Vangelis held no awkwardness within the temple of Aphrodite. This was less to do with his frequency to the chambers and more regarding his upbringing, his sense of morals and divine worship. This was no tavern. It was no brothel. There was no shame or unease here - nothing to fear judgement for. The purchasing of sex and pleasure within these walls had nothing to do with the physical needs of man when it came to the judgement of value. It was the embodiment of worship to the Goddess of Love and Beauty. Something that was more significant than simply flattering the goddess' ego.
Aphrodite was many things in her great power and tenacity. She was as contrary as she was powerful. And she could affect far more than an ignorant foreigner might be able to fathom. Without her favour, wars could turn sour - a simple beauteous form being sent to hinder men of all experiences. The women of Colchis might lose their grace and loveliness, forcing a reduction in new births of men to defend their shores, or the failure of international unions that could bring more trade to their economy. The women of Colchis were as significant to their continuation and their thriving manner of life as their men and Aphrodite could change such things for the negative should she wish it.
Whenever there was the opportunity to slake any lusts within himself at either a brothel or a temple, Vangelis always chose a temple. Why not offer the Goddess all that he could, whenever he needed? Not to mention the fact that the priestesses were carefully monitored, ensuring a lack of pregnancy and the illegitimate offspring that Vangelis preferred to avoid at every opportunity.
The place in which he stood was a store of divine transaction. There was no need for shame or the embarrassment of broken privacy. Instead, Vangelis stood with calm indifference, as men that he knew and recognised the faces of entered and left around him. The foyer shifted in a slow and smooth undulation of activity. He drank from his cup and ate another grape before the acolyte returned with a flush to her cheeks and an eager look in her eye. She stared at the crown prince, despite speaking with the High Priest in a low voice.
Within moments, it had been ascertained that a priestess by the name of Euterpe was available to be seen and that Vangelis would be guided to the chamber as soon as he was settled with the refreshments that had been presented to him. Vangelis offered no delay by setting aside his cup almost immediately. He had not attended temple to sup wine and taunt his palette with sweetness. He had other duties to attend to after this and did not see a reason to linger.
Following the way that the acolyte led him through the temple, Vangelis was aware of the glances and surreptitious looks that he received as he strode the halls but he ignored them. Whether it was his role as crown prince that people recognised or the way that he moved like a looming tower, monstrous in his height and broad in the shoulder. Or, perhaps it was his reputation that kept them glancing his way. Some had heard of his brutal name of the Blood General. Others knew him as the Stone Prince. None held the impression of any form of softness in his character.
The corridors of the temple were sparkling clean and would have gleamed their whiteness in harsh rays of light had there been any windows to the dimming sunlight outside. Instead, they were kept private and intimate, lit by only torches in brackets along the way. They set the white marble into hues of peach and cream.
As they came towards the door that would lead to the aforementioned Euterpe, Vangelis held no hesitation in dismissing the acolyte and pushing the door open. He stepped inside the room and instantly sensed the shift in atmosphere. His nose picked up the musky, floral scent in the air, the pretty candlelight and the way the entire chamber was set with the warm of an intimate cocoon.
There was an open and invitingly large bed to one side, the frames hidden beneath sheets and silken scarves, the deep and plush mattress depressed by the figure of a woman that lay bare for his perusal.
Vangelis shut the door behind him and took a few strides into the room, his gait sure and heavy. His eyes trailed over her lithe frame, where it dipped at the hips, tucked at the navel and, in between, flared into generous curves. The line of her thighs and bottom were fertile in essence and smooth as butter. Her lips were plush and slightly parted, her eyes large and flickering dark in the dim light.
Her hair was a tumultuous cascade of red that had his interest piqued. She was likely popular within the temple. For red hair was so rare in the Grecian lands. Either she had been blessed by the Gods in her siren call of russet locks or she sported foreign bloodlines.
Regardless, she was pretty, well-formed and as sensual as she was beautiful. She was an appropriate representation of the goddess whom she served.
When she greeted him from the bed, her head lowering and shifting those red curls further over her shoulder, Vangelis gave no reaction. He had no need or responsibility to offering her an equal show of respect. Regardless of the divine duties she offered, she was still mortal. And he was still prince.
He watched, as she stood from the bed. Her body was strong as her legs took her own weight. She was no waif or delicate little thing. But a woman of substance and appeal. She moved towards him, her hips cradling the red between her thighs and moving to stand before him. She held no nervousness over her nudity, nor did she appear unsure of his rank and role. Her confidence was an assurance to him. He did not faze her. So, she would not see him beyond his existence as patron to her goddess.
“My name is Euterpe... I hope I am… pleasing to you.”
Vangelis knew that he was hardly a man who emoted. He did not smile; he did not offer her much encouragement besides the words he spoke in a deep and rumbling tone.
"You're a testament to your Goddess, Euterpe."
Despite the lack of personal compliment, it was, in its own way, a fine compliment for one of her calling.
With no need to romance or seduce the woman before him, Vangelis had grown used to the efficiency of such things. He would be expected to honour the Goddess with care and effort. But he also did not have to make the situation romantic between the mortals. He did not undress- for his tunic hung to his knees and could simply be pushed aside. Nor did he remove his sandals. There would be no need for a gentle undressing and the intimacy of full nudity. Instead, he simply reached out to wrap a hand around the girl's waist, drawing her close against his body. His other hand found her breast in a way that was confident but not rough. He watched her face a little, to follow her guidance on just how she reached her connection with Aphrodite, before his arm lifted her weight as if she were nothing. Her toes brushed over the top of his feet as he walked forwards, taking her backwards towards the bed...
Vangelis held no awkwardness within the temple of Aphrodite. This was less to do with his frequency to the chambers and more regarding his upbringing, his sense of morals and divine worship. This was no tavern. It was no brothel. There was no shame or unease here - nothing to fear judgement for. The purchasing of sex and pleasure within these walls had nothing to do with the physical needs of man when it came to the judgement of value. It was the embodiment of worship to the Goddess of Love and Beauty. Something that was more significant than simply flattering the goddess' ego.
Aphrodite was many things in her great power and tenacity. She was as contrary as she was powerful. And she could affect far more than an ignorant foreigner might be able to fathom. Without her favour, wars could turn sour - a simple beauteous form being sent to hinder men of all experiences. The women of Colchis might lose their grace and loveliness, forcing a reduction in new births of men to defend their shores, or the failure of international unions that could bring more trade to their economy. The women of Colchis were as significant to their continuation and their thriving manner of life as their men and Aphrodite could change such things for the negative should she wish it.
Whenever there was the opportunity to slake any lusts within himself at either a brothel or a temple, Vangelis always chose a temple. Why not offer the Goddess all that he could, whenever he needed? Not to mention the fact that the priestesses were carefully monitored, ensuring a lack of pregnancy and the illegitimate offspring that Vangelis preferred to avoid at every opportunity.
The place in which he stood was a store of divine transaction. There was no need for shame or the embarrassment of broken privacy. Instead, Vangelis stood with calm indifference, as men that he knew and recognised the faces of entered and left around him. The foyer shifted in a slow and smooth undulation of activity. He drank from his cup and ate another grape before the acolyte returned with a flush to her cheeks and an eager look in her eye. She stared at the crown prince, despite speaking with the High Priest in a low voice.
Within moments, it had been ascertained that a priestess by the name of Euterpe was available to be seen and that Vangelis would be guided to the chamber as soon as he was settled with the refreshments that had been presented to him. Vangelis offered no delay by setting aside his cup almost immediately. He had not attended temple to sup wine and taunt his palette with sweetness. He had other duties to attend to after this and did not see a reason to linger.
Following the way that the acolyte led him through the temple, Vangelis was aware of the glances and surreptitious looks that he received as he strode the halls but he ignored them. Whether it was his role as crown prince that people recognised or the way that he moved like a looming tower, monstrous in his height and broad in the shoulder. Or, perhaps it was his reputation that kept them glancing his way. Some had heard of his brutal name of the Blood General. Others knew him as the Stone Prince. None held the impression of any form of softness in his character.
The corridors of the temple were sparkling clean and would have gleamed their whiteness in harsh rays of light had there been any windows to the dimming sunlight outside. Instead, they were kept private and intimate, lit by only torches in brackets along the way. They set the white marble into hues of peach and cream.
As they came towards the door that would lead to the aforementioned Euterpe, Vangelis held no hesitation in dismissing the acolyte and pushing the door open. He stepped inside the room and instantly sensed the shift in atmosphere. His nose picked up the musky, floral scent in the air, the pretty candlelight and the way the entire chamber was set with the warm of an intimate cocoon.
There was an open and invitingly large bed to one side, the frames hidden beneath sheets and silken scarves, the deep and plush mattress depressed by the figure of a woman that lay bare for his perusal.
Vangelis shut the door behind him and took a few strides into the room, his gait sure and heavy. His eyes trailed over her lithe frame, where it dipped at the hips, tucked at the navel and, in between, flared into generous curves. The line of her thighs and bottom were fertile in essence and smooth as butter. Her lips were plush and slightly parted, her eyes large and flickering dark in the dim light.
Her hair was a tumultuous cascade of red that had his interest piqued. She was likely popular within the temple. For red hair was so rare in the Grecian lands. Either she had been blessed by the Gods in her siren call of russet locks or she sported foreign bloodlines.
Regardless, she was pretty, well-formed and as sensual as she was beautiful. She was an appropriate representation of the goddess whom she served.
When she greeted him from the bed, her head lowering and shifting those red curls further over her shoulder, Vangelis gave no reaction. He had no need or responsibility to offering her an equal show of respect. Regardless of the divine duties she offered, she was still mortal. And he was still prince.
He watched, as she stood from the bed. Her body was strong as her legs took her own weight. She was no waif or delicate little thing. But a woman of substance and appeal. She moved towards him, her hips cradling the red between her thighs and moving to stand before him. She held no nervousness over her nudity, nor did she appear unsure of his rank and role. Her confidence was an assurance to him. He did not faze her. So, she would not see him beyond his existence as patron to her goddess.
“My name is Euterpe... I hope I am… pleasing to you.”
Vangelis knew that he was hardly a man who emoted. He did not smile; he did not offer her much encouragement besides the words he spoke in a deep and rumbling tone.
"You're a testament to your Goddess, Euterpe."
Despite the lack of personal compliment, it was, in its own way, a fine compliment for one of her calling.
With no need to romance or seduce the woman before him, Vangelis had grown used to the efficiency of such things. He would be expected to honour the Goddess with care and effort. But he also did not have to make the situation romantic between the mortals. He did not undress- for his tunic hung to his knees and could simply be pushed aside. Nor did he remove his sandals. There would be no need for a gentle undressing and the intimacy of full nudity. Instead, he simply reached out to wrap a hand around the girl's waist, drawing her close against his body. His other hand found her breast in a way that was confident but not rough. He watched her face a little, to follow her guidance on just how she reached her connection with Aphrodite, before his arm lifted her weight as if she were nothing. Her toes brushed over the top of his feet as he walked forwards, taking her backwards towards the bed...
It was an interesting thing, how differently her patrons responded to Euterpe and the services she provided. Some preferred to talk first, to share food and wine as they acclimated to their surroundings and the circumstances they were in. Some asked her questions about herself and offered information on themselves in exchange. Others came to her with the worshipful intentions of touching the divine, a reverence in their actions that treated her as if she were the mortal vessel of Aphrodite. And yet others came only because they had extra money in their pockets and wished for the safe assurances of a temple prostitute over those in a brothel.
Prince Vangelis wasted no time with such niceties, even as his gaze drank her in. He clearly knew what he was here for and why, his arm promptly wrapping around her waist and pulling her in flush against him. Even if his words held little affection or personal praise, she smiled nonetheless; it was high enough flattery for a woman of her status, and no more than she expected. Apparently, the whispered titillations of the other priestesses were proven true thus far.
Caught up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a doll, the courtesan’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and one leg hooked over his hip. If he wanted to get right to it and eschew the overtures of seduction and romance, that was fine with her; after all, such lack of sentiment was a trait prominent among Colchian men. Even if there were some who shed the pretense as soon as the door closed behind them.
Pushing into the hand that grasped at her with a soft exhale, Euterpe wound her fingers in the short-cropped hair atop the prince’s head and pressed her lips to his. Tenderness was clearly not what her royal patron sought, and so there was little softness in the gesture, replaced instead with a sultry heat. A practiced tongue parted his lips to wind with his, a soft groan rumbling the back of her throat as the backs of her legs made contact with the bed. Only when she made contact with the sheets did her lips part from his, a ragged breath shearing the air as delicate fingers reached to push aside the folds of his tunic.
Hand carefully circling and gripping the base of his shaft, dilated hazel eyes flicked up to meet his gaze. Slowly stroking down his length, her other hand roaming up his chest as she leaned in to kiss the hollow of his throat. “Tell me, Your Highness,” she murmured against his skin, the tip of her tongue tracing a line to his collarbone. Her hand kept up the same steady movement below as she continued, “If there are things you prefer. We all reach the Goddess in our own ways.” A gentle nip marked his collarbone before she went on, “Would you rather follow my lead?” Kissing her way back to his throat, she reached up and stood on her toes to pull his face back to hers in another meeting of mouths, the caress lingering for a long moment. Head tilting back again, her cheeks dimpled in a smile. “Or would you rather I follow yours?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It was an interesting thing, how differently her patrons responded to Euterpe and the services she provided. Some preferred to talk first, to share food and wine as they acclimated to their surroundings and the circumstances they were in. Some asked her questions about herself and offered information on themselves in exchange. Others came to her with the worshipful intentions of touching the divine, a reverence in their actions that treated her as if she were the mortal vessel of Aphrodite. And yet others came only because they had extra money in their pockets and wished for the safe assurances of a temple prostitute over those in a brothel.
Prince Vangelis wasted no time with such niceties, even as his gaze drank her in. He clearly knew what he was here for and why, his arm promptly wrapping around her waist and pulling her in flush against him. Even if his words held little affection or personal praise, she smiled nonetheless; it was high enough flattery for a woman of her status, and no more than she expected. Apparently, the whispered titillations of the other priestesses were proven true thus far.
Caught up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a doll, the courtesan’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and one leg hooked over his hip. If he wanted to get right to it and eschew the overtures of seduction and romance, that was fine with her; after all, such lack of sentiment was a trait prominent among Colchian men. Even if there were some who shed the pretense as soon as the door closed behind them.
Pushing into the hand that grasped at her with a soft exhale, Euterpe wound her fingers in the short-cropped hair atop the prince’s head and pressed her lips to his. Tenderness was clearly not what her royal patron sought, and so there was little softness in the gesture, replaced instead with a sultry heat. A practiced tongue parted his lips to wind with his, a soft groan rumbling the back of her throat as the backs of her legs made contact with the bed. Only when she made contact with the sheets did her lips part from his, a ragged breath shearing the air as delicate fingers reached to push aside the folds of his tunic.
Hand carefully circling and gripping the base of his shaft, dilated hazel eyes flicked up to meet his gaze. Slowly stroking down his length, her other hand roaming up his chest as she leaned in to kiss the hollow of his throat. “Tell me, Your Highness,” she murmured against his skin, the tip of her tongue tracing a line to his collarbone. Her hand kept up the same steady movement below as she continued, “If there are things you prefer. We all reach the Goddess in our own ways.” A gentle nip marked his collarbone before she went on, “Would you rather follow my lead?” Kissing her way back to his throat, she reached up and stood on her toes to pull his face back to hers in another meeting of mouths, the caress lingering for a long moment. Head tilting back again, her cheeks dimpled in a smile. “Or would you rather I follow yours?”
It was an interesting thing, how differently her patrons responded to Euterpe and the services she provided. Some preferred to talk first, to share food and wine as they acclimated to their surroundings and the circumstances they were in. Some asked her questions about herself and offered information on themselves in exchange. Others came to her with the worshipful intentions of touching the divine, a reverence in their actions that treated her as if she were the mortal vessel of Aphrodite. And yet others came only because they had extra money in their pockets and wished for the safe assurances of a temple prostitute over those in a brothel.
Prince Vangelis wasted no time with such niceties, even as his gaze drank her in. He clearly knew what he was here for and why, his arm promptly wrapping around her waist and pulling her in flush against him. Even if his words held little affection or personal praise, she smiled nonetheless; it was high enough flattery for a woman of her status, and no more than she expected. Apparently, the whispered titillations of the other priestesses were proven true thus far.
Caught up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a doll, the courtesan’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and one leg hooked over his hip. If he wanted to get right to it and eschew the overtures of seduction and romance, that was fine with her; after all, such lack of sentiment was a trait prominent among Colchian men. Even if there were some who shed the pretense as soon as the door closed behind them.
Pushing into the hand that grasped at her with a soft exhale, Euterpe wound her fingers in the short-cropped hair atop the prince’s head and pressed her lips to his. Tenderness was clearly not what her royal patron sought, and so there was little softness in the gesture, replaced instead with a sultry heat. A practiced tongue parted his lips to wind with his, a soft groan rumbling the back of her throat as the backs of her legs made contact with the bed. Only when she made contact with the sheets did her lips part from his, a ragged breath shearing the air as delicate fingers reached to push aside the folds of his tunic.
Hand carefully circling and gripping the base of his shaft, dilated hazel eyes flicked up to meet his gaze. Slowly stroking down his length, her other hand roaming up his chest as she leaned in to kiss the hollow of his throat. “Tell me, Your Highness,” she murmured against his skin, the tip of her tongue tracing a line to his collarbone. Her hand kept up the same steady movement below as she continued, “If there are things you prefer. We all reach the Goddess in our own ways.” A gentle nip marked his collarbone before she went on, “Would you rather follow my lead?” Kissing her way back to his throat, she reached up and stood on her toes to pull his face back to hers in another meeting of mouths, the caress lingering for a long moment. Head tilting back again, her cheeks dimpled in a smile. “Or would you rather I follow yours?”
As the priestess’s lips found his, Vangelis’ mouth moved against hers in a way that was, initially, formulaic to serve a purpose. He had no need to kiss this woman, no requirement to turn their encounter more personal than it needed to be, and yet women were a more sensitive race than their male counterparts. He desired not to anger the Goddess she represented and kissed her in return, his lips moving against hers. Yet there was purpose as soon as her tongue broke into his mouth. It wound with his, tempted his reactions, escalated his heart rate and set warmth along his veins. He felt his body glow in the sultry connection of bodies and his skin grow sensitive to her touch.
The priestess settled herself more fully into his touch and he felt the pert tip of her breast again his palm. Kneading the soft flesh in his possession, he found and plucked at the eager peak as he walked her back towards the bed.
When one of her legs came up to encircle his hip, Vangelis felt the brush of her womanly hair against his thigh and found himself nipping her full, lower lip between his teeth.
Vangelis was a private person by nature. He didn’t speak upon his emotions, offer up his thoughts or embrace and show affection to those who might wish to seek it. He was self-contained and reserved within his own dignity and honour. His physicality, however was already not his own in many ways. He fought on battlefields where enemies lanced through his skin. He had servants that bathed and clothed him. Aides who secured his armour into place. He was used to being touched by strangers, and felt no discomfort in permitting such breaks with personal space provided he wasn’t expected to offer an emotional connection in return.
His time in temples and brothels operating in a similar manner. He was here for a purpose. He held no issues with slaves and maids scrubbing his skin of daily dirt with the purpose of him becoming clean. Why should he find issue with a woman claiming his flesh in order to satisfy a different necessity? This was a transaction of needs. There was no requirement to become intimately connected to such things.
So, as Euterpe reached to find purchase upon his body, pushing aside the slips of his tunic to claim a hold of his shaft, he held no defensiveness or disquiet. His breath came sharp to his nose as she wrapped her fingers around his hardening state, but he made no effort to discourage her. This was what he was here for and how she was to be of service to him.
When their kiss broke and she worked the top of her tongue along the tendon of his neck, Vangelis felt his eyes roll and his head tilt back, her fingers scouring through his short locks of closely cropped hair. His scalp tingled. His neck was a place of delicacy that had his next exhale come on a sigh.
As she asked him how he wished for such events to unfold, how he wished her to service him, Vangelis reached down to take hold of the underside of the thigh at his hip. With a supportive, splayed hand in the small of her back, he lifted her legs and sent her tumbling onto the sheets, her back finding the comfort of the mattress beneath. He was distracted for a moment at the vision of her tumbling red hair.
“You are to tell me.” Vangelis instructed simply. “I shall find what I need regardless. I am here to worship your Goddess and you shall instruct me on how to best please her through you.”
Vangelis was here for a duty as well as a carnal necessity. Reaching to wrap her other leg around his waist, he loomed over her, monstrous in size and broad in the shoulder. His sandaled feet were still on the ground as he positioned himself between her legs, allowing space for the hand that continued to work him in a manner that saw his state of arousal riding high.
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As the priestess’s lips found his, Vangelis’ mouth moved against hers in a way that was, initially, formulaic to serve a purpose. He had no need to kiss this woman, no requirement to turn their encounter more personal than it needed to be, and yet women were a more sensitive race than their male counterparts. He desired not to anger the Goddess she represented and kissed her in return, his lips moving against hers. Yet there was purpose as soon as her tongue broke into his mouth. It wound with his, tempted his reactions, escalated his heart rate and set warmth along his veins. He felt his body glow in the sultry connection of bodies and his skin grow sensitive to her touch.
The priestess settled herself more fully into his touch and he felt the pert tip of her breast again his palm. Kneading the soft flesh in his possession, he found and plucked at the eager peak as he walked her back towards the bed.
When one of her legs came up to encircle his hip, Vangelis felt the brush of her womanly hair against his thigh and found himself nipping her full, lower lip between his teeth.
Vangelis was a private person by nature. He didn’t speak upon his emotions, offer up his thoughts or embrace and show affection to those who might wish to seek it. He was self-contained and reserved within his own dignity and honour. His physicality, however was already not his own in many ways. He fought on battlefields where enemies lanced through his skin. He had servants that bathed and clothed him. Aides who secured his armour into place. He was used to being touched by strangers, and felt no discomfort in permitting such breaks with personal space provided he wasn’t expected to offer an emotional connection in return.
His time in temples and brothels operating in a similar manner. He was here for a purpose. He held no issues with slaves and maids scrubbing his skin of daily dirt with the purpose of him becoming clean. Why should he find issue with a woman claiming his flesh in order to satisfy a different necessity? This was a transaction of needs. There was no requirement to become intimately connected to such things.
So, as Euterpe reached to find purchase upon his body, pushing aside the slips of his tunic to claim a hold of his shaft, he held no defensiveness or disquiet. His breath came sharp to his nose as she wrapped her fingers around his hardening state, but he made no effort to discourage her. This was what he was here for and how she was to be of service to him.
When their kiss broke and she worked the top of her tongue along the tendon of his neck, Vangelis felt his eyes roll and his head tilt back, her fingers scouring through his short locks of closely cropped hair. His scalp tingled. His neck was a place of delicacy that had his next exhale come on a sigh.
As she asked him how he wished for such events to unfold, how he wished her to service him, Vangelis reached down to take hold of the underside of the thigh at his hip. With a supportive, splayed hand in the small of her back, he lifted her legs and sent her tumbling onto the sheets, her back finding the comfort of the mattress beneath. He was distracted for a moment at the vision of her tumbling red hair.
“You are to tell me.” Vangelis instructed simply. “I shall find what I need regardless. I am here to worship your Goddess and you shall instruct me on how to best please her through you.”
Vangelis was here for a duty as well as a carnal necessity. Reaching to wrap her other leg around his waist, he loomed over her, monstrous in size and broad in the shoulder. His sandaled feet were still on the ground as he positioned himself between her legs, allowing space for the hand that continued to work him in a manner that saw his state of arousal riding high.
As the priestess’s lips found his, Vangelis’ mouth moved against hers in a way that was, initially, formulaic to serve a purpose. He had no need to kiss this woman, no requirement to turn their encounter more personal than it needed to be, and yet women were a more sensitive race than their male counterparts. He desired not to anger the Goddess she represented and kissed her in return, his lips moving against hers. Yet there was purpose as soon as her tongue broke into his mouth. It wound with his, tempted his reactions, escalated his heart rate and set warmth along his veins. He felt his body glow in the sultry connection of bodies and his skin grow sensitive to her touch.
The priestess settled herself more fully into his touch and he felt the pert tip of her breast again his palm. Kneading the soft flesh in his possession, he found and plucked at the eager peak as he walked her back towards the bed.
When one of her legs came up to encircle his hip, Vangelis felt the brush of her womanly hair against his thigh and found himself nipping her full, lower lip between his teeth.
Vangelis was a private person by nature. He didn’t speak upon his emotions, offer up his thoughts or embrace and show affection to those who might wish to seek it. He was self-contained and reserved within his own dignity and honour. His physicality, however was already not his own in many ways. He fought on battlefields where enemies lanced through his skin. He had servants that bathed and clothed him. Aides who secured his armour into place. He was used to being touched by strangers, and felt no discomfort in permitting such breaks with personal space provided he wasn’t expected to offer an emotional connection in return.
His time in temples and brothels operating in a similar manner. He was here for a purpose. He held no issues with slaves and maids scrubbing his skin of daily dirt with the purpose of him becoming clean. Why should he find issue with a woman claiming his flesh in order to satisfy a different necessity? This was a transaction of needs. There was no requirement to become intimately connected to such things.
So, as Euterpe reached to find purchase upon his body, pushing aside the slips of his tunic to claim a hold of his shaft, he held no defensiveness or disquiet. His breath came sharp to his nose as she wrapped her fingers around his hardening state, but he made no effort to discourage her. This was what he was here for and how she was to be of service to him.
When their kiss broke and she worked the top of her tongue along the tendon of his neck, Vangelis felt his eyes roll and his head tilt back, her fingers scouring through his short locks of closely cropped hair. His scalp tingled. His neck was a place of delicacy that had his next exhale come on a sigh.
As she asked him how he wished for such events to unfold, how he wished her to service him, Vangelis reached down to take hold of the underside of the thigh at his hip. With a supportive, splayed hand in the small of her back, he lifted her legs and sent her tumbling onto the sheets, her back finding the comfort of the mattress beneath. He was distracted for a moment at the vision of her tumbling red hair.
“You are to tell me.” Vangelis instructed simply. “I shall find what I need regardless. I am here to worship your Goddess and you shall instruct me on how to best please her through you.”
Vangelis was here for a duty as well as a carnal necessity. Reaching to wrap her other leg around his waist, he loomed over her, monstrous in size and broad in the shoulder. His sandaled feet were still on the ground as he positioned himself between her legs, allowing space for the hand that continued to work him in a manner that saw his state of arousal riding high.
To feel the prince respond to her actions, to react in a way that so bespoke his desire, was a heady feeling for Euterpe. She enjoyed serving her patrons; her own arousal was rarely feigned, and this time, too, was no different. To hear the hitch in his breath, to watch his head tilt back and his eyes flutter closed… her desire was magnified in response, her heart speeding to a rapid stutter in her chest. Of course, she’d served in this capacity to hundreds of others, but to inspire such reaction in the crown prince himself… It would soon become a point of pride for the young priestess, even if, at its core, it was no more than what she did every day.
While Vangelis had a reputation for his hard and callous demeanor, Euterpe was the opposite, and every encounter, no matter how distanced or brief, held some sort of emotional significance for the priestess—even if it was only fond recollection. She served the goddess of love and desire, after all, and she certainly was not immune to such feelings. That was part of why she had so many repeat clients; in addition to a rather exotic appeal, her services were offered with a genuine passion, and the more they returned, the more her affection seemed to grow. Would the Prince be one of those men? From what she knew of him, she highly doubted that would be the case, but she would ensure he left satisfied, nonetheless. She hoped it would be with a lighter heart than he came with.
Lifted to the bed, she smiled, her hand still working him in a slow and steady pace. With his words, he relinquished control to her, and her smile only deepened. “I’m not a hard woman to please, nor Aphrodite through me,” she said with a soft laugh, her free leg wrapping around him at his urging. Reaching out to pull him in closer, she took one of his hands and guided it between her legs to find the center of her pleasure there. Pressing down on his hand and exhaling with a soft sound of desire, she released him after her wordless direction, her eyes briefly flicking up to meet his.
“Touch me, Your Highness,” she murmured, plush, rounded lips phrasing the words in a simple request. “Let yourself indulge freely in pleasure. There is little more I would ask of you than that.”
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To feel the prince respond to her actions, to react in a way that so bespoke his desire, was a heady feeling for Euterpe. She enjoyed serving her patrons; her own arousal was rarely feigned, and this time, too, was no different. To hear the hitch in his breath, to watch his head tilt back and his eyes flutter closed… her desire was magnified in response, her heart speeding to a rapid stutter in her chest. Of course, she’d served in this capacity to hundreds of others, but to inspire such reaction in the crown prince himself… It would soon become a point of pride for the young priestess, even if, at its core, it was no more than what she did every day.
While Vangelis had a reputation for his hard and callous demeanor, Euterpe was the opposite, and every encounter, no matter how distanced or brief, held some sort of emotional significance for the priestess—even if it was only fond recollection. She served the goddess of love and desire, after all, and she certainly was not immune to such feelings. That was part of why she had so many repeat clients; in addition to a rather exotic appeal, her services were offered with a genuine passion, and the more they returned, the more her affection seemed to grow. Would the Prince be one of those men? From what she knew of him, she highly doubted that would be the case, but she would ensure he left satisfied, nonetheless. She hoped it would be with a lighter heart than he came with.
Lifted to the bed, she smiled, her hand still working him in a slow and steady pace. With his words, he relinquished control to her, and her smile only deepened. “I’m not a hard woman to please, nor Aphrodite through me,” she said with a soft laugh, her free leg wrapping around him at his urging. Reaching out to pull him in closer, she took one of his hands and guided it between her legs to find the center of her pleasure there. Pressing down on his hand and exhaling with a soft sound of desire, she released him after her wordless direction, her eyes briefly flicking up to meet his.
“Touch me, Your Highness,” she murmured, plush, rounded lips phrasing the words in a simple request. “Let yourself indulge freely in pleasure. There is little more I would ask of you than that.”
To feel the prince respond to her actions, to react in a way that so bespoke his desire, was a heady feeling for Euterpe. She enjoyed serving her patrons; her own arousal was rarely feigned, and this time, too, was no different. To hear the hitch in his breath, to watch his head tilt back and his eyes flutter closed… her desire was magnified in response, her heart speeding to a rapid stutter in her chest. Of course, she’d served in this capacity to hundreds of others, but to inspire such reaction in the crown prince himself… It would soon become a point of pride for the young priestess, even if, at its core, it was no more than what she did every day.
While Vangelis had a reputation for his hard and callous demeanor, Euterpe was the opposite, and every encounter, no matter how distanced or brief, held some sort of emotional significance for the priestess—even if it was only fond recollection. She served the goddess of love and desire, after all, and she certainly was not immune to such feelings. That was part of why she had so many repeat clients; in addition to a rather exotic appeal, her services were offered with a genuine passion, and the more they returned, the more her affection seemed to grow. Would the Prince be one of those men? From what she knew of him, she highly doubted that would be the case, but she would ensure he left satisfied, nonetheless. She hoped it would be with a lighter heart than he came with.
Lifted to the bed, she smiled, her hand still working him in a slow and steady pace. With his words, he relinquished control to her, and her smile only deepened. “I’m not a hard woman to please, nor Aphrodite through me,” she said with a soft laugh, her free leg wrapping around him at his urging. Reaching out to pull him in closer, she took one of his hands and guided it between her legs to find the center of her pleasure there. Pressing down on his hand and exhaling with a soft sound of desire, she released him after her wordless direction, her eyes briefly flicking up to meet his.
“Touch me, Your Highness,” she murmured, plush, rounded lips phrasing the words in a simple request. “Let yourself indulge freely in pleasure. There is little more I would ask of you than that.”
Despite his use of women such as these - from the lowest of whores to the most divine of priestesses - Vangelis' life and duties did not yield to the days and hours that so many of noble blood could afford to spend on debauchery and scandal. He was not a man that sought women on a daily basis, nor did you tend to brothels and temples as regularly as his body might have enjoyed. Vangelis' days and responsibilities were too short and too numerous. For weeks at a time - months, or even years - he was kept to the borderlands in the North. For days he would spend his time in mountainous savage lands and fail to be in the vicinity of a woman for many a week. Vangelis saw to his needs on a personal level with enough frequency to see his male instincts provided for on an irregular basis, but he was not a lover of spectacular skill. For he lacked the time to practice.
Instead, Vangelis' choice of women - professionals in their field - allowed him to follow their guidance and instruction without having to worry about his own lack of skills as a lover. Their interactions were selfish in their results, aiming for his own completion and not theirs. There had been only one woman that he had taken with a desire to seeing her reach pleasure. Only one that he had bedded without the use of a bed in an exchange that was supposed to have been for mutual benefit. And, at the time, she had been stranger enough and he too virginal to know any better.
Now, Vangelis could claim to have taken dozens of women. But he could not confidently say that he had pleasured them. For that had not been the purpose of such times.
Now, in the bed of a temple priestess of Aphrodite, and determined to offer her what she needed in order to give to her Goddess the pleasure of his loyalties, Vangelis simply sought the easiest of solutions: to ask her for direction. For she was the professional in knowing the lush pleasure of her own spirit and body.
In this, Euterpe followed his offerings. She ensured that her hand kept him aroused and ready to complete their deal of passions whenever he saw fit, whilst her other drew him to touch her in return. He felt the palm of her hand shifting over the silken skin of his shaft, his eyes widening over the pleasurable sensation and his touch going weak in her own. He resisted not as she moved his hand to between her legs, releasing him only as his fingers curled around the mound of her womanhood and accepted that which she offered.
“Touch me, Your Highness,” She breathed. And it was as if, in that moment, the Goddess had possessed her form to join them in the act of pleasure.
Reaching up, Vangelis wrapped one hand over Euterpe's cheek, his thumb coming to press beneath her jawline. He felted her face up as his lips sought her neck the same way that hers had found his. Instead of kissing her, he nipped his teeth along the exposed tendon of her throat. With each nibble upon her skin, Vangelis ensured that the length of his finger slid down between her lower lips and found a brush of friction against her damp skin.
His kisses followed down her neck and then back up to the hollow behind her ear.
"Like this, your Grace?" He asked her, his touch between her legs slowly increasing in speed and pressure...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Despite his use of women such as these - from the lowest of whores to the most divine of priestesses - Vangelis' life and duties did not yield to the days and hours that so many of noble blood could afford to spend on debauchery and scandal. He was not a man that sought women on a daily basis, nor did you tend to brothels and temples as regularly as his body might have enjoyed. Vangelis' days and responsibilities were too short and too numerous. For weeks at a time - months, or even years - he was kept to the borderlands in the North. For days he would spend his time in mountainous savage lands and fail to be in the vicinity of a woman for many a week. Vangelis saw to his needs on a personal level with enough frequency to see his male instincts provided for on an irregular basis, but he was not a lover of spectacular skill. For he lacked the time to practice.
Instead, Vangelis' choice of women - professionals in their field - allowed him to follow their guidance and instruction without having to worry about his own lack of skills as a lover. Their interactions were selfish in their results, aiming for his own completion and not theirs. There had been only one woman that he had taken with a desire to seeing her reach pleasure. Only one that he had bedded without the use of a bed in an exchange that was supposed to have been for mutual benefit. And, at the time, she had been stranger enough and he too virginal to know any better.
Now, Vangelis could claim to have taken dozens of women. But he could not confidently say that he had pleasured them. For that had not been the purpose of such times.
Now, in the bed of a temple priestess of Aphrodite, and determined to offer her what she needed in order to give to her Goddess the pleasure of his loyalties, Vangelis simply sought the easiest of solutions: to ask her for direction. For she was the professional in knowing the lush pleasure of her own spirit and body.
In this, Euterpe followed his offerings. She ensured that her hand kept him aroused and ready to complete their deal of passions whenever he saw fit, whilst her other drew him to touch her in return. He felt the palm of her hand shifting over the silken skin of his shaft, his eyes widening over the pleasurable sensation and his touch going weak in her own. He resisted not as she moved his hand to between her legs, releasing him only as his fingers curled around the mound of her womanhood and accepted that which she offered.
“Touch me, Your Highness,” She breathed. And it was as if, in that moment, the Goddess had possessed her form to join them in the act of pleasure.
Reaching up, Vangelis wrapped one hand over Euterpe's cheek, his thumb coming to press beneath her jawline. He felted her face up as his lips sought her neck the same way that hers had found his. Instead of kissing her, he nipped his teeth along the exposed tendon of her throat. With each nibble upon her skin, Vangelis ensured that the length of his finger slid down between her lower lips and found a brush of friction against her damp skin.
His kisses followed down her neck and then back up to the hollow behind her ear.
"Like this, your Grace?" He asked her, his touch between her legs slowly increasing in speed and pressure...
Despite his use of women such as these - from the lowest of whores to the most divine of priestesses - Vangelis' life and duties did not yield to the days and hours that so many of noble blood could afford to spend on debauchery and scandal. He was not a man that sought women on a daily basis, nor did you tend to brothels and temples as regularly as his body might have enjoyed. Vangelis' days and responsibilities were too short and too numerous. For weeks at a time - months, or even years - he was kept to the borderlands in the North. For days he would spend his time in mountainous savage lands and fail to be in the vicinity of a woman for many a week. Vangelis saw to his needs on a personal level with enough frequency to see his male instincts provided for on an irregular basis, but he was not a lover of spectacular skill. For he lacked the time to practice.
Instead, Vangelis' choice of women - professionals in their field - allowed him to follow their guidance and instruction without having to worry about his own lack of skills as a lover. Their interactions were selfish in their results, aiming for his own completion and not theirs. There had been only one woman that he had taken with a desire to seeing her reach pleasure. Only one that he had bedded without the use of a bed in an exchange that was supposed to have been for mutual benefit. And, at the time, she had been stranger enough and he too virginal to know any better.
Now, Vangelis could claim to have taken dozens of women. But he could not confidently say that he had pleasured them. For that had not been the purpose of such times.
Now, in the bed of a temple priestess of Aphrodite, and determined to offer her what she needed in order to give to her Goddess the pleasure of his loyalties, Vangelis simply sought the easiest of solutions: to ask her for direction. For she was the professional in knowing the lush pleasure of her own spirit and body.
In this, Euterpe followed his offerings. She ensured that her hand kept him aroused and ready to complete their deal of passions whenever he saw fit, whilst her other drew him to touch her in return. He felt the palm of her hand shifting over the silken skin of his shaft, his eyes widening over the pleasurable sensation and his touch going weak in her own. He resisted not as she moved his hand to between her legs, releasing him only as his fingers curled around the mound of her womanhood and accepted that which she offered.
“Touch me, Your Highness,” She breathed. And it was as if, in that moment, the Goddess had possessed her form to join them in the act of pleasure.
Reaching up, Vangelis wrapped one hand over Euterpe's cheek, his thumb coming to press beneath her jawline. He felted her face up as his lips sought her neck the same way that hers had found his. Instead of kissing her, he nipped his teeth along the exposed tendon of her throat. With each nibble upon her skin, Vangelis ensured that the length of his finger slid down between her lower lips and found a brush of friction against her damp skin.
His kisses followed down her neck and then back up to the hollow behind her ear.
"Like this, your Grace?" He asked her, his touch between her legs slowly increasing in speed and pressure...
Euterpe’s head tilted back at his prompting, a soft sigh escaping parted lips as his mouth laid claim to her flesh. The gentle scrape of teeth against skin along such a sensitive area of her body, paired with the smooth manipulations of his fingers down below, saw her practically melting into the mattress with a delighted cry. Her own hand’s pace faltered as the fuzzy warmth of bliss suffused her limbs and clouded her thoughts.
Like this, your Grace?
There was a groan of affirmation following her breathed, “yes,” toes curling delicately where they hung off the bed. Velvety walls caressed his fingers as surely as they stroked within, muscles tightening and releasing in response to the pleasure he offered. Prince Vangelis had the repute of a stoic man, yes, but his earnest attentions would surely garner the favor of the goddess he came to please. It certainly gained her favor, and what was Euterpe in that moment but a vessel for the goddess’s will?
Hips raising off the bed as she pressed into the hand that worked her so thoroughly, her eyes rolled back with another moan—belatedly remembering the workings of her own hand. Her own pace increased to match his, though she was careful to hold back; she didn’t want the prince to finish before he actually got what he came for. Of course, if that was what he asked for, she would comply, but it was rare that a man visited the temple for a task he could easily perform himself.
Her peak was quickly approaching, senses heightened to each brush of mouth against skin, each thrust of fingers into her warm depths. Muscles tightening in warning of her release, another shuddering breath broadcasted its arrival, her back arching as she cried her pleasure to the ceiling. Whether the prince was inexperienced with the workings of the female body or not, he had performed his task admirably, and Euterpe was happy to reap its benefits.
Collapsing back to the bed, her heart stuttered in her chest as she turned her head to meet her partner’s lips. It was not a kiss of passion, but rather one of need; she had reached her climax, yes, but this was hardly the end. The nails of her free hand raked through his short hair and down to his back, fingers stopping to curl in his hip.
Breaking from the kiss to bestow a ragged whisper in his ear, she pled, “Take me, Your Highness. Commune with the goddess in the way most pleasing to her.” Her tongue traced his earlobe as her hand lined him up with her entrance, a simple and wordless direction easily interpreted.
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Euterpe’s head tilted back at his prompting, a soft sigh escaping parted lips as his mouth laid claim to her flesh. The gentle scrape of teeth against skin along such a sensitive area of her body, paired with the smooth manipulations of his fingers down below, saw her practically melting into the mattress with a delighted cry. Her own hand’s pace faltered as the fuzzy warmth of bliss suffused her limbs and clouded her thoughts.
Like this, your Grace?
There was a groan of affirmation following her breathed, “yes,” toes curling delicately where they hung off the bed. Velvety walls caressed his fingers as surely as they stroked within, muscles tightening and releasing in response to the pleasure he offered. Prince Vangelis had the repute of a stoic man, yes, but his earnest attentions would surely garner the favor of the goddess he came to please. It certainly gained her favor, and what was Euterpe in that moment but a vessel for the goddess’s will?
Hips raising off the bed as she pressed into the hand that worked her so thoroughly, her eyes rolled back with another moan—belatedly remembering the workings of her own hand. Her own pace increased to match his, though she was careful to hold back; she didn’t want the prince to finish before he actually got what he came for. Of course, if that was what he asked for, she would comply, but it was rare that a man visited the temple for a task he could easily perform himself.
Her peak was quickly approaching, senses heightened to each brush of mouth against skin, each thrust of fingers into her warm depths. Muscles tightening in warning of her release, another shuddering breath broadcasted its arrival, her back arching as she cried her pleasure to the ceiling. Whether the prince was inexperienced with the workings of the female body or not, he had performed his task admirably, and Euterpe was happy to reap its benefits.
Collapsing back to the bed, her heart stuttered in her chest as she turned her head to meet her partner’s lips. It was not a kiss of passion, but rather one of need; she had reached her climax, yes, but this was hardly the end. The nails of her free hand raked through his short hair and down to his back, fingers stopping to curl in his hip.
Breaking from the kiss to bestow a ragged whisper in his ear, she pled, “Take me, Your Highness. Commune with the goddess in the way most pleasing to her.” Her tongue traced his earlobe as her hand lined him up with her entrance, a simple and wordless direction easily interpreted.
Euterpe’s head tilted back at his prompting, a soft sigh escaping parted lips as his mouth laid claim to her flesh. The gentle scrape of teeth against skin along such a sensitive area of her body, paired with the smooth manipulations of his fingers down below, saw her practically melting into the mattress with a delighted cry. Her own hand’s pace faltered as the fuzzy warmth of bliss suffused her limbs and clouded her thoughts.
Like this, your Grace?
There was a groan of affirmation following her breathed, “yes,” toes curling delicately where they hung off the bed. Velvety walls caressed his fingers as surely as they stroked within, muscles tightening and releasing in response to the pleasure he offered. Prince Vangelis had the repute of a stoic man, yes, but his earnest attentions would surely garner the favor of the goddess he came to please. It certainly gained her favor, and what was Euterpe in that moment but a vessel for the goddess’s will?
Hips raising off the bed as she pressed into the hand that worked her so thoroughly, her eyes rolled back with another moan—belatedly remembering the workings of her own hand. Her own pace increased to match his, though she was careful to hold back; she didn’t want the prince to finish before he actually got what he came for. Of course, if that was what he asked for, she would comply, but it was rare that a man visited the temple for a task he could easily perform himself.
Her peak was quickly approaching, senses heightened to each brush of mouth against skin, each thrust of fingers into her warm depths. Muscles tightening in warning of her release, another shuddering breath broadcasted its arrival, her back arching as she cried her pleasure to the ceiling. Whether the prince was inexperienced with the workings of the female body or not, he had performed his task admirably, and Euterpe was happy to reap its benefits.
Collapsing back to the bed, her heart stuttered in her chest as she turned her head to meet her partner’s lips. It was not a kiss of passion, but rather one of need; she had reached her climax, yes, but this was hardly the end. The nails of her free hand raked through his short hair and down to his back, fingers stopping to curl in his hip.
Breaking from the kiss to bestow a ragged whisper in his ear, she pled, “Take me, Your Highness. Commune with the goddess in the way most pleasing to her.” Her tongue traced his earlobe as her hand lined him up with her entrance, a simple and wordless direction easily interpreted.
Vangelis knew not the best way to service the woman that lay wantonly beneath him. She stretched her frame and muscles in languid enjoyment of his touch, her breath hitching beneath her breast and her back and neck arching from the sheets. She found pleasure in what he was doing, how his hand was touching her. But he supposed that perhaps the female body was so sensitive it mattered little the skill of their partner. Encouraging by her whispered words, the moans that left her chest and hummed upon her lips, Vangelis stepped further into their communion by slipping his fingers inside her entrance.
First one and then two were pushed into her well of femininity and her reaction was almost instantaneous. Her own hold upon his flesh paused for a moment, lost in the sensations of her own pleasure, her body went taut, the muscles of her lean belly tightening in desire. Her hips shifted against his hand, lifting to seek him deeper.
Vangelis felt the wetness upon his hand, could taste the salt upon her skin at her neck and, by sheer luck, looked up in time to witness the way her face shifted and her lips parted on the wave of a completion he hoped was all the Goddess had wished it to be.
Euterpe was not some loud whore of a rundown brothel. She did not cry and scream like she was too lost in ecstasy to care for her own noise. The pretty redhead seemed to mew, to curl in upon her pleasure and enjoy it for the intimate gift that it was to her goddess. The sound of surprise and passion was there but it was kept within the walls of the chamber, within the bubble of their own existence. It was private. And sacred.
Not at all dissuaded by the way that her body had reached its fulfilment, regardless of whether or not Vangelis had reached his, the young priestess was quick to lather her attentions once more upon his own body, to stoke his needs until he was hard and aching. She lifted her knees, her hips, positioned him before her in a way that would see them join together in a single thrust. She offered him that which he had come from but a moment of perverse instinct saw him responding to her words with a change of position.
His hands taking the priestess' hips, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing and turned her to her front. He encouraged her knees onto the bed so that she rested on all fours, prone to his attentions as he angled himself once more at her entrance.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had come here to slake a lust. Perhaps it was her unfailing acceptance of her role as a vessel to the Goddess on high. Perhaps that day was simply one in which Vangelis did not wish for personal connection, did not need the intimacy of looking his priestess partner in the eye as they coupled. He was here to honour his Goddess, not her. And, whilst he held all the respect that he should for a priestess and in Euterpe, it was in this position that he finally sunk his flesh into hers and began the mating that would serve to honour she whom they were both serving...
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Vangelis knew not the best way to service the woman that lay wantonly beneath him. She stretched her frame and muscles in languid enjoyment of his touch, her breath hitching beneath her breast and her back and neck arching from the sheets. She found pleasure in what he was doing, how his hand was touching her. But he supposed that perhaps the female body was so sensitive it mattered little the skill of their partner. Encouraging by her whispered words, the moans that left her chest and hummed upon her lips, Vangelis stepped further into their communion by slipping his fingers inside her entrance.
First one and then two were pushed into her well of femininity and her reaction was almost instantaneous. Her own hold upon his flesh paused for a moment, lost in the sensations of her own pleasure, her body went taut, the muscles of her lean belly tightening in desire. Her hips shifted against his hand, lifting to seek him deeper.
Vangelis felt the wetness upon his hand, could taste the salt upon her skin at her neck and, by sheer luck, looked up in time to witness the way her face shifted and her lips parted on the wave of a completion he hoped was all the Goddess had wished it to be.
Euterpe was not some loud whore of a rundown brothel. She did not cry and scream like she was too lost in ecstasy to care for her own noise. The pretty redhead seemed to mew, to curl in upon her pleasure and enjoy it for the intimate gift that it was to her goddess. The sound of surprise and passion was there but it was kept within the walls of the chamber, within the bubble of their own existence. It was private. And sacred.
Not at all dissuaded by the way that her body had reached its fulfilment, regardless of whether or not Vangelis had reached his, the young priestess was quick to lather her attentions once more upon his own body, to stoke his needs until he was hard and aching. She lifted her knees, her hips, positioned him before her in a way that would see them join together in a single thrust. She offered him that which he had come from but a moment of perverse instinct saw him responding to her words with a change of position.
His hands taking the priestess' hips, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing and turned her to her front. He encouraged her knees onto the bed so that she rested on all fours, prone to his attentions as he angled himself once more at her entrance.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had come here to slake a lust. Perhaps it was her unfailing acceptance of her role as a vessel to the Goddess on high. Perhaps that day was simply one in which Vangelis did not wish for personal connection, did not need the intimacy of looking his priestess partner in the eye as they coupled. He was here to honour his Goddess, not her. And, whilst he held all the respect that he should for a priestess and in Euterpe, it was in this position that he finally sunk his flesh into hers and began the mating that would serve to honour she whom they were both serving...
Vangelis knew not the best way to service the woman that lay wantonly beneath him. She stretched her frame and muscles in languid enjoyment of his touch, her breath hitching beneath her breast and her back and neck arching from the sheets. She found pleasure in what he was doing, how his hand was touching her. But he supposed that perhaps the female body was so sensitive it mattered little the skill of their partner. Encouraging by her whispered words, the moans that left her chest and hummed upon her lips, Vangelis stepped further into their communion by slipping his fingers inside her entrance.
First one and then two were pushed into her well of femininity and her reaction was almost instantaneous. Her own hold upon his flesh paused for a moment, lost in the sensations of her own pleasure, her body went taut, the muscles of her lean belly tightening in desire. Her hips shifted against his hand, lifting to seek him deeper.
Vangelis felt the wetness upon his hand, could taste the salt upon her skin at her neck and, by sheer luck, looked up in time to witness the way her face shifted and her lips parted on the wave of a completion he hoped was all the Goddess had wished it to be.
Euterpe was not some loud whore of a rundown brothel. She did not cry and scream like she was too lost in ecstasy to care for her own noise. The pretty redhead seemed to mew, to curl in upon her pleasure and enjoy it for the intimate gift that it was to her goddess. The sound of surprise and passion was there but it was kept within the walls of the chamber, within the bubble of their own existence. It was private. And sacred.
Not at all dissuaded by the way that her body had reached its fulfilment, regardless of whether or not Vangelis had reached his, the young priestess was quick to lather her attentions once more upon his own body, to stoke his needs until he was hard and aching. She lifted her knees, her hips, positioned him before her in a way that would see them join together in a single thrust. She offered him that which he had come from but a moment of perverse instinct saw him responding to her words with a change of position.
His hands taking the priestess' hips, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing and turned her to her front. He encouraged her knees onto the bed so that she rested on all fours, prone to his attentions as he angled himself once more at her entrance.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had come here to slake a lust. Perhaps it was her unfailing acceptance of her role as a vessel to the Goddess on high. Perhaps that day was simply one in which Vangelis did not wish for personal connection, did not need the intimacy of looking his priestess partner in the eye as they coupled. He was here to honour his Goddess, not her. And, whilst he held all the respect that he should for a priestess and in Euterpe, it was in this position that he finally sunk his flesh into hers and began the mating that would serve to honour she whom they were both serving...
Euterpe took no offense to their sudden change in position; there was more pleasure to be had in the way the prince entered her now than if they had been laying face to face, anyway. The rapid pace of her breath heaved in counterrhythm to his thrusts within, her body still aflame from her climax moments before. Every inch of her tingled, her skin alive and crackling with nerves—even the slight draft of air through the room raised goosebumps along her flesh, and she reveled in the bliss his motions caused.
There were those who would have been overwhelmed at the sensation, but one did not stay long in her profession without this sort of stamina. While she had taken patrons who were done with her within minutes and scarce bothered to ensure her own pleasure, there were others who stayed for hours, reaching their own height again and again and striving for her to do the same. The prince seemed to fall somewhere in between, his due diligence done before he sought his own release. It was almost thoughtful, even if it was a duty performed to the goddess, and nothing more.
Each thrust of his hips brought him deeper within her, her groans and sighs creating their own music as they mingled with his. There was no doubt of her approval, her body moving in time with his as slender fingers tangled within the silken sheets below them. Her spine arched, pushing her further back against him, her stuttering cry of euphoria an invocation in itself, a wordless prayer to the goddess they both sought to please.
For as much as she was a vessel of Aphrodite’s will, a means of worship for the patrons she served, it, too, was her own means of communion with the goddess; the bliss she found in that bedding her way of touching the divine. Whether it was a prince or a farmer who found his pleasure between her thighs, she, nor the goddess, cared. It was the same purpose, the same calling, and each time met the same end. Euterpe never doubted her purpose in this life, and she thought herself blessed indeed that it came in so pleasurable a form.
There was a minute shift in position as the priestess moved her hips, a low groan of desire rumbling her throat as he brushed up along a certain spot just so. Lashes fluttered as hazel eyes rolled back, the smooth motion of her body along with the sighs accompanying it voicing her approval as clearly as words ever could.
The prince wields more than one sword with a certain skill, she thought to herself with a secretive smirk, sweat beading between her shoulders as her skin glistened in the firelight. Her muscles clenched and tightened again, a shudder running through her body. Lucky for me to be on the end of this one…
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Euterpe took no offense to their sudden change in position; there was more pleasure to be had in the way the prince entered her now than if they had been laying face to face, anyway. The rapid pace of her breath heaved in counterrhythm to his thrusts within, her body still aflame from her climax moments before. Every inch of her tingled, her skin alive and crackling with nerves—even the slight draft of air through the room raised goosebumps along her flesh, and she reveled in the bliss his motions caused.
There were those who would have been overwhelmed at the sensation, but one did not stay long in her profession without this sort of stamina. While she had taken patrons who were done with her within minutes and scarce bothered to ensure her own pleasure, there were others who stayed for hours, reaching their own height again and again and striving for her to do the same. The prince seemed to fall somewhere in between, his due diligence done before he sought his own release. It was almost thoughtful, even if it was a duty performed to the goddess, and nothing more.
Each thrust of his hips brought him deeper within her, her groans and sighs creating their own music as they mingled with his. There was no doubt of her approval, her body moving in time with his as slender fingers tangled within the silken sheets below them. Her spine arched, pushing her further back against him, her stuttering cry of euphoria an invocation in itself, a wordless prayer to the goddess they both sought to please.
For as much as she was a vessel of Aphrodite’s will, a means of worship for the patrons she served, it, too, was her own means of communion with the goddess; the bliss she found in that bedding her way of touching the divine. Whether it was a prince or a farmer who found his pleasure between her thighs, she, nor the goddess, cared. It was the same purpose, the same calling, and each time met the same end. Euterpe never doubted her purpose in this life, and she thought herself blessed indeed that it came in so pleasurable a form.
There was a minute shift in position as the priestess moved her hips, a low groan of desire rumbling her throat as he brushed up along a certain spot just so. Lashes fluttered as hazel eyes rolled back, the smooth motion of her body along with the sighs accompanying it voicing her approval as clearly as words ever could.
The prince wields more than one sword with a certain skill, she thought to herself with a secretive smirk, sweat beading between her shoulders as her skin glistened in the firelight. Her muscles clenched and tightened again, a shudder running through her body. Lucky for me to be on the end of this one…
Euterpe took no offense to their sudden change in position; there was more pleasure to be had in the way the prince entered her now than if they had been laying face to face, anyway. The rapid pace of her breath heaved in counterrhythm to his thrusts within, her body still aflame from her climax moments before. Every inch of her tingled, her skin alive and crackling with nerves—even the slight draft of air through the room raised goosebumps along her flesh, and she reveled in the bliss his motions caused.
There were those who would have been overwhelmed at the sensation, but one did not stay long in her profession without this sort of stamina. While she had taken patrons who were done with her within minutes and scarce bothered to ensure her own pleasure, there were others who stayed for hours, reaching their own height again and again and striving for her to do the same. The prince seemed to fall somewhere in between, his due diligence done before he sought his own release. It was almost thoughtful, even if it was a duty performed to the goddess, and nothing more.
Each thrust of his hips brought him deeper within her, her groans and sighs creating their own music as they mingled with his. There was no doubt of her approval, her body moving in time with his as slender fingers tangled within the silken sheets below them. Her spine arched, pushing her further back against him, her stuttering cry of euphoria an invocation in itself, a wordless prayer to the goddess they both sought to please.
For as much as she was a vessel of Aphrodite’s will, a means of worship for the patrons she served, it, too, was her own means of communion with the goddess; the bliss she found in that bedding her way of touching the divine. Whether it was a prince or a farmer who found his pleasure between her thighs, she, nor the goddess, cared. It was the same purpose, the same calling, and each time met the same end. Euterpe never doubted her purpose in this life, and she thought herself blessed indeed that it came in so pleasurable a form.
There was a minute shift in position as the priestess moved her hips, a low groan of desire rumbling her throat as he brushed up along a certain spot just so. Lashes fluttered as hazel eyes rolled back, the smooth motion of her body along with the sighs accompanying it voicing her approval as clearly as words ever could.
The prince wields more than one sword with a certain skill, she thought to herself with a secretive smirk, sweat beading between her shoulders as her skin glistened in the firelight. Her muscles clenched and tightened again, a shudder running through her body. Lucky for me to be on the end of this one…
Of the women that Vangelis had been with, Euterpe was both one of the most professional and the most responsive. She did not seek to kiss him beyond what would arouse his flesh, she did not wish for an embrace that held her close and beloved as they joined. She reacted to his needs and to his wants, accepting the change in position with easy grace. She groaned as he entered her both, a soft and guttural sound upon her lips that accepted him so easily. She encouraged his movements with the thrusting pulse of her hips, pushing back against his flesh in a determined way that would bring him to climax. She seemed to relish in what she could take from him, allowing him deeper within her body with every thrust.
Vangelis found himself tempted by the sounds upon her lips. How certain movements would have her groan a little roughly, others would draw a longer, smoother moan. If he angled himself a little differently it created little mews from her lips. It was as if he were playing a fine instrument of sensual sounds. It was too bad that he had not the skill to play it properly or indefinitely. Instead, he simply allowed the noises of Euterpe's pleasure to increase his own, firing his blood and energising his muscles.
When she moved beneath him, repositioning her knees upon the bed, Vangelis did not stop and she was highly approving. Somehow, the new position, though no different in feel for himself, was rousing her to new heights of pleasure. Following her little cries as a guide, Vangelis maintained the new angle and thrust harder, hoping to offer her all the more for her services to her Goddess.
As he spotted little beads of sweat upon her skin, glistening in the candlelight, Vangelis felt the priestess release once more, a shudder running through her inner muscles. He pushed harder against the way that she seemed to like, stoking the peak of her release as strongly as he could and finding delight of his own in the way he could thrust and be pulled deeper by her contracting walls.
It took only a few minutes more for Vangelis to find his own end. His climax was swift and hit him hard between the eyes. His body shuddered within hers, his fingers clutching the soft and buttery skin of her lips. He bent down and over her with the force of his release, his hips rocking a few more times as he finished, his offering to the Goddess made. He paused there, needing the moment to catch his breath, to steady his legs and to blink the stars from his eyes.
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Of the women that Vangelis had been with, Euterpe was both one of the most professional and the most responsive. She did not seek to kiss him beyond what would arouse his flesh, she did not wish for an embrace that held her close and beloved as they joined. She reacted to his needs and to his wants, accepting the change in position with easy grace. She groaned as he entered her both, a soft and guttural sound upon her lips that accepted him so easily. She encouraged his movements with the thrusting pulse of her hips, pushing back against his flesh in a determined way that would bring him to climax. She seemed to relish in what she could take from him, allowing him deeper within her body with every thrust.
Vangelis found himself tempted by the sounds upon her lips. How certain movements would have her groan a little roughly, others would draw a longer, smoother moan. If he angled himself a little differently it created little mews from her lips. It was as if he were playing a fine instrument of sensual sounds. It was too bad that he had not the skill to play it properly or indefinitely. Instead, he simply allowed the noises of Euterpe's pleasure to increase his own, firing his blood and energising his muscles.
When she moved beneath him, repositioning her knees upon the bed, Vangelis did not stop and she was highly approving. Somehow, the new position, though no different in feel for himself, was rousing her to new heights of pleasure. Following her little cries as a guide, Vangelis maintained the new angle and thrust harder, hoping to offer her all the more for her services to her Goddess.
As he spotted little beads of sweat upon her skin, glistening in the candlelight, Vangelis felt the priestess release once more, a shudder running through her inner muscles. He pushed harder against the way that she seemed to like, stoking the peak of her release as strongly as he could and finding delight of his own in the way he could thrust and be pulled deeper by her contracting walls.
It took only a few minutes more for Vangelis to find his own end. His climax was swift and hit him hard between the eyes. His body shuddered within hers, his fingers clutching the soft and buttery skin of her lips. He bent down and over her with the force of his release, his hips rocking a few more times as he finished, his offering to the Goddess made. He paused there, needing the moment to catch his breath, to steady his legs and to blink the stars from his eyes.
Of the women that Vangelis had been with, Euterpe was both one of the most professional and the most responsive. She did not seek to kiss him beyond what would arouse his flesh, she did not wish for an embrace that held her close and beloved as they joined. She reacted to his needs and to his wants, accepting the change in position with easy grace. She groaned as he entered her both, a soft and guttural sound upon her lips that accepted him so easily. She encouraged his movements with the thrusting pulse of her hips, pushing back against his flesh in a determined way that would bring him to climax. She seemed to relish in what she could take from him, allowing him deeper within her body with every thrust.
Vangelis found himself tempted by the sounds upon her lips. How certain movements would have her groan a little roughly, others would draw a longer, smoother moan. If he angled himself a little differently it created little mews from her lips. It was as if he were playing a fine instrument of sensual sounds. It was too bad that he had not the skill to play it properly or indefinitely. Instead, he simply allowed the noises of Euterpe's pleasure to increase his own, firing his blood and energising his muscles.
When she moved beneath him, repositioning her knees upon the bed, Vangelis did not stop and she was highly approving. Somehow, the new position, though no different in feel for himself, was rousing her to new heights of pleasure. Following her little cries as a guide, Vangelis maintained the new angle and thrust harder, hoping to offer her all the more for her services to her Goddess.
As he spotted little beads of sweat upon her skin, glistening in the candlelight, Vangelis felt the priestess release once more, a shudder running through her inner muscles. He pushed harder against the way that she seemed to like, stoking the peak of her release as strongly as he could and finding delight of his own in the way he could thrust and be pulled deeper by her contracting walls.
It took only a few minutes more for Vangelis to find his own end. His climax was swift and hit him hard between the eyes. His body shuddered within hers, his fingers clutching the soft and buttery skin of her lips. He bent down and over her with the force of his release, his hips rocking a few more times as he finished, his offering to the Goddess made. He paused there, needing the moment to catch his breath, to steady his legs and to blink the stars from his eyes.
Vangelis read Euterpe’s reactions well, adjusting his ministrations with the depth of her groans, thrusting harder or adjusting his angle with the subtle changes in her body and the way she responded. It was more than she had come to expect from many of the men who visited her; whether it was intentional or not, there were those who sought their own pleasure and nothing more. A few quick thrusts and they were done, bidding her farewell and slipping out the door. The prince, at least, seemed to make sure she was getting her own enjoyment from their tryst, even if there was little tenderness in his actions.
The force of the man’s release had him nearly falling on top of her, a secretive little smile curling her lips. There was no doubt she had pleased the man greatly, his moans and exertions a sign of approval that needed no words. Panting heavily beneath him, she lay there for a few long moments as she gathered herself, summoning the strength back to her body and the breath back to her lungs. He was not the only one who was satisfied; experienced or not, Vangelis had certainly done his part. Carefully rolling over, she smiled and cupped his face for a second, pressingg a gentle kiss against his lips before freeing herself from their entwined tangle of limbs.
“I’m not sure who you’ve pleased more greatly today, Your Highness—the goddess or myself,” she said with a grin, walking over to a nearby table and pouring a glass of wine from the decanter. “Truly, my Prince, it has been a pleasure.” Picking up a second glass, she held it out in offer, which he could take or not as he pleased. “Of course, I’m sure that’s what you would expect a courtesan to say, but I promise I mean it this time.” Laughing softly, she shook her head, tangled scarlet curls bouncing lightly against her shoulders. “Though, I’m sure we all say that too.”
Walking back over to the bed regardless of whether he took the wine or not, her free hand curled delicately along his neck, fingertips appreciatively trailing down and along the muscles of his shoulder and arm before pulling away. “If you ever wish to seek me out again, I would welcome it. Of course, I’ll take no offense if you don’t, but the offer is there, whether you choose to or not. I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as you seemed you did.” Her eyes crinkled with mirth, hoping she might coax at least a smirk out of the stoic man. “It’s a memory I’ll carry fondly, I know that much.”
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Vangelis read Euterpe’s reactions well, adjusting his ministrations with the depth of her groans, thrusting harder or adjusting his angle with the subtle changes in her body and the way she responded. It was more than she had come to expect from many of the men who visited her; whether it was intentional or not, there were those who sought their own pleasure and nothing more. A few quick thrusts and they were done, bidding her farewell and slipping out the door. The prince, at least, seemed to make sure she was getting her own enjoyment from their tryst, even if there was little tenderness in his actions.
The force of the man’s release had him nearly falling on top of her, a secretive little smile curling her lips. There was no doubt she had pleased the man greatly, his moans and exertions a sign of approval that needed no words. Panting heavily beneath him, she lay there for a few long moments as she gathered herself, summoning the strength back to her body and the breath back to her lungs. He was not the only one who was satisfied; experienced or not, Vangelis had certainly done his part. Carefully rolling over, she smiled and cupped his face for a second, pressingg a gentle kiss against his lips before freeing herself from their entwined tangle of limbs.
“I’m not sure who you’ve pleased more greatly today, Your Highness—the goddess or myself,” she said with a grin, walking over to a nearby table and pouring a glass of wine from the decanter. “Truly, my Prince, it has been a pleasure.” Picking up a second glass, she held it out in offer, which he could take or not as he pleased. “Of course, I’m sure that’s what you would expect a courtesan to say, but I promise I mean it this time.” Laughing softly, she shook her head, tangled scarlet curls bouncing lightly against her shoulders. “Though, I’m sure we all say that too.”
Walking back over to the bed regardless of whether he took the wine or not, her free hand curled delicately along his neck, fingertips appreciatively trailing down and along the muscles of his shoulder and arm before pulling away. “If you ever wish to seek me out again, I would welcome it. Of course, I’ll take no offense if you don’t, but the offer is there, whether you choose to or not. I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as you seemed you did.” Her eyes crinkled with mirth, hoping she might coax at least a smirk out of the stoic man. “It’s a memory I’ll carry fondly, I know that much.”
Vangelis read Euterpe’s reactions well, adjusting his ministrations with the depth of her groans, thrusting harder or adjusting his angle with the subtle changes in her body and the way she responded. It was more than she had come to expect from many of the men who visited her; whether it was intentional or not, there were those who sought their own pleasure and nothing more. A few quick thrusts and they were done, bidding her farewell and slipping out the door. The prince, at least, seemed to make sure she was getting her own enjoyment from their tryst, even if there was little tenderness in his actions.
The force of the man’s release had him nearly falling on top of her, a secretive little smile curling her lips. There was no doubt she had pleased the man greatly, his moans and exertions a sign of approval that needed no words. Panting heavily beneath him, she lay there for a few long moments as she gathered herself, summoning the strength back to her body and the breath back to her lungs. He was not the only one who was satisfied; experienced or not, Vangelis had certainly done his part. Carefully rolling over, she smiled and cupped his face for a second, pressingg a gentle kiss against his lips before freeing herself from their entwined tangle of limbs.
“I’m not sure who you’ve pleased more greatly today, Your Highness—the goddess or myself,” she said with a grin, walking over to a nearby table and pouring a glass of wine from the decanter. “Truly, my Prince, it has been a pleasure.” Picking up a second glass, she held it out in offer, which he could take or not as he pleased. “Of course, I’m sure that’s what you would expect a courtesan to say, but I promise I mean it this time.” Laughing softly, she shook her head, tangled scarlet curls bouncing lightly against her shoulders. “Though, I’m sure we all say that too.”
Walking back over to the bed regardless of whether he took the wine or not, her free hand curled delicately along his neck, fingertips appreciatively trailing down and along the muscles of his shoulder and arm before pulling away. “If you ever wish to seek me out again, I would welcome it. Of course, I’ll take no offense if you don’t, but the offer is there, whether you choose to or not. I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as you seemed you did.” Her eyes crinkled with mirth, hoping she might coax at least a smirk out of the stoic man. “It’s a memory I’ll carry fondly, I know that much.”
Breathing long and slow to reclaim his energy and clear, conscious thought, Vangelis braced himself on his arms so that he would not crush the delicate shape beneath him. As Euterpe recovered from their joining, she rolled and offered him a simple kiss to the lips. His own naturally responded but the gesture was distracted and lacked personal impact. In essence, the kiss was a thanks or a sealing of transaction more than it was a gentle gesture of care or passion.
She spoke of pleasure - of how both she and her Goddess had received it in his actions. This was both flattering and encouraging. For, Vangelis would come to temples more than brothels if he could. His sense of efficiency saw little point in taking solely pleasure from the women that sold their bodies, when he could claim both the release he needed whilst paying homage to one of the most powerful deities in the pantheon.
A man of his number of duties didn't have all that much time to himself. So, as unsensual as it was. It made sense for him to be practical about how he spent it.
Vangelis nodded stiffly when she commented on his doing his duty for both herself and her goddess. His voice was deep and rough from the exertion of their coupling and he cleared his throat. Not that it made much difference; his vocal chords still sounded as if they had been run over gravel.
"It is good to hear." He told her.
He waved away her little ramble of whether or not others had told him that it had been a pleasure or that they had truly found their own enjoyment in his attentions. Vangelis had long since assumed that he would never be able to tell what was lie and what was truth on the tongue of a woman paid to make men feel good. Instead, he took their bodies as the only truth that they could offer. If they found their release whilst he was inside them, when he could feel their inner muscles work upon his flesh, he knew that he had offered a mutually beneficial moment of entanglement. It was the only truth he had and the only truth that he really needed.
So long as the priestess had found her peak and she said that the Goddess would be pleased by his offering, that was enough for him
When Euterpe rolled out from under him, still clad in nothing by her gleaming skin, Vangelis fell to his side and propped himself on his shoulder. He needed a moment before he would leave and took use of a helpful little washcloth beside the bed. He then set his tunic back into place and was almost immediately collected enough in appearance to leave.
As she came back with cups of wine, Vangelis took the chalice she offered and sipped from the rim. He wasn't much for wine or alcohol so he took only a little to be polite, as a final moment to their exchange. She stroked her fingers over his arm and shoulder and Vangelis felt his interest pique again for a moment at her touch.
He put the cup to one side.
"I rarely favour a priestess twice." He commented simply. Not because he felt the need to answer her offer of a repeat encounter - he wasn't so tied to social etiquette as that - but because she had served him well and he didn't wish for her to think otherwise when he failed to request her again. "Given my position, I'll not offer anyone the false appearance of favouritism."
He glanced at her as he put the cup to one side.
"But you can be assured of your duties as priestess being completed to a fine and high standard."
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Breathing long and slow to reclaim his energy and clear, conscious thought, Vangelis braced himself on his arms so that he would not crush the delicate shape beneath him. As Euterpe recovered from their joining, she rolled and offered him a simple kiss to the lips. His own naturally responded but the gesture was distracted and lacked personal impact. In essence, the kiss was a thanks or a sealing of transaction more than it was a gentle gesture of care or passion.
She spoke of pleasure - of how both she and her Goddess had received it in his actions. This was both flattering and encouraging. For, Vangelis would come to temples more than brothels if he could. His sense of efficiency saw little point in taking solely pleasure from the women that sold their bodies, when he could claim both the release he needed whilst paying homage to one of the most powerful deities in the pantheon.
A man of his number of duties didn't have all that much time to himself. So, as unsensual as it was. It made sense for him to be practical about how he spent it.
Vangelis nodded stiffly when she commented on his doing his duty for both herself and her goddess. His voice was deep and rough from the exertion of their coupling and he cleared his throat. Not that it made much difference; his vocal chords still sounded as if they had been run over gravel.
"It is good to hear." He told her.
He waved away her little ramble of whether or not others had told him that it had been a pleasure or that they had truly found their own enjoyment in his attentions. Vangelis had long since assumed that he would never be able to tell what was lie and what was truth on the tongue of a woman paid to make men feel good. Instead, he took their bodies as the only truth that they could offer. If they found their release whilst he was inside them, when he could feel their inner muscles work upon his flesh, he knew that he had offered a mutually beneficial moment of entanglement. It was the only truth he had and the only truth that he really needed.
So long as the priestess had found her peak and she said that the Goddess would be pleased by his offering, that was enough for him
When Euterpe rolled out from under him, still clad in nothing by her gleaming skin, Vangelis fell to his side and propped himself on his shoulder. He needed a moment before he would leave and took use of a helpful little washcloth beside the bed. He then set his tunic back into place and was almost immediately collected enough in appearance to leave.
As she came back with cups of wine, Vangelis took the chalice she offered and sipped from the rim. He wasn't much for wine or alcohol so he took only a little to be polite, as a final moment to their exchange. She stroked her fingers over his arm and shoulder and Vangelis felt his interest pique again for a moment at her touch.
He put the cup to one side.
"I rarely favour a priestess twice." He commented simply. Not because he felt the need to answer her offer of a repeat encounter - he wasn't so tied to social etiquette as that - but because she had served him well and he didn't wish for her to think otherwise when he failed to request her again. "Given my position, I'll not offer anyone the false appearance of favouritism."
He glanced at her as he put the cup to one side.
"But you can be assured of your duties as priestess being completed to a fine and high standard."
Breathing long and slow to reclaim his energy and clear, conscious thought, Vangelis braced himself on his arms so that he would not crush the delicate shape beneath him. As Euterpe recovered from their joining, she rolled and offered him a simple kiss to the lips. His own naturally responded but the gesture was distracted and lacked personal impact. In essence, the kiss was a thanks or a sealing of transaction more than it was a gentle gesture of care or passion.
She spoke of pleasure - of how both she and her Goddess had received it in his actions. This was both flattering and encouraging. For, Vangelis would come to temples more than brothels if he could. His sense of efficiency saw little point in taking solely pleasure from the women that sold their bodies, when he could claim both the release he needed whilst paying homage to one of the most powerful deities in the pantheon.
A man of his number of duties didn't have all that much time to himself. So, as unsensual as it was. It made sense for him to be practical about how he spent it.
Vangelis nodded stiffly when she commented on his doing his duty for both herself and her goddess. His voice was deep and rough from the exertion of their coupling and he cleared his throat. Not that it made much difference; his vocal chords still sounded as if they had been run over gravel.
"It is good to hear." He told her.
He waved away her little ramble of whether or not others had told him that it had been a pleasure or that they had truly found their own enjoyment in his attentions. Vangelis had long since assumed that he would never be able to tell what was lie and what was truth on the tongue of a woman paid to make men feel good. Instead, he took their bodies as the only truth that they could offer. If they found their release whilst he was inside them, when he could feel their inner muscles work upon his flesh, he knew that he had offered a mutually beneficial moment of entanglement. It was the only truth he had and the only truth that he really needed.
So long as the priestess had found her peak and she said that the Goddess would be pleased by his offering, that was enough for him
When Euterpe rolled out from under him, still clad in nothing by her gleaming skin, Vangelis fell to his side and propped himself on his shoulder. He needed a moment before he would leave and took use of a helpful little washcloth beside the bed. He then set his tunic back into place and was almost immediately collected enough in appearance to leave.
As she came back with cups of wine, Vangelis took the chalice she offered and sipped from the rim. He wasn't much for wine or alcohol so he took only a little to be polite, as a final moment to their exchange. She stroked her fingers over his arm and shoulder and Vangelis felt his interest pique again for a moment at her touch.
He put the cup to one side.
"I rarely favour a priestess twice." He commented simply. Not because he felt the need to answer her offer of a repeat encounter - he wasn't so tied to social etiquette as that - but because she had served him well and he didn't wish for her to think otherwise when he failed to request her again. "Given my position, I'll not offer anyone the false appearance of favouritism."
He glanced at her as he put the cup to one side.
"But you can be assured of your duties as priestess being completed to a fine and high standard."
I rarely favour a priestess twice.
That was as much as she had expected and as much as she’d heard from her sisters, and so his response did not surprise her. However, Euterpe would have been remiss if she had not at least made the offer; she was human, for all her divine purpose, and she enjoyed an attractive man who took his time to please his partner. “I understand, Your Highness,” she murmured in reply, respectfully inclining her head. “But, should you ever change your mind, the offer will still be there.”
When he went on to assure her how well her duties had been performed, another smile curled her lips, one of true gratification. Even if the sentiment wasn’t worded in a particularly poetic fashion, it was high praise for a priestess of her calling, and so she accepted it for the compliment it was. “Thank you, my prince,” she said, her smiling deepening as her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I am glad you are pleased. It is what I live for.”
Clasping her hands together, she bowed; without a stitch covering her flesh, she could hardly spread a skirt in a curtsy. Stepping forward, she cupped his face and stole one last kiss, one that lingered a few moments longer than it perhaps needed to. When she pulled away at last, her teeth caught a gentle hold of his bottom lip, tugging lightly before releasing him in earnest and stepping back. A last farewell, and one she hoped might stick with him better than just a simple ‘goodbye.’
There was a mischievous cast to her features as she stepped away from the bed, picking up her discarded chiton. Holding it to her chest, she bowed to Vangelis once more before straightening up with a politely dismissive gesture. “Your offering to Aphrodite has been accepted, Your Highness, and she and I will both cherish it. Let me keep you no longer; we both release you.” Grinning as she straightened up, she winked. “I hope the next time you pass by the temple, you might have at least a moment or two of fond recollection.”
Bowing her head, she offered her final benediction, “May the gods bless and keep you, Prince Vangelis. Go with grace.”
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I rarely favour a priestess twice.
That was as much as she had expected and as much as she’d heard from her sisters, and so his response did not surprise her. However, Euterpe would have been remiss if she had not at least made the offer; she was human, for all her divine purpose, and she enjoyed an attractive man who took his time to please his partner. “I understand, Your Highness,” she murmured in reply, respectfully inclining her head. “But, should you ever change your mind, the offer will still be there.”
When he went on to assure her how well her duties had been performed, another smile curled her lips, one of true gratification. Even if the sentiment wasn’t worded in a particularly poetic fashion, it was high praise for a priestess of her calling, and so she accepted it for the compliment it was. “Thank you, my prince,” she said, her smiling deepening as her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I am glad you are pleased. It is what I live for.”
Clasping her hands together, she bowed; without a stitch covering her flesh, she could hardly spread a skirt in a curtsy. Stepping forward, she cupped his face and stole one last kiss, one that lingered a few moments longer than it perhaps needed to. When she pulled away at last, her teeth caught a gentle hold of his bottom lip, tugging lightly before releasing him in earnest and stepping back. A last farewell, and one she hoped might stick with him better than just a simple ‘goodbye.’
There was a mischievous cast to her features as she stepped away from the bed, picking up her discarded chiton. Holding it to her chest, she bowed to Vangelis once more before straightening up with a politely dismissive gesture. “Your offering to Aphrodite has been accepted, Your Highness, and she and I will both cherish it. Let me keep you no longer; we both release you.” Grinning as she straightened up, she winked. “I hope the next time you pass by the temple, you might have at least a moment or two of fond recollection.”
Bowing her head, she offered her final benediction, “May the gods bless and keep you, Prince Vangelis. Go with grace.”
I rarely favour a priestess twice.
That was as much as she had expected and as much as she’d heard from her sisters, and so his response did not surprise her. However, Euterpe would have been remiss if she had not at least made the offer; she was human, for all her divine purpose, and she enjoyed an attractive man who took his time to please his partner. “I understand, Your Highness,” she murmured in reply, respectfully inclining her head. “But, should you ever change your mind, the offer will still be there.”
When he went on to assure her how well her duties had been performed, another smile curled her lips, one of true gratification. Even if the sentiment wasn’t worded in a particularly poetic fashion, it was high praise for a priestess of her calling, and so she accepted it for the compliment it was. “Thank you, my prince,” she said, her smiling deepening as her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I am glad you are pleased. It is what I live for.”
Clasping her hands together, she bowed; without a stitch covering her flesh, she could hardly spread a skirt in a curtsy. Stepping forward, she cupped his face and stole one last kiss, one that lingered a few moments longer than it perhaps needed to. When she pulled away at last, her teeth caught a gentle hold of his bottom lip, tugging lightly before releasing him in earnest and stepping back. A last farewell, and one she hoped might stick with him better than just a simple ‘goodbye.’
There was a mischievous cast to her features as she stepped away from the bed, picking up her discarded chiton. Holding it to her chest, she bowed to Vangelis once more before straightening up with a politely dismissive gesture. “Your offering to Aphrodite has been accepted, Your Highness, and she and I will both cherish it. Let me keep you no longer; we both release you.” Grinning as she straightened up, she winked. “I hope the next time you pass by the temple, you might have at least a moment or two of fond recollection.”
Bowing her head, she offered her final benediction, “May the gods bless and keep you, Prince Vangelis. Go with grace.”
Rising to his feet as the young priestess offered a formal bow of thanks for his compliment, Vangelis cared little for the show of respect but knew that it meant a lot to the women of the temple. He said nothing to dissuade her and simply nodded in acknowledgement of her gesture.
When she moved to kiss him goodbye, Vangelis was solid, The Stone Prince once more. He offered her little by way of a kiss in return and she nipped at his bottom lip as if in sweet punishment for his sudden stoicism. Perhaps it was odd that he fell to disconnected regality after the way they had just spent the last half hour, but he knew not how else to function. He had no relationship with this woman. Only a physical connection that had been spent in the service of another, more divine being.
With her assurance that his offering had been made and well received by the Goddess, Vangelis nodded his thanks. His lips pulled to one corner in a shadow of a smile at her wish for his fond recollections of their time. And then he bowed to her in praise for her role as a Godly vessel.
As simple as that, he was dismissed from her world and she was rejected from his own. Their connection was broken and their purposes complete. Vangelis was quick to leave the chamber, ensuring that his offerings of gold and silver were made to the high priest and then stepped back out into the sunshine of a Colchian afternoon, setting about his other duties as a follower of the Gods and a prince of the realm...
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Rising to his feet as the young priestess offered a formal bow of thanks for his compliment, Vangelis cared little for the show of respect but knew that it meant a lot to the women of the temple. He said nothing to dissuade her and simply nodded in acknowledgement of her gesture.
When she moved to kiss him goodbye, Vangelis was solid, The Stone Prince once more. He offered her little by way of a kiss in return and she nipped at his bottom lip as if in sweet punishment for his sudden stoicism. Perhaps it was odd that he fell to disconnected regality after the way they had just spent the last half hour, but he knew not how else to function. He had no relationship with this woman. Only a physical connection that had been spent in the service of another, more divine being.
With her assurance that his offering had been made and well received by the Goddess, Vangelis nodded his thanks. His lips pulled to one corner in a shadow of a smile at her wish for his fond recollections of their time. And then he bowed to her in praise for her role as a Godly vessel.
As simple as that, he was dismissed from her world and she was rejected from his own. Their connection was broken and their purposes complete. Vangelis was quick to leave the chamber, ensuring that his offerings of gold and silver were made to the high priest and then stepped back out into the sunshine of a Colchian afternoon, setting about his other duties as a follower of the Gods and a prince of the realm...
Rising to his feet as the young priestess offered a formal bow of thanks for his compliment, Vangelis cared little for the show of respect but knew that it meant a lot to the women of the temple. He said nothing to dissuade her and simply nodded in acknowledgement of her gesture.
When she moved to kiss him goodbye, Vangelis was solid, The Stone Prince once more. He offered her little by way of a kiss in return and she nipped at his bottom lip as if in sweet punishment for his sudden stoicism. Perhaps it was odd that he fell to disconnected regality after the way they had just spent the last half hour, but he knew not how else to function. He had no relationship with this woman. Only a physical connection that had been spent in the service of another, more divine being.
With her assurance that his offering had been made and well received by the Goddess, Vangelis nodded his thanks. His lips pulled to one corner in a shadow of a smile at her wish for his fond recollections of their time. And then he bowed to her in praise for her role as a Godly vessel.
As simple as that, he was dismissed from her world and she was rejected from his own. Their connection was broken and their purposes complete. Vangelis was quick to leave the chamber, ensuring that his offerings of gold and silver were made to the high priest and then stepped back out into the sunshine of a Colchian afternoon, setting about his other duties as a follower of the Gods and a prince of the realm...