Intergalactic Courtesan Ch. 12

Desirée's hands flew to her wet breasts as she blushed a deep crimson. She'd forgotten to disable the video feed on her UTD.

"Not Ssurhuk-T'at, I take it?" Veronica said dryly. Desirée quickly went back to washing herself, the deadline giving her movements a certain urgency.

"It's Cyraena," she explained. "She wants me to join her in a threesome with another Draco in two hours."

"Nicely done, my dear," Veronica replied, her brown eyes wide. "Cyraena almost never partners with another courtesan."

"Of course everyone will think you set it up for me." Desirée couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of her voice. She soaped up quickly.

"Not anyone who has been here a while," Veronica replied tartly. "There's no bad blood between us, but everyone knows Cyraena and I have never been friends. We've often been rivals for decades now. In fact, we were both short-listed for the administrator position at this House and I know she was most disappointed when the Guild chose me for the job."

"So why did she stay after you got elected?"

"Cyraena likes it here, and this House is close enough to the center of things that she has no shortage of clients. Her presence here brings in a lot of business; something she never fails to mention when it comes time for contract renegotiations," Veronica said ruefully. "Admittedly, she is a better courtesan than I -- and I'm counting on you never to say that to her -- but she lacks the leadership qualities needed to run a Guild House. But I recommend you keep your eyes and ears open around her, dear. She has a lot to teach, and very few other courtesans get to watch her in action. Use this opportunity as best you can."

"I will," Desirée promised. "I have to run. See you."

They quickly kissed before Desirée scampered from the showers.

***

Desirée took a deep breath. Once again, she was a minute early: standing in front of a door. Behind which was an assignment that would either make her career as a courtesan . . . or break it.

She wiped her sweating fingers on a handkerchief, which she then placed back in her purse. Not sure how to interpret Cyraena's instructions, Desirée cast her mind back to four years ago, when she was a high school graduate desperately looking for work. To that end, she'd assembled a modestly-cut outfit that her eighteen-year-old self would have worn for a job interview. The gray skirt hung down slightly past her knee, but there was a daring slit along the side. The blue jacket and high-cut white shirt was perhaps too dowdy but she felt sure her underwear would compensate. Her hair was tied into a modest braid. When Desirée had looked in the mirror, just before leaving her quarters, she was stunned at how young she looked. 'Damn, was Veronica right after all?' she silently asked herself. 'Will those bloody fat cheeks actually be an asset?'

Certainly, to her mind, the outfit fulfilled the requirement of "innocent, yet sexy." She only hoped Cyraena -- and her client -- would agree.

Swallowing against a dry throat, she pressed the buzzer beside the door. She faintly heard the chime inside the room but that was it. Desirée stood there for several seconds, her purse held protectively in front of her, feeling the chill of the glascrete floor through the soles of her flats. Her fingers were wet with perspiration.

After what seemed an eternity, the door silently irised open. The room beyond was dark, with only a few red lanterns lighting the gloom. Desirée stepped across the threshold and the door irised closed behind her.

"Hello?" she called out, not needing to feign nervousness. She could barely see anything in the dim light. "M-my name is Desirée Tanner, and I'm here about the job interview?"

"Indeed?" Cyraena breathed in her ear. Desirée jumped from shock. The tall woman towered over her. The senior courtesan wore a long dress in the Guild colours, her eyes completely black in the dimness.

"Hello, Ma'am." Desirée put out her hand to shake. She hoped Cyraena would interpret her sweaty palms as her getting into her role, and not fear.

"Of course you are," Cyraena replied. Taking Desirée's hand, she leaned in to kiss the young courtesan's cheeks.

"Our guest is watching us via closed circuit camera from the room next door," she whispered in Desirée's ear. "Let's give him a good show, shall we?" Gliding back, Cyraena motioned the human to follow her. Desirée walked behind the statuesque Draco, her eyes finally adjusting to the dim light.

If Desirée was asked to describe the prototypical 24th Century courtesan's room, it would have looked much like Cyraena's. Heavy curtains hid the walls, many of them in the Guild colours. An artist of considerable talent had painted an erotic fresco on the ceiling: beings from countless races writhing and penetrating one another in an orgy that left little to the imagination. Cyraena herself featured prominently in the painting, smiling lasciviously down at the viewer as a massively-hung Taurean took her from behind. The furniture was low and overstuffed, and Desirée noticed many clips and handholds bolted to the sofas and pouffes.

Cyraena led her to an ornate desk, motioning her to a plain wooden chair. Desirée obediently perched on the wooden chair, the very picture of the nervous young girl wanting to make a good first impression. The Draco sat down behind her desk and steepled her hands, glossy red fingernails glinting in the faint light.

"So . . . Desirée, is it?" She cocked her head, making even that simple motion look alluring. "Tell me: why should I hire you?"

"Well, Ma'am, I -- "

"Please. Call me Cyraena."

"T-thank you, Cyraena," Desirée said, her heart rate slowing as she became more comfortable in her role. "I read your ad and I feel I possess the proper qualifications for the position you're offering --"

"Yes, this job requires a great many . . . positions," the Draco smiled. "However, what makes you think that you're the perfect candidate?"

"Well," Desirée fumbled in her purse, "if you'd like to see my resume, it should tell you what you need to know." She passed the piece of plas-paper to the dark-haired Draco.

"Thank you," Cyraena said. "I'll need to study this. Would you like something to drink while I do so?"

"Yes, Ma -- I mean, Cyraena," she said. "I'm very thirsty." She wasn't but she was willing to play along. Especially since she suspected what would be in the drink.

"Excellent." She smiled at Desirée, showing her long canines. She poured a dark red liquid from a glas-steel decanter into a goblet. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Then, "Aren't you having some too?"

Cyraena smiled again. "I never drink . . . wine."

"Oh. Okay." Desirée tasted a cinnamon-nutmeg flavour in her drink; she recognized it as bathorius, a herb that flavoured the blood, popular with the Draco. Desirée suspected that there was some Asmodii venom -- the Confederation's only known aphrodisiac - in the wine as well.

"Drink up, my dear. I'll need to examine this most carefully, especially your . . . ah, work history." Cyraena's red lips quivered. Instead of an employment history, Desirée had typed up a series of off-colour jokes. She obediently sipped her spiked wine as Cyraena pretended to read her "resume"; bathorius wouldn't hurt her and she knew it gave the Draco drinking her blood a mild sense of euphoria. And if there actually was venom in the wine, all the better: it would make her less nervous about two Draco drinking her blood.

"Your resume is most impressive, Desirée." Cyraena's black eyes promised payback for the stunt with the work history. "But there is a . . . physical component to this job. Would you mind standing up and removing your jacket?"

"Oh certainly," Desirée gushed. She theatrically put a hand to her forehead. "It feels so warm in here all of a sudden." That was true; Cyraena kept her apartment at a high heat. Her home planet of Ruthven was several degrees hotter than Earth and the Draco didn't handle lower temperatures very well. From Cyraena's half-smile, Desirée guessed there was Asmodii venom in the wine.

Desirée stood up, conscious of their mysterious guest watching from another room. She pretended nervousness, biting her lip as she slowly removed the blue jacket, sliding it from her shoulders, "accidentally" arching her back so accentuate her breasts. Once she had removed the outer garment, she stood in an "anxious sex kitten" pose: back arched and heels slightly raised to bring attention to her breasts and ass, biting her lower lip to make her seem more innocent.

Cyraena leaned forward on her desk, licking her lips. "You have potential, my dear, but I'm still not convinced you're suitable for the position."

"What can I do to convince you that I'm the right person, Cyraena?" Desirée deliberately pitched her voice slightly higher. "I so need this job! My landlord will throw me out if I don't pay the rent soon!" Okay, maybe she was pushing it a bit but Cyraena didn't seem to mind.

The Draco glided around her desk, reaching out to take Desirée's hands. "Oh sweet child, I so understand what you're going through, but my hands are tied in this matter." Desirée had always suspected Cyraena enjoyed bondage. "You clearly have the willingness to work, but I need to know that you possess the sensuality that will appeal to my clientele. Can you show me that?"

"I'll do anything for this job," Desirée said, conscious of their invisible audience. "Anything."

Cyraena smiled, showing her fangs. "That's what I like to hear, my darling." She picked up a remote sitting on her desk. Pressing a single button illuminated a small platform in one corner of the room. A stripper's pole glowed in the center of the stage.

"Oh, but . . . I've never done anything like this before!" Desirée kept playing her role. "I mean, my mother would kill me if she ever knew -"

"You want this job?" Cyraena asked simply. "Dance."

She hit another button on her remote: soft music with an insistent rhythm filled the air. A wordless female vocal wailed over it. Desirée recognized it as millarca, a form of dance music popular on Ruthven.

"Dance for me, my darling," Cyraena said softly. Desirée backed away, then slowly turned towards the raised platform, only stopping to remove her shoes. Her hips began to sway to the rhythm; the warmth of the room made her white top cling to her body. She stepped onto the stage, her left hand grasping the brass pole. She used it to spin herself around and then began to shimmy to the beat. She was already sweating, tendrils of hair slipping free of her braid. As she wiped the sweat from her face, she "accidentally" popped the first two buttons on her blouse.

"Not bad," Cyraena said. She was seated not five feet from the stage, leaning forward with her legs crossed. Her long black dress had fallen away from her right, exposing a long, slender thigh. "But you need to become one with the music, feel its pulse deep within you. You're too stiff, you must relax and feel the rhythm flow through you."

Desirée fanned herself. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she said, staying in character. She ran her fingers through her hair, "Oops," she said when her braid came loose, sending her sandy blonde hair tumbling around her face. "I feel so funny, so hot."

"Use that feeling," Cyraena said. "Relax into it, feel the music, let it move you."

"Yes, yes," Desirée said, allowing herself to sway to the rhythm as she leaned against the pole, running a hand down her front. "But I'm so hot."

"Take your blouse off if you like," Cyraena said.

"Are you sure?" Desirée asked in a stage whisper. "It's just us, right?"

"Certainly, my darling," Cyraena replied with a laugh. "What, you think someone is watching us from another room through a closed circuit feed? What a strange imagination you have." The Draco winked; Desirée fought not to start laughing.

"Well . . . if it's all right . . ." She started unbuttoning her blouse, her hips still shimmying to the millarca rhythm. "Actually," she bit her lower lip, "I wouldn't mind if someone was watching us." She let out a giggle. "It would be kinda . . . sexy."

Cyraena's eyes widened; she gave a quick shake of her head. Desirée fought to control her reaction, even as she quailed. The possibility of acknowledging their guest's presence wasn't part of his fantasy. Desirée fought to get back into character.

She danced some more while unbuttoning her blouse, turning away from Cyraena so she wouldn't see what lay underneath. At one point, she let the blouse drop, exposing one shoulder and the strap of her bra.

"Red lace?" Cyraena smiled lasciviously, leaning forward as she did so. Her gown was cut very low. "You are a dirty girl."

Desirée giggled again. "You like it?" She turned to face the Draco, still keeping her soaked blouse wrapped around her but the one shoulder bare.

"I'm not sure," Cyraena said. "Perhaps if you showed me more, I might be able to give a better assessment."

"Oh!" Then, "Just between us girls?"

Cyraena smiled. "Just between us girls."

Desirée dropped the blouse, allowing it to fall to the floor in front of the stage. She pretended nervousness some more to keep in character, her hands fluttering around her breasts before they settled at her sides, her back slightly arched.

The Draco pursed her lips in appreciation. "You have beautiful breasts."

Desirée decided to take things up a notch. "So do you," she said quietly.

Even though the two females were acting out a fantasy for a guest, the raw sexuality of Cyraena's gaze struck Desirée like a blow. The young woman could feel her body burning for the senior courtesan's touch, to feel her smooth flesh rubbing against Cyraena's, to find those places that would make the Draco scream with ecstasy even as she did the same to Desirée. Her nipples hardened underneath her bra, labial folds thickening as they yearned for Cyraena's touch. She could feel herself shaking with need, and her hands grasped the pole behind her so she could stay upright.

"Well, well, well," Cyraena said softly. "You have no idea how happy this makes me."

This time, Desirée's giggle wasn't acting. She could feel herself getting more and more aroused and it wasn't because of the Asmodii venom. Actually, her thoughts were surprisingly clear; she should have started feeling the aphrodisiac's effects by now. Perhaps there wasn't any in the drink?

"Seduce me, Desirée," Cyraena's black eyes burned. "Seduce me with your dance."

Still staring at Cyraena, she let the rhythm of the millarca move her, her hand sliding up her thigh, giving her audience a quick flash of one butt cheek. She shimmied down the pole, caressing it like a lover. She spun around it a few more times, her hair flying out wildly with each pass. She noticed Cyraena caressing herself over her dress, her long fingers sliding along her cleavage before running down the length of her gown and sliding up the inside of her thighs. Desirée gave her a smoldering glance before doing another spin. This time her fingers teased at the mag-binding on the side of her gray skirt, opening and closing it a little. Cyraena bit her lower lip, a silent plea to remove the garment. The Draco was breathing heavily, a pink flush suffusing her gray skin showing she was as aroused as Desirée.

She briefly toyed with the mag-binding again before going into yet another spin. This time, she clamped her thighs around the pole, her toes well off the stage. She leaned back as far as she could, hands running through her sweat-streaked blonde hair, eyes closed and lips parted. Then, still straddling the pole, she turned so that her back was to Cyraena and slowly lowered herself into a full split. Turning her left shoulder towards her audience, she ran a single finger along the mag-binding, letting her gray skirt slip off. Still in her split, she pushed herself away from the pole so Cyraena got a good look at the matching thong that bisected the firm globes of her ass.

Her legs at right angles to her body and toes pointed, Desirée ground her hips back and forth as if she was riding a lover, her buttocks clenching with every thrust. She arched her back and peered over her shoulder at Cyraena, giving the tall Draco another burning glance. Cyraena licked her lips in appreciation while she caressed the tops of her breasts. At one point, she squeezed them and Desirée caught a brief glimpse of nipple.

"Your bra," she whispered, running long fingers along her thighs, riding up her dress so it exposed more of her legs. "Take it off."

Desirée curled her legs into a kneeling position, her hands reaching for the bra clip in the middle of her back. Just before reaching the closure, her arms went around herself in a hug and she slipped a strap off her right shoulder, staring back at Cyraena the entire time as she caressed the rounded muscle. Her hand slid back and she popped the clasp, letting the straps fall. But, as she spun around to face the taller woman again, her left arm trapped the bra to her breasts, still hiding them from view.

"You're driving me insane, darling," Cyraena smiled, showing her long fangs.

"Oh good," Desirée purred. Then, remembering the character she was supposed to play: "Do you like it?"

"More."

Still feeling the music's pulse, Desirée toyed with the bra, lowering it slightly then bringing it back up, teasing Cyraena with a nipple flash before concealing it with her hand. The straps slid down her arms as she danced, the sim-silk fabric rubbed against her breasts, making the nipples harder. Finally, she turned away and flung the bra off the stage, quickly crossing her arms so her hands would hide her tits. She then turned around again, facing the elegant Draco.

Still concealing her breasts, Desirée began pulling at them, making her soft flesh even more sensitive to the touch. Her eyes were half-closed and her tousled hair framed her face; she pulled on her breasts even harder, letting Cyraena see her arousal, no longer caring to conceal her nipples from view. She sank into a squat, her calf muscles rippling under soft skin while she stayed on her toes, showing off the soaked gusset of her thong. She sighed, her back arched.

Then Cyraena was directly in front of her. "You've teased me enough, my love." She reached out a finger and lifted a single bead of sweat from under Desirée's left ear. The Draco then lifted it towards her mouth and her long forked tongue flicked out to taste the fingertip. Desirée's breasts were heaving, both from exertion and need.

With her other hand, the Draco gently pushed the young woman so she had to use her hands to brace herself. Cyraena's fingers closed around the thong strap, her red nails lightly scratching Desirée's skin. She shuddered from the contact, and from the air on her pussy lips as Cyraena pulled the young woman's thong down to her ankles.

"Stand up, and come with me," Cyraena commanded softly. She took a single stride to the set of stairs leading off the stage, her right hand out towards Desirée. Walking on tip-toe, she took Cyraena's hand and was drawn into her embrace. Cyraena's left leg lifted up between Desirée's thighs, her black pump resting on the middle step so that Desirée's pussy was resting on the ridge of her thigh.

From this position, Desirée was eye-to-eye with the much taller Draco. Even so close, the senior courtesan's skin was flawless and Desirée saw purple flecks in her black eyes. She felt like she could drown in their stygian depths; her legs were trembling, barely able to hold her up.

"You are everything I hoped for, my darling," Cyraena whispered and they kissed, their tongues dueling wetly. Once again, Desirée felt like a rank novice but she was quick to catch on to Cyraena's swirling tongue and, within moments, both females were moaning loudly. Cyraena's fingernails slowly scratched down Desirée's back and cupped her round buttocks. She then squeezed and released, her fingernails pointed towards Desirée's puckered hole.