The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 5 : Ravier and Jenna

Ravier needed to fuck. He had spent the whole morning struggling to control his arousal. Being locked in a small Transport with Rachel had been almost unbearable. He could hear his own blood roaring in his ears, calling on him to leap on Rachel and devour her. Even his men had been visibly affected. The pressure had eased when Sabine lead Rachel away to prepare her for the ritual but his cock was still thick against his thigh.

He turned his gaze to Jenna and a grin spread across his face. It was a requirement that the Sponsor of a Courtesan should have rigorous sex before the blessing; it demonstrated his trust that the Founder would give him the strength to carry out his role in the ritual. Sabine had given him Jenna to carry out this tradition.

Jenna was dressed as a handmaiden, available for Ravier’s pleasure, but it was clear to him that Jenna was more than that. The Brotherhood did not publicise the existence of female assassins but Ravier’s father had sometimes used them and Ravier recognised the signs; Jenna’s gait, the development of her muscles, the lack of fear in her eyes, were all warning signs to him.  He doubted that Sabine would harm him in her own House, but it was possible that Jenna was working for someone-else.

“Strip,” he said to Jenna.

“Here, my Lord?”

He was sure that Jenna meant to look coy, pretending to be shocked at the idea of being naked in a public place, but she didn’t quite manage to hide her amusement.

Ravier slapped her across the face with the flat of his hand. He saw the fighter’s reflex start and then be subdued. Jenna could have avoided the blow. She had let him hit her.

“Of course, my Lord,” Jenna said. She kept eye contact with him as she undid the fastenings at her shoulders and let the robe drop to her feet.

Ravier’s cock pulsed. Her body was all hard curves and smooth flesh. It was a canvas he wanted to paint with pain.

“Put your hands on your head and turn around in a circle.”

Jenna moved slowly, displaying herself to him and his men. She knew she was being searched for weapons. They both knew that she was lethal even without a blade.

“Tie her hands behind her back.”

Two of Ravier’s men held Jenna’s arms. They pressed themselves against her while their comrade worked cruel knots to bind her wrists.

“Bring her,” Ravier said and strode towards the tent Sabine had prepared for him.

Jenna was forced to her knees in front of Ravier. His men stayed at the perimeter of the tent. They should have been guarding him but that seemed pointless when the main threat was already amongst them.

Ravier released himself from his trousers. His cock felt hot in his hand. His balls hung heavily. He pressed against Jenna’s mouth and pushed his cock inside. She grinned around his flesh and pushed herself forward, forcing her head further down his shaft. Ravier lost himself to it then, holding her head, ploughing her mouth. No subtly, just haste. Even as he came he was thinking of Rachel: Rachel spread on the horse, Rachel with his sperm on her face and hair, Rachel being carried naked and exhausted in his arms. It was all he could do not to cry out her name.

He came inside Jenna and then pushed her roughly away. His three Security looked at her as if they would tear her apart. Ravier didn’t want that. He wasn’t completely certain they would all survive it.

“Get women and wine for my men”, he shouted. Invisible listeners met his needs. Sabine knew how to keep men happy; within minutes there were six women in the tent. Ravier sat in a field-chair and watched his men take their pleasure.  At first they dived in like starving men. Like him they were still riding the erotic wake Rachel seemed to leave behind her. A few minutes later, after the first come, they slowed down and started swapping the women, commenting on this one’s tightness or that one’s nipples.

Ravier’s mind returned to Rachel, playing with images of her being painted in preparation for the ritual. He wondered what Sabine was saying to her, hoping that it was enough to keep her safe and not so much as to corrupt her entirely.

He ignored Jenna, waiting to see what her next move would be. She had stayed on her knees, watching him watch his men fuck. Now she crawled back to him on her knees, her hands still bound behind her. He didn’t remember giving her the bruise on her face but he smiled to see it there.

Jenna kissed his feet and then slid her breasts up his shin and rubbed her face along his thigh. It was an impressive display of muscle control. With her lips pressed against his balls and his wet cock lolling on her forehead, she looked up and said, “If you will risk untying me, my Lord, I will show you how skilled my hands are.”

For the first time in days, Ravier laughed. He pulled a knife from his boot and sliced through her bonds, leaving a rope bracelet around each wrist because he liked the look.

Jenna sucked one of Ravier’s balls into her mouth and moved her head backwards, pulling him just hard enough to give him a little pain. Before Ravier could place his knife at her throat, she released him, smiled and said, “Thank you, my Lord.”

Ravier kept the knife level with her face but raised his hips enough to let Jenna pull his leather trousers down to his knees. Part of his mind was clammering for his attention, saying “she’s hobbled you and you’ve cut her free. Your men are busy. This is when you die.”  Ravier’s cock stirred at the thought.

Jenna shook her shoulders and rotated her wrists, still on her knees. Ravier watched the movement of her breasts and only saw her arm flick forward a second before her left hand gripped the base of his ball sack.

She squeezed, hard enough to make him breathe in but not hard enough to hurt. She had his full attention now. She smiled, no longer demure, and slid the fingers of her right hand into her cunt. Still frigging herself, she leant forward and rubbed her face against Ravier’s stiffening cock.

Ravier ran the edge of his blade along Jenna’s shoulder, not breaking the skin; just reminding her of how quickly she could die. She turned her face toward the blade and ran her tongue along the sharp edge. Blood flowed from the shallow cut, dripping over her chin and down on to her breasts. Ravier’s cock twitched to full attention.

Jenna released Ravier’s balls, turned away from him and with deliberate slowness, placed her cheek on the floor, her arse in the air and pulled herself open for him. She licked her lips, sucking in the blood, slid her hands across the smooth curve of her arse and pushed one finger all the way into her ring.

“My Lady thought it wise to make sure I was oiled for you, my Lord. She says that the pain is more than worth it. Is she right?

Ravier slid to the floor, kneeling behind Jenna. The blow he delivered to her was so hard it made his men look up from their fucking. The women servicing them flinched as a second, harder blow landed on Jenna’s arse.

“Lady Sabine is always right. Her handmaiden should know this.”

“I do, my Lord I do,” Jenna said wiggling her reddening arse from side to side. “Let me please you, my Lord. I can make it memorable if you will let me.”

Ravier had had many, many women. Few of them had proved memorable.  But then, he’d never taken an assassin before. Ravier’s cock didn’t care about what would be remembered, only about what would happen right now. As brutally as he could, Ravier forced himself into Jenna’s arse. She was tight and smooth. Then she surprised him. She pushed her hand into her cunt and stroked his cock, pressing it, pushing it, teasing it. There was no question of him withdrawing. Every moved she made was to take him deeper and keep him there. When he was pressed up against her arse with her fingers strumming the head of his cock, she tightened her ring.

If Ravier had believed in sorcery, he would have taken this as evidence of it. Her muscle gripped him like a bite and then let go. Then gripped. Then let go. He was being milked into her bowels. He tried to pull out but she would not release him. He was like a dog locked into a bitch. So he treated her like a bitch. He bent over her back, dug his fingers into her breasts and bit her neck. He came at the first taste of blood. She released him only after she had sucked out the last drop of his sperm.

When he rolled off her, breathless, dizzy, he realised that his men and the women they were using were looking at him. They all had the same look in their eyes, lust spiced with envy.

Jenna was the only person in the tent who was still calm and composed. She knelt in front of Ravier, naked, stained with blood and cum, hair wet with sweat, smiled at him demurely, bowed her head and said, “Thank you my Lord. It was a pleasure to serve. May I prepare you for the ritual now?”

Ravier decided that Jenna was memorable. She had even managed to make him forget Rachel for a while. The mention of the ritual brought her back into his mind. He was spent. His cock hung limp and useless between his legs. It was time to display himself to the public. He stripped off his clothes and headed out into the courtyard, Jenna following politely two steps behind him.

Ravier stood at the centre of the dais and let Jenna begin her work. A crowd had formed to witness the blessing. A path had been kept clear from the gateway at the far side of the courtyard to the dais. Rachel would enter along that path. Ravier focused his vision on the gateway while Jenna chanted and worked on his flesh. He wanted to see Rachel the moment she entered the courtyard.

A tingling warmth spread up Ravier’s spine. He felt his cock unfurl like a fern in the morning sun. The crowd murmured their appreciation.

“You are ready, my Lord,” Jenna said, “The young Lady will be truly blessed.”

The edge of amusement to her voice told Ravier that, even though she was kneeling naked before him, with his sperm leaking from her, and her face coloured by the bruises he had given her, she still proud almost to the point of defiance.

Ravier controlled the impulse to hit Jenna again. He wanted to look imposing and powerful; the embodiment of the Founder; hitting Jenna might make him look petulant. He reminded himself that the crowd had not heard Jenna’s tone. All they could see was a naked servant carrying out her role in the ceremony, staring devoutly at his erection.

The erection was substantial. His cock was so hard it slapped up against his belly, belying the fact that he had come twice within the past half hour. The tip was swollen and had a purple hue to it, every vein along his shaft was sharply defined, but what caught the eye was the calligraphy. Jenna had painted the Founder’s blessing in gold luminescent ink in a spiral around his cock: “Blessed is he who stands firm in the service of the Founder”.

According to tradition, the strength of Ravier’s erection was a measure of his favour with the Founder, a blessing that he would pass on to the Supplicant Courtesan on the Founder’s behalf.

Ravier did not believe in that kind of magic. He knew that the real source of this blessing was the ink that Jenna had used. It contained a chemical, absorbed through the skin, which altered the flow of his blood, engorging him almost to the point of pain. He would stay hard for a long time now and, because of his recent activity, he would only come under severe provocation. He returned his gaze to the gateway and waited for provocation to arrive.

© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 4 : Preparing Rachel

“I’ll take care of Ravier,” Lady Sabine said to her Security. “He is dangerous mainly because he is impulsive. I will direct his impulses.” She smiled, Jenna grinned, Jacob’s face stayed impassive but his stance became slightly more relaxed. She wanted her Security alert but not anxious. Having an armed group visiting always caused tension and Ravier’s team came with a reputation for being aggressive and demanding.

“Jacob, I want you and your team to contain Ravier’s men. There won’t be many of them in a transport that size and that will make them nervous. Keep them relaxed. Let them feel that they are getting away with things. Don’t use force unless they go where they should not. Even then, use finesse and avoid lethal measures.”

“Yes, Milady”

“Jenna, you will help me with the ceremony. Remember you are a handmaiden while this group is here. Try to find them intimidating. Do not use force unless I tell you to.”

“What about the girl,” Jenna asked, “is she a threat?”

Jenna never took anything for granted.

“She is not a threat to us,” Sabine replied.

Jenna showed interest at the response but asked no more questions.

“Oh and please look surprised when they arrive. Remember we have no idea that they are coming.”

Sabine looked around at her team one more time. Everything was ready. “Let’s go and meet our guests.


To Sabine’s surprise, Ravier was first out of the transport. She knew his Security would not be pleased at that. Dressed in his riding leathers, Ravier looked out of place against the gleaming hull of the transport; like a throwback to a more primitive time, before mankind had spread amongst the stars.

Sabine knew that, in many ways, Ravier was the man the Founder had wanted to create: assured in his strength, exercising his will, independent of technology, dominant over women. He was magnificent, Sabine thought, but he was also useless, a biological and social dead-end. Men like Ravier could never build the technology or manage the commerce that supported their lifestyle. They were like peacocks, so enamoured by the magnificence of their tail feathers that they saw nothing beyond their own display. No, peacock was the wrong image. It didn’t convey the constant threat that Ravier and his kind posed. Watching him now, standing tall, stepping lightly, ready to pounce, Sabine realised that his every movement screamed predator. Ravier, she decided, was a lion that has been fed too long and too often by the females in his pride and was now convinced he was a great hunter. He was still useless, but he was also dangerous.

Ravier’s men, armed with swords and crossbows, scrabbled after him out of the transport. Sabine smiled as she considered how poorly these fierce men would fare against the illegal off-world weapons that she had secretly supplied to her own Security. She pictured the look of surprise Ravier would have on his face if he had to watch his men slain at her command. It was a pleasant picture, but Sabine banished it from her mind. She was a Courtesan; it was an article of her faith that finesse was better than force.

When Rachel stepped down from the transport, every male head, including those in Sabine’s Security, turned toward her. Sabine watched Ravier’s response and suddenly she knew why he had been first into the fresh air. The man could barely contain himself. The impact of Rachel’s pheromone-charged presence in the small craft must have been palpable. Ravier and his men were literally pumped up with excitement.

“My Lord Ravier,” Sabine said, sweeping forward, her Security moving on either side of her, “what a pleasure it is to see you again.”

Ravier tore his gaze from away Rachel and watched Sabine approach him. She recognized the look of fascination on his face when he finally looked at her. It was one thing to know that someone had had rejuve; it was another to be confronted with the reality. Ten years had past since they had last met face to face and in that time she had literally not aged a day. Ravier’s fingers went to his own face; unconsciously tracing the lines time had imposed upon him.

“Lady Sabine,” he said, moving to kiss her hand, “the pleasure is all mine. Court has quite lost its sparkle since you absented yourself from us.”

There was no trace of envy or irony in his voice, but Sabine could see the hunger in his eyes. Ravier was a larger, more solid man now than the boy she had taken to her bed years ago but even then he had been hungry, wanting to take life by the throat and worry it until it yielded everything it had.

Boy that he was, he had already had one kill to his name and was building a reputation as a dangerous loner. His appetites were voracious and his stamina enviable but he lacked control. At his father’s request, Sabine had helped the young Ravier to tame his anger without losing his passion. It had taken her the best part of a year to mould him into someone who could survive in the Brotherhood. Ravier had cooperated, sometimes enthusiastically, sometimes reluctantly. By the end of the year she had built his confidence and helped him to restrain the part of him that he always referred to as The Wolf but which she always thought of as The Selfish Little Boy.

The man before her now, dressed his speech in courtly manners, but the steel of his will still glinted through. Sabine knew that Ravier would always be just a heartbeat away from violence and rage.

There was a moment of silence when they just looked at each other, acknowledging what they knew and would not publicly voice about their relationship.

A flash of gold at Sabine’s side caused her to look away from Ravier and break the mood.

“And who is this young beauty?” Sabine asked, getting her first close look at Rachel.

She looked so very new in the world, it seemed strange to Sabine that this small girl could hold hopes of so many.

“Lady Sabine, may I present Rachel, Supplicant Courtesan,” Ravier said.

“Supplicant? She has been assessed but not yet Blessed?”

“I have brought her to you so that the Blessing can take place, my Lady.”

“Well, my Lord Ravier, I am indeed honoured, but I shall need time to prepare. There is much to do. Perhaps early next week we can…”

“I would like the ceremony performed today, my Lady, if it pleases you.”

Grinning inwardly at Ravier’s urgency, Sabine bowed and said, “It always pleases me to serve you, my Lord. We shall hold the ceremony tonight by torch light.”

“Thank you, my Lady.”

Sabine placed her self on Ravier’s right, one hand up on his shoulder, her breast resting gently against his arm, her hip touching his, and looked at Rachel.

Rachel stood demurely, hands folded over her sex, her breasts pushed forward and slightly together, her head bowed, displaying the soft strength of her neck, one foot forward, stretching her sarong over her hip. She was a delightful mixture of modesty and provocation and, best of all; she seemed to be behaving completely naturally.

Ravier was totally absorbed in watching Rachel. Even in his current state of obvious arousal, he seemed unaware of Sabine leaning against him, his focus solely on the young girl.

“I have a treat for you, my young wolf cub,” Sabine whispered into Ravier’s ear.

Ravier moved, snapped out of his pre-occupation by the use of the nickname he felt he had outgrown. Before his frown could spread, Sabine clapped her hands and said, “Jenna, attend us!”

Jenna’s long hair hung free, reaching down past her waist. Her sarong was designed to emphasise the curves of her breasts and hips and distract from the muscle her training gave her. She stepped forward from Sabine’s group and knelt at Ravier’s feet, her eyes never reaching above his waist.

“Jenna is my handmaiden. She will prepare you for the ceremony, my Lord. I’m sure you will enjoy her expertise.”

Ravier bent forward and lifted Jenna’s chin until he was looking in her eyes. He ran his thumb over her lips. Jenna suckled it gently but with obvious pleasure, keeping both of her hands on her knees, but leaning forward slightly to display her cleavage.

“She will do,” Ravier said, letting go of Jenna, his gaze returning automatically to Rachel.

“Come,” Sabine said, putting her arm through Ravier’s and leading him forward past Rachel and the still kneeling Jenna, “let us prepare for the ceremony.”


“If you’re hymen isn’t intact, now is the time to tell me. It won’t spoil the ceremony, we can always arrange for a little blood.”

“Thank you, my Lady, but the blood will be real. It’s not that I am so pure, more that my opportunities were so few. The Sisters seemed to know how strong my desires were. They watched me closely to help me preserve my purity. Of course, I was allowed to play the kissing games and to pleasure myself gently under supervision. The Sisters said that it was important for my health for me to find release regularly.”

Rachel spoke quietly and without embarrassment. Sabine was brushing Rachel’s hair; soothing her while the servants used a vegetable dye to draw symbols sacred to the Brotherhood on the girl’s smooth flesh.

Sabine had chosen to perform this rite in a courtyard so that she would be less affected by the pheromones that Rachel produced. It was one of Sabine’s favourite places, a perfectly proportioned space with white walls, blue tiles, water-rills to soothe the eye and ear, and blossom trees to spice the air. She came here mostly to watch the dawn. Today they would witness the sunset.

Bending forward, she kissed Rachel on the forehead, “There is nothing impure about losing your virginity, Rachel.”

She let her fingers trace a line along Rachel’s jaw. “You were born with the ability to give and receive great pleasure. You should relish that. Impurity arises only when the sex becomes mixed with other things: fear, greed, guilt, anger. For many men, sex is always mixed with these things. They see them as threads in the same cloth. As a Courtesan, you can create a space that is purely and simply about pleasure for its own sake. Once you take a man to that place, he will always want to return and each time he visits he will change, becoming more human and less afraid. This is the gift you bring to the Brotherhood.”

Sabine realised that everyone in the courtyard was looking at her. Perhaps it was the sincerity in her voice. Perhaps, for those who knew her better, it was the hint of regret that tinged her tone. Once she had believed that she could change the Brotherhood simply by showing men how to be better. She found that she still wished she thought it was true.

She broke the silence by saying, “But today is about you and your thoughts, Rachel, not about mine. Tell me why you want to be a Courtesan. Tell me the real reason, not the confection that you were coached to feed to Ravier.”

Rachel looked around at the servants and replied, “My answer to Lord Ravier was honest, my Lady, my passions are strong and I wish to serve.”

“Nothing you say here will be repeated, Rachel. Speak freely.”

Sabine returned to combing Rachel’s hair. The servants busied themselves drawing spirals on Rachel’s thighs. “Partial truth is the best kind of lie, Rachel; you were wise to use it with Ravier. Now tell me what did you not share with Lord Ravier.”

Rachel breathed in deeply and relaxed. It was a pleasant sight to watch, Sabine thought, one of those naturally graceful movements with which domestic animals tighten their grip on our hearts.

“I want to understand why men behave as they do,” Rachel said. “I have searched the Book of the Brotherhood and read the chronicles of our early years on this world and still I don’t understand what it is that makes men so… insecure. They fight and they betray and they compete when they could gain so much more by just…”

“Being more like women?”

“YES! And yet it was men who founded our world and men who rule it. I knew that if I joined a Cloistered Corporation I would never see for myself how this comes to be.”

“So you want to be a Courtesan so that you can study men?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Be careful never to let them know that.”

Sabine was surprised by Rachel’s answers. She had expected a more physiological motivation, an urgent need for adoration from men. The plan called for that, depended on it even. Ironically, the women behind the Courtesan project had behaved just like men, seeing only Rachel’s physiology and neglecting to consider how she might use her intellect.

This needed thinking about. It could put the plan at risk or it could move things forward even faster. Soon Sabine would have to decide how much to tell Rachel about her heritage and her purpose.

“Why did Lord Ravier choose you for the blessing, my Lady?”

The question caught Sabine by surprise. It was the first sign of real curiosity that Rachel had displayed. The Courtesan who presided over the blessing had a responsibility to coach the new Courtesan and make her successful. It was unusual to choose a woman who had allegedly retired.

“Are you unhappy with his choice, Rachel?”

“No, my Lady. I think I am already a little in love with you.”

The smile Rachel gave her made Sabine want to hold the girl close. It also filled her with guilt.

“It’s just that it’s unusual to choose a Courtesan who has retired to preside over the Blessing. You will be able to come to Court with me and help me learn won’t you, my Lady?”

“I will be there Rachel, but there are some things you need to know. There are factions at Court who believe that Courtesan’s have too much power. They have been taking steps to reduce that power. When I became a Courtesan there where half a dozen Grande Courtesans, each of whom kept two or three new Courtesans in their household. Most members of the Synod regularly spent time at these Houses. Now I am the last of that generation. Today, no Courtesan owns her own House at Court; each is under the protection of a member of the Synod. Lord Crowley and his faction are claiming that society has developed to the point where Courtesans are a dangerous anachronism that the Founder would undoubtedly have abolished if he was still here.”

“But the Book of the Brotherhood states…”

“Any man can use the Book of the Brotherhood to prove their point, Rachel. I suspect it was either deliberately written that way or it has been edited since. And I mean it when I say any MAN can quote the Book of the Brotherhood. A woman who quotes the Book to win an argument will be seen as an agent of subversion. Firstly she should not dispute with a man in public. Secondly she should accept that her Lord is better equipped than she is to understand the Book’s meaning. I know there is heresy in what I say, Rachel, but there is also truth.”

It was growing dark. Servants were lighting torches around the courtyard. Looking in to Rachel’s dark eyes, Sabine could see the flames reflected there, she could also see the light of intelligence in those eyes and she felt a rush of affection for the girl. For a moment Sabine wondered if perhaps Rachel’s biochemistry was influencing her judgement, but that under-estimated the power of the girl’s personality. Sabine decided that it would be better to share information with Rachel than to leave her to discover it. She wanted Rachel to turn to her for guidance when they were at Court.

“There are two reasons Ravier selected me. The first is pragmatism. I am the last of the generation of Courtesans who lived independently of a Synod sponsor so I am the only person he could bring you to without having to choose which Synod member to align with.

The second reason is more personal. Ravier’s father sponsored me when I was a Supplicant Courtesan. He took an interest in me throughout my time at Court. This House was a gift from him.”

“What is he like?”

“He is dead now, assassinated ten years ago.”

“Is that why you left Court?”

“It was one of the reasons.”

“Did you love him?”

“Courtesan’s do not love, Rachel. And neither do members of the Synod. But we… respected each other.”

“You took him to that pure place?”

“Yes, often.”

“Tell me how it was with him, please?”

Rachel’s body was now fully decorated. The red and green dyes on her skin were flecked with mica that glinted in the torchlight. It only remained to place the wreath upon her head and she would be ready.

“You should be contemplating the coming ceremony, not getting history lessons”

Rachel turned to face Sabine and then knelt in front of her.

“I am ready. This is preparing me. Please tell me about him as you place the wreath on my head.”

Sabine found it impossible to deny the kneeling girl. She suspected that most people would find it impossible to deny her. She wondered what to tell Rachel about the man who had played the dominant role in her life, the man who had granted her rejuve and promised to stay with her for centuries. The man whom Crowley had had killed.

“Jean-Michel, was a master of control. He controlled the lives of all around him, but most of all he controlled himself. He was unusual for a Lord of the Brotherhood because he was both a zealot and a thinker. He was a power in the Synod not just because he was ruthless and focused but because he saw patterns that others did not. He told me he had me promoted to Courtesan because he thought I would also be able to see patterns and act on them.

When he first took me to his bed I was young and inexperienced and he controlled me completely. He would bring me to orgasm time after time, only allowing himself to come when I lay exhausted beneath him. Afterwards we would play chess and discuss politics. It was a month before I realised that he preferred the chess games to the sex and that my naive comments on politics amused and refreshed him. He made me consider what a Courtesan is really for and why a man like him might want one. As time passed, the sex changed. First he let me please him without taking pleasure myself; he had no further need to show that he could flood my brain time after time. He let me keep my mind clear so that I could use it. In our best times it became impossible to distinguish the sex from the chess and the talk. All three would be happening at once. Every move on the chess board was an act of seduction, every caress was a move in our game, and every political analysis was a moment of intimacy.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“Some of the time it was wonderful and that is all we can hope for. Now stand, compose yourself and prepare to be blessed.”

Sabine took Rachel’s hand in her own and led her towards the main courtyard where the blessing would be held. Rachel’s skin was warm and dry; there was no sense of tension or nervousness coming from her. Sabine wondered how the girl could be so composed, given what was going to happen next. At her own blessing, Sabine had been trembling with excitement laced with a fear that something might go wrong. Before they met, Sabine had thought she knew everything there was to know about Rachel. Now she realised she had much more to learn.

Just before they passed through the arch that would bring them into public view, Rachel lifted Sabine’s hand and kissed it.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Sabine,” she said. Then she let go of Sabine’s hand and walked confidently, naked and alone towards the dais and her Blessing.


© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from


A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 3 : Ravier’s Dawn

In the pre-dawn darkness, Ravier stood on the wide flat roof of Leyston Abbey, listening to the wind whisper to the trees. The peasants who tended the vast woods that surrounded the Abbey believed the whispers to be the voices of the dead; their souls trapped in the forest canopy, unable to leave until they had given the listening trees an honest assessment of their life. A peasant close to death would rehearse his life’s story, hoping to buy his soul a quick release into the next world.

Ravier did not believe in the soul. For him there was no life after death, there was only this world and how you chose to live in it. When he listened to the leaves soughing in the wind, he heard time rushing past him second after second, always bringing him closer to his mortal end.

He was thirty-five. Soon he would be past his prime. Younger men would test him. Eventually one of them would bring him down. He would not let that happen.

Rejuve would keep him at his peak and extend his life almost indefinitely but to gain access to the off-world treatment he had to claw his way into the Brotherhood’s elite. Rachel was the weapon he would use to win his place. He would make her the heart’s desire of every man in the Synod. He would make them compete for her. He would barter up her status and his own, refusing to surrender her until he had taken his father’s place in the Synod.

Ravier knew that Rachel was a perfectly shaped charge with which he could demolish all that stood between him and an eternity of power. With Rachel in his possession, Ravier ought to have been elated. Instead he was unsettled, unable to sleep, driven by a restless energy that deprived him of focus.

As always when he was troubled, Ravier had sought solitude and then focused his mind of the Book of the Brotherhood.

The Founder taught that manhood was based on three qualities: courage, control and competition. A man strove always to have the courage to shape his world so that he could win.

This afternoon Ravier had felt that he had won. He had found Rachel and taken a small revenge on the over-proud Abbess. And yet something was not right. When he’d lifted Rachel in his arms, her naked body still hot with desire and spattered with his sperm, he’d wanted to consume her. He had wanted to drive himself into her so hard and so far that nothing of her would remain. It had taken all his will to return her to the care of the Sisters. No woman had ever had that effect on him.

This loss of control gnawed at his sense of self-worth and played upon his deepest fear. Ravier knew he had the potential to cause himself and others great harm. His blood was hot, his need to dominate was strong; rage could make him lethal.

He was fourteen years old when he killed for the first time. An older boy in his Uncle’s household had kicked one of Ravier’s hunting dogs. When Ravier had complained to him about it, the boy had taken a knife and slit the dog’s throat. He had laughed as he did it. The look on his face had said “I am strong and you are weak and this is the consequence.”

The rage took Ravier then. The red mist descended and he leapt upon the older boy. He had no clear memory of the act. He did not feel the boy’s knife bury itself in his thigh. He felt only hate, and hate has to be fed. When the mist went away, Ravier found himself spitting out the remains of the boy’s throat.

That had been his first encounter with the side of himself he now called his Wolf. The Wolf had courage but lacked control. Ravier had spent the last twenty years learning how to harness the strength of the Wolf. Now, when he killed, it was because he had decided it was the right thing to do. He was proud of that.

Yet, with Rachel, the howl of the Wolf in his blood had almost taken over. It made no sense. Rachel was no use to him if she was just another sex-toy; the Court was already flooded with them. To be valuable she had to follow The Way of the Courtesan and he had to be her Sponsor. The Way started with the Blessing. If he took her before then, she became just another piece of meat that the Court would chew up and spit out and he became nothing more than a pimp. So why had he come so close to despoiling her?

“Bad blood perhaps?”

The words came from an interior voice he tried not to listen. A voice that he knew wanted him weak, uncertain, less than a man. And yet the voice sometimes spoke the truth.

His father was in his seventies when he sired Ravier. He’d been through rejuve more than forty years earlier. Few men remained fertile after the treatment. It was whispered that the drug did something to the blood that nature didn’t want passed on. Ravier had always dismissed the statement as superstition fuelled by jealousy and taken pride in his father’s potency. But on the day of his first kill, after the Wolf had left him, Ravier had looked down at the bloody corpse he was kneeling over and had been overwhelmed by shame. That was the first time the interior voice had spoken to him. “Bad blood spills blood,” it had said.

Ravier shook his head. His lust for Rachel had nothing to do with bad blood. He had simply been too long without a woman. The journey to Leyston Abbey had taken five days on horseback. He should have brought a bedmate with him. His men had brought two. He could have borrowed one or used one of the Sisters, but… but what?

“But I want Rachel,” he said, surprising himself by speaking aloud.

He listened to see if he had been overheard. There was no sound except the whispering of the trees.

The first light of dawn was seeping over the horizon. Soon the air-transport would be here and it would be time to leave. Ravier felt the transport was a sign of weakness. He had intended to travel to Dransden by horse, the way a man should, but he did not trust himself to journey for so long with Rachel. That was another part of what was wrong: Rachel was supposed to make him stronger, supposed to help him become the man he knew he should be, yet he was already making compromises because of her.

And she was affecting his relationship with his men. They had actually laughed when he had announced the change of plan. Gaudin, his second in command, had voiced all their thoughts when he’d said, “This wench must be hot for you to want to have her Blessed so quickly.”

Ravier had been short with him and told him to get on with making the preparations. That had been a foolish way to respond. Gaudin was Ravier’s right arm and had been since childhood. After the first kill others he’d thought of as friends had kept their distance from Ravier. Gaudin had stayed by his side. He deserved Ravier’s respect, not the rough side of his tongue.

“Rachel is making you weaker rather stronger,” Ravier’s interior voice said. “Perhaps she also has bad blood?”

“Gaudin!” Ravier called, partly to drown out the voice and partly because he wanted to see his friend before they parted. While Ravier flew to Dransden to see Lady Sabine, Gaudin would lead half the men and all of the horses back to Court.

For a big man, Gaudin made very little noise coming up the stone steps and making his way across the roof. The new-risen sun dressed his features in gold and made his smile seem more radiant than ever.

“Good morning, My Lord. A fine day to fly above the forest,” he said. Then his smile dimmed and he continued, “You are taking only three men with you. Is it wise to place so much trust in Lady Sabine?”

“The transport will take no more,” Ravier said, “and I know the Lady.”

“Aye, you and half the Synod I hear.”

“She is a Courtesan, not a slave, Gaudin; pay her some respect.”

“Aye, Milord. Of course, Milord,” Gaudin said, stepping back as Ravier tried to cuff him on the ear.

Ravier made another move and soon the two of them were sparring in the sunlight. Not trying to inflict damage, just happy to work muscle and limb.

“Good morning, My Lord,” the Abbess said.

The boxing stopped and both men looked toward her.

“By the Founder’s balls,” Gaudin said.

Ravier said nothing. Rachel was standing next to the Abbess, dressed not as a novice but as a Lady. Her sarong was made of a golden cloth that glinted in the sunlight. Her shoulders and arms were bare. Her legs were naked below the knees except for sandals that laced across her calves. Her hair was dressed in a ponytail high on her head, emphasising her neck. She looked fresh and rested. Ravier wanted to touch her.

A shadow fell across him. Leaves, that would whisper no more, were ripped off the nearby trees, to whip past him and swirl around Rachel’s feet. She looked at him and smiled. The transport had arrived.

© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 2 : Lady Sabine

Jenna and Jacob were wrestling naked at the foot of Lady Sabine’s bed. Their straining sweat-slick muscles gleamed like oiled metal in the candlelight.  Sabine lay back against her pillows and watched the two contestants, admiring their strength, their grace and, most of all, their disciplined aggression.

At any moment, her life might depend upon that discipline. Jenna and Jacob were Sabine’s security staff. One of them was always by her side. Officially, of course, Jenna was her handmaiden. Women, the Brotherhood believed, lacked the killer instinct needed for security work.

The world could be a dangerous place for a retired Courtesan with friends in Court. The Brotherhood, despite its name, was fuelled by the politics of enmity not fraternity. Faction fought faction for dominance in an endless cycle of betrayal. Removing enemies via assassination, although illegal, was not uncommon. Lady Sabine had as many enemies as she had friends. Some of them were the same people.

Jenna let out a whoop of triumph when she managed to kick Jacob’s feet out from under him. He was a foot taller than she was and a hundred pounds heavier but she claimed that that just made him a bigger, slower target. Even as he was falling towards the ground, Jacob’s hand lashed out and struck Jenna behind the knees. She landed on top of him in a tangle of limbs.

The wrestling bout was a weekly ritual with them. The winner would sleep with Sabine while the other kept guard. At the moment it looked as though Jacob was winning. He was on his back holding Jenna against him, her back to his chest. Jacob’s huge hands were wrapped around Jenna’s wrists, trying to hold her in place as she struggled to break free. For the bout to be over, all Jenna had to do was lie still for three seconds.

Jacob smiled in anticipation when he felt Jenna go limp. He let his gaze move to Sabine. It had been two weeks since he had last won a bout and he looked hungry for his reward. Jenna took advantage of his distraction to slide further down his body, until her buttocks were rubbing against his loins. She moved her hips in a figure of eight, pressing her shoulders into Jacob’s chest to gain leverage. She was seemed to be holding him down now. Jenna mewed like a contented cat when she felt Jacob’s hardening below her.

“You are cheating,” Jacob said.

“And you’re too horny to fight,” Jenna said, bringing her thighs together and trapping Jacob’s robust erection.

What happened next was too fast for Sabine to follow. Jacob’s body seemed to flex and suddenly Jenna was face down on the floor beneath him.

“Yield!” Jacob hissed, his mouth just behind Jenna’s ear.

“Fuck you!”

“Then suffer the consequences.”

Jacob slid into Jenna, literally pinning her to the floor. Jenna continued to writhe beneath Jacob, but it didn’t seem to Sabine that she was suffering.

Jacob was good man, loyal and brave, but he lacked Jenna’s tactical brilliance and was completely bemused by her sense of humour. Jenna closed her eyes and chewed on her generous lower lip. Sabine had seen her do that many times before. It was a trick she used to hold back her orgasm.  Sabine knew that, although Jacob thought he was winning, the truth was that Jenna had changed the game and was already enjoying the rewards of victory.

Sabine was about to declare a draw and take them both to her bed, at least for the first hour, when her signet ring vibrated. She had not expected this signal until morning. She clapped her hands and immediately both of her security struggled rapidly to their feet.

“My Lady?” Jacob said, standing to attention. Sabine wanted to laugh when she saw just how much of him was standing to attention. Jenna grinned at her.

“No need to look so serious, Jacob. I’m tired. I want to do my devotions and go to bed. I will be in the shrine. Make sure I am not disturbed.”

The code was necessary in case there were any listening devices in the room. Jacob and Jenna knew what to do. They were all business now. They didn’t look naked any more, they just looked dangerous. Jenna worked at the door console, activating the scrambling devices that protected the room from electronic surveillance. Jacob used his comlink on his wrist to give instructions to House Security.

Sabine left them to their tasks and cleared her mind to concentrate on her own.

The shrine in the alcove at the far end of Lady Sabine’s chamber was a testimony to her piety. It was dominated by a huge painting of the Founder holding out the Book of the Brotherhood to the original Brethren, each of whom had a woman kneeling at his side. A leather-bound copy of the Book of the Brotherhood was open on the altar, displayed upon back of a gold figure of a kneeling woman. Sabine pressed her ring against the woman’s feet. The picture above the altar shimmered and the Founder’s image was replaced by that of the Abbess of Leyston Abbey.

“Nina,” Sabine said, “you are early. Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem, just a change in schedule. My Lord Ravier is so taken with Rachel that he is breaking with tradition and has arranged to be airlifted from the Abbey at first light. He will be with you before noon. As we expected, he wants you to perform the defloration ceremony.”

Sabine had planned on having at least three more days to prepare herself. Ravier was a vocal advocate of the view that dependence on technology made men soft. Technology was made by women to aid the weak. Real men, he argued, should travel on horseback, hunt with bows and arrows, and kill face to face using bare hands or cold steel.

They had all expected that Ravier and his entourage would spend three days travelling with Rachel, giving her time to influence them and make them more tractable. Now they would be arriving rested and fresh and most of them would have had almost no contact with Rachel. Sabine would have to arrange something special to distract them.

“Rachel was magnificent, Sabine,” Nina said. “She is everything we hoped for and more.”

“And Ravier suspected nothing?”

“He believes that he swept in here and carried Rachel away against my wishes, humiliating me in the process.”

“And did he humiliate you?”

“He tried. He held the Assessment in front of Rachel’s class. He made me touch her. Then he made me stroke him until he spewed his seed all over her.”

“But the Assessor has no sexual involvement…”

“Rachel asked to see him. She made him take part.”

“Wonderful. Heretical of course, but all the more wonderful for that. You made a recording I assume?”

“Celia is taking it with her to De Marco’s for safekeeping. He made her watch the whole thing. I think it was the first time that she understood our purpose with her heart, rather than her head. She wanted to destroy him.”

“Your daughter is a strong woman, just like her mother.”

“She is. I told her that her work at De Marco is her route to striking back at the Brotherhood.”

“And Rachel? Is there anything I need to know?”

“She doesn’t suspect anything, if that’s what you mean. She believes what her memory tells her: that she was adopted by the Abbey, has been a successful student, but that her high sex drive gives her a vocation as a Courtesan. At least the last part of it is true enough. She enjoys her calling, I have seldom seen anyone orgasm so often or so easily, not even you.”

Sabine smiled at the comparison. Many years before Nina became an Abbess, she had been a member of Sabine’s Security. She was a skilled lover and a loyal friend. When she became pregnant, Sabine had arranged for Nina to join the Abbey, where she could bring up her child in peace.

“There is one potential problem,” Nina said. “We may have misjudged her pheromone output. In the presence of a male she is attracted to, it seems to increase exponentially. It is so strong it even affected me. We will have to find a way to adjust that in future. In the meantime, I’d suggest using nose filters when you can. Now I must go. My thoughts will be with you tomorrow.”

Nina vanished in a flicker of colour and Sabine was once more standing in front of a picture of the Founder.

Alone in her shrine, Sabine allowed herself a small moment of fear. The game they were playing offered high rewards but it was fraught with risk.

Ravier would be with her in the morning and she would meet Rachel for the first time. In their way, they were each monsters. Yet she felt a perverse attraction to both of them. The wanton had always appealed to her. When she was young, way back before she had received her first off-world rejuve treatment, desire would hit her like a breaking wave, leaving her gasping for breath. Sixty years later, her passions were still strong but her will was stronger. Tomorrow she would need all of it.

As a Courtesan, Sabine had learned how to live in the now when she needed to. Tomorrow’s problems could wait. Tonight she needed to feel safe; she needed to feel loved.

Stepping back into her room, she clapped her hands once more. Jacob and Jenna came to her. Sabine put her arms around them and led them to her bed.

“Soothe me, please,” she said, guiding their heads towards her breasts.

Sabine watched in the mirror as two young heads dropped eagerly to suckle her. Rejuve, the privilege of an elite few, was a wonderful thing in many ways, Sabine thought. The woman in the mirror looked no more than thirty, although, in reality she was three times that age. But there was a price. Over time it became more and more difficult to feel joy and excitement. Emotions seemed muted, except under extreme circumstances.

Jenna trapped Sabine’s nipple between her teeth and growled playfully. The mild pain sparked a familiar heat between Sabine’s thighs. Jacob moved behind her. She pressed her shoulders against the hard warmth of his chest as Jenna moved from breast to breast, setting her nipples on fire. Jacob lowered his large mouth onto her neck and kissed her along the taught line of muscle.

“Take me,” Sabine said.

Jenna stood up and kissed Sabine gently on the lips. There was affection as well as pleasure in that touch.

“Sit, Jacob,” Jenna said.

She held Sabine close to her while Jacob positioned himself on the edge of the bed. Jenna’s breasts were small. Her hard nipples pressed against Sabine as if trying to penetrate her soft flesh.

“Look how hard he is, my Lady. Let me see you ride him. Please.”

Turning her back to Jacob, Sabine lowered herself onto him as slowly as she could. It was gratifying to hear him groan and to know that only self-discipline prevented him from grabbed her and thrusting and thrusting until he found relief deep inside her. Instead he waited while the women set the pace.

Sabine closed her eyes as the last of Jacob’s erection disappeared inside her. She concentrated on the shape of it; on its incredible heat. It was such an alien thing and yet it felt so familiar, so necessary. She flexed her muscles and felt Jacob tremble.

“You look magnificent,” Jenna said, sliding the back of her fingers across Sabine’s cheek. “May I?”

Without waiting for an answer, Jenna slowly pushed Sabine backward onto Jacob’s chest. Jacob folded his arms around her, cupping her breasts gently in his strong hands. Jenna knelt, placed her hands on the top of Sabine’s thighs, and applied her tongue to her mistress’ sex.

Sabine gave herself up to the sensation of the moment and let her people soothe her.

Jenna worked slowly and skilfully, touching the right spots with the right pressure and then moving away just before she brought Sabine to climax. In between, she licked at the base of Jacob’s shaft, each stroke making him twitch and struggle deep inside Sabine. Jenna knew the preferences of both of her partners well. When the time was right, she took Sabine’s clitoris between her teeth and slid a finger inside Jacob. Sabine held out until she felt him spill inside her, then she let the climax ripple through her, washing away everything except the experience of pleasure.

Afterwards, with Jacob on guard and Jenna curled up next to her, Sabine allowed herself to think about what the morning would bring. Nothing was certain. The risks were many. She had done all she could to prepare. She offered her good will to the Gods of chance and chaos and let herself sleep.


© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

The Way of the Courtesan : Chapter 1 : Riding the Courtesan’s Pony

“Tell me about Rachel,” Ravier said.

“You will be Assessing Rachel personally, my Lord? We had not expected an Assessor of your rank”

The Abbess was younger and prettier than Ravier had imagined but this did not excuse the impertinence of her statement. At Court, such a comment would have been seen as a challenge to his judgement. Punishment would have followed.

Ravier allowed himself to smile as he pictured the pretty little Abbess spread-eagled on the pain-bench, waiting for his whip to teach her some manners.

Perhaps sensing the anger in Ravier’s eyes, the Abbess strove to recover from her mistake. “We are of course, honoured by your presence at Leyston Abbey and will offer every…”

Ravier put his finger to his lips.

The Abbess blushed and fell silent-

Ravier let the silence swell before finally piercing it with one word: “Rachel.”

The Abbess broke eye-contact with Ravier,  pulled a file from off her desk and started to read it aloud.

“Rachel’s potential was first identified by the test routines in the peasant screening programme, administered after her first menses, She scored in the upper decile for both intelligence and libido. Naturally, she was immediately adopted by the Brotherhood and placed here, in our Protected Education School so that…”

“You could ensure her mental development, her physical purity and educate her in the opportunities her gifts might make her heir to,” Ravier said.

It was a direct quote from the Abbey’s Charter. Ravier hoped the Abbess would feel slighted by the interruption and surprised by the extent of his research. The Abbess remained outwardly calm. Ravier decided to push her further.

“One of the great benefits to the Brotherhood, of allowing the peasants to breed outside of the managed stud plan, is the occasional gem their random procreation produces. Don’t you agree Abbess?”

“Yes, my Lord”

“Is it not wonderful how even the freedom to fuck can be made to serve the will of the Founder?”

“Indeed, my Lord,” the Abbess said, bowing her head, perhaps to hide the slight blush the word “fuck” had produced.

Ravier wanted to laugh. If this made her blush then her reaction to the Assessment should be well worth seeing.

“And did Rachel live up to her potential, Abbess?”

Ravier already knew the answer. His presence here was testament to the outcome. He wanted to hear how the Abbess would tell the tale.

“She was a model student. She will graduate at the top of her class, and has won promotion to the rank of Chatelaine in the Brandt Corporation.”

The phrases were terse and factual but the Abbess’ pride in Rachel’s achievement shone through

“You must have been delighted, Abbess, at having your peasant pupil recruited to the most prestigious of the cloistered female corporations. Yet it seems Rachel was not excited at her new opportunity. She had been told, I assume, that her new rank would bestow upon her the honour of producing two male offspring?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Ah, to have such an honour without the trouble of actual maternity. It would be unseemly for a Chatelaine to sweat under the weight of a man and then stagger for months carrying his offspring in her bloated womb don’t you think?”

The Abbess took refuge in polite silence.

“Still it must be strange to have one’s eggs harvested like grapes and ripened in some peasant’s womb. But perhaps Rachel was more troubled by the fact that Chatelaines are forbidden contact with men? Do you think that could be so?”

“It appears so, my Lord”.

“I have been told that many women manage quite nicely without men. Is it true that the Sisters ensure that their charges are well schooled in masturbation techniques?”

“Some tuition is given.”

The Abbess was flushed now. Ravier liked pale skinned women who went scarlet when stimulated. He leaned forward, looked the Abbess in the eye and said, “I understand that they are also taught how to please each other. Now that would be a class worth attending.”

Ravier let the silence that followed drag on. Poor little Abbess. Did she really think the Brotherhood was ignorant of what the Sisters got up to?

“Are you disappointed that your star pupil has turned down the Brandt Corporation, Abbess?”

“Rachel has deferred her acceptance pending your Assessment, my Lord.”

“My Assessment of her suitability for the rank of Courtesan. Do you think she will make a good Courtesan, Abbess?”

“That is not for me to say, my Lord.”

“No, Abbess, it is not. I will see Rachel now.”

The Abbess eagerly accepted the opportunity to absent herself and left to collect the girl.

Ravier put his teasing of the Abbess to one side. She was not important. His visit to the Abbey was.

Amongst the leadership of the Brotherhood it was widely, but quietly, acknowledged that the biggest threat to the social order the Founder had gifted to them was sexual ennui. When one can have almost any woman one wishes, when one is surrounded by accessible beauty, it is too easy to become jaded. Absolute power can bore absolutely.

Some men reacted to their growing ennui by withdrawing into a routine of mechanical gratification provided by interchangeable bed-mates. They engaged in sex with much the same attitude as an over-fed man presented with a finger food buffet, driven more by habit than need.

The young increasingly sustained their interest by taking part in sport-fucks, but if truth were told, they were as concerned with their league-table points (how many, for how long in how many positions or combined with how many partners simultaneously) as they were with the acts themselves.

In mid-life, many men found themselves needing to prop up their desire by focusing on fetishistic practices.

To Ravier, sexual ennui was a cancer eating at the heart of the concept of manhood upon which society was based. Real men should relish their dominance over women. It was their duty to look into the soul of a woman and shape it to their will.

Yet, if that victory came too easily, men became lazy. If it met with too much resistance, men became cruel and abusive. Either way, the men ceased to be men.

In Ravier’s view, Courtesans were the blades with which this cancer could be excised. The Brethren needed women who could provoke them into being the real men they should be; women who could inflame men’s desire and stretch men’s minds while still accepting their own natural place in the world.

And yet, just at the time when the Brotherhood needed them most, it seemed that fewer and fewer women were being produced who could follow the Way of the Courtesan. Ravier had made it his personal mission to seek out those who had the potential to serve and set them on the right path.

Thinking of his mission always filled Ravier with energy. He paced the room, his eagerness growing as he let himself consider the importance of his task. He stopped in mid-stride when the Abbess returned with a novice at her side.

“This is Rachel, my Lord,” the Abbess said.

The novice bowed her head and knelt before Ravier.

Her face was hidden behind a veil that revealed only her eyes. Her posture was demure. She did not flirt. And yet she excited him.

Ravier circled her twice, came to rest in front of her, and said, “Look at me.”

Behind Rachel’s eyes a passion burned that was so luminous, Ravier felt as if he had already seen her naked.

He was exultant. The young girl had talent and he, Alain Ravier, would have the honour of helping to achieve its true potential and shaping it to the service of the Brotherhood

Ravier hid his excitement. He did not want the girl to know that for him the Assessment was already over. Certain forms of behaviour were expected. And besides, he wanted to teach the Abbess a lesson in the reality of the Brotherhood’s power.

“Do you understand the nature of the Assessment, Rachel?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Explain it to me.”

“You will set me tasks that allow me to demonstrate the three main virutes of the Courtesan: obedience, arousal and intelligence.”

The wording was precise; a nice balance between deference and independence.

“Tell me why you wish to be a Courtesan, Rachel.”

The girl was silent for a moment. “I believe it was the role for which I was born for, my Lord.”

“How can you know this?  Have you ever been with a man?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Then how can you know that being a Courtesan is your destiny?”

“If it is not, my Lord, then the passion that I feel at the thought of it, the song that my blood sings in the lonely reaches of the night, the nameless urges that make my pulse race, are without purpose.”

“And if you fail the Assessment?”

“Then I will serve as a Chatelaine to the best of my abilities, my Lord.”

Perfectly done: obedience, arousal, intelligence. Even at Court, Ravier had not seen such a display from one so young. If her body’s performance matched that of her mind, Rachel would be a rare prize for the Brotherhood.

“Abbess,” Ravier said, “is everything ready for the examination?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Please assemble the rest of Rachel’s graduation class in the examination chamber.”

“Are you sure, my Lord? That is most unusual.”

“Are you questioning my instructions, Abbess?”

The Abbess had the good grace to turn pale and the good sense to say nothing further. The haste with which she left the room pleased Ravier.

Ravier knew that the Abbess had a point. Assessments were normally conducted in private. When observers were allowed, they were almost always male and they were certainly not young girls who had yet to emerge from Protected Education.

Rachel was still kneeling in the centre of the office. She had not been given permission to stand. Ravier circled her, thinking about the risk he was going to take. He wanted to push Rachel just a little harder than was usual and he wanted to discomfort the Abbess in the process. If that meant taking a risk, so be it. Taking risks was an essential part of being a man; it tempered his character and reminded him of what it was to be alive. Risk always made Ravier hard; what more proof did he need of its value?

Standing behind Rachel, aware of, but not touching his own erection, he allowed himself a Wolf-moment. He set aside his civilised, educated, persona and gave himself up only to his hungers and his strength. He took a step closer to Rachel, closed his eyes, lowered his head towards hers and breathed deeply. Ah… girl-scent. Wonderful. She smelled young and clean and… yes already aroused. His tongue moved over his lips. His erection pulsed. His hands ached to grab and spread and tear. Almost, he could feel the heat of her flesh, the moist embrace of her sex, the taste of her blood in his mouth.

Ravier opened his eyes. He made the Wolf leave him; forced himself to become a civilised man again. He would control his arousal. He would not let his arousal control him.

When he was sure of himself, placed a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. She trembled but she did not move or speak. He let himself savour the heat of her flesh through the thin fabric of her robe, pleased at his ability to refrain from ripping away the cloth and close his hand around the meat of her breast.

“Stand up, Rachel and take me to the Assessment Chamber.”

Rachel did as she was bid, without looking back. Ravier walked behind her, studying the way she moved. Her step was light and her stride uninhibited. It was the walk of neither lady nor slave but of untroubled youth. Yet she was more than just a girl; there was an unconscious sexuality to her that snagged at his senses like the aroma of unseen food.

“We are here, my Lord,” Rachel said, halting at set of double doors and turning to face him.

He met her eyes once more. Her gaze reached out to him like a caress.

“Listen to me, Rachel. Once we are inside, stand in the centre of the room and remain silent. You are under my authority now, and no one else’s. Obey my instructions and be yourself and all will be well.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Rachel said, bowing her head.

Ravier had not intended to be so encouraging with the girl. Instructions should not have been necessary. He allowed himself a mental shrug of the shoulders. It was only natural that he should want the girl to succeed. Her success was his success. There was no more to it than that.

Ravier pushed open the double doors and swept into the chamber. Rachel’s class, fifteen novices, indistinguishable in their modest robes, were standing in a semicircle, staring at the device that Assessors call, ‘The Courtesan’s Pony’. It was a leather saddle, wide but not high. A woman straddling it would be spread but would still be able to touch the ground with her feet.

As Ravier strode forward, the novices stepped back, as if some dangerous beast had just entered the room. Ravier bowed to them, amused to see them all struggling to curtsey while still moving backwards in disarray.

“Abbess,” Ravier said, “I need the services of whichever of these young ladies is second in Rachel’s Class.”

The Abbess looked more nervous than ever but she led a tall young woman forward by the hand. The girl’s fingers were gripping the Abbess’ hand fiercely.

“This is Celia, my Lord. She will become a Chatelaine with the De Marco Corporation.”

Those words carried a warning. The De Marco Corporation was prone to litigation in protection of its property, be it inventions and or personnel. The Abbess was truly being a shepherd to her sheep. Ravier decided it was time that this shepherd learnt what it was to encounter a wolf.

“Please remove your veil, Celia,” he said.

As an Assessor of the Brotherhood, Ravier could demand such things. He could, if he wished, divert the young Celia’s career in a quite different direction. There would be consequences and, eventually, De Marco would come looking for her, but in the meantime she would have had an experience that she would never forget.

Celia removed her veil and looked downward, modestly. Ravier lifted her head. The girl could not quite hide her indignation at being touched, but she had the discipline not to pull away from him. He studied her as he would study a horse at market. She was beautiful in a slightly fragile sort of way and her mouth showed promise, but her eyes lacked the passion that shone so clearly in Rachel. Ravier ran his thumb over the smooth skin of Celia’s cheek and was rewarded with a blush.

Celia bore a resemblance to the Abbess that made him wonder about her origins. Like the Abbess, her skin was very pale and she blushed easily. An image of Celia, flushed beneath him, with the Abbess at her side, pushing her tongue into the girl’s mouth, flashed across Ravier’s inner-eye. He found it a pleasant picture; one that he could easily choose to make into a reality.

Celia trembled beneath Ravier’s touch. Ravier smiled, released the girl and turned to address the flock of girls standing in a semi-circle around them.

“Thank you, Celia. I need your help to demonstrate the device that your classmate will soon be using. Please place your left hand flat on the centre of the saddle and tell the class what you feel.”

“I feel a long thick ridge with a bulge at either end. The ridge is covered with small, randomly positioned nodules. The ridge is finished in calf-skin, possibly over a silicon base.”

“Well done, Celia; a very clear description. The De Marco Corporation has chosen well I see.”

Celia started to straighten up. Ravier stopped her with a gesture.

“Patience, Celia, patience. Please keep your left hand where it is and place your right hand around the saddle horn. Hold it gently. Tell us what you find.”

“The horn,” she stumbled a little over the word, “is moulded into a pistol grip. It appears to be some kind of triggering device.”

Celia was bent over at the waist, facing her class; her left hand resting on those mysterious ridges, her right hand gripping the horn. Ravier was certain that the soon-to-be Chatelaine knew what would happen next.

“Stay just as you are Celia. Squeeze the horn until I tell you to stop.”

As Celia squeezed the horn, a buzzing noise came from the saddle. The harder she squeezed the louder the noise became. Celia’s left arm visibly vibrated. Even her modest clothing could not hide the movement of her left breast beneath her robe. Ravier silently counted to ten while he watched Celia struggle not to remove her hand. The device clearly offended her.

“Stop now please, Celia, and describe to your class what you have just discovered.”

“The ah, horn, controls the rate of vibration of the ridge in the saddle.”

She seemed relieved to have gotten through this description, but Ravier was not yet done with her.

“Please describe the vibration, Celia.”

Celia flushed, “Describe it, my Lord?”

“Tell us what it felt like. Pleasant? Unpleasant? Stimulating? How did it make you feel Celia?”

“I found it jarring and unpleasant, my Lord.”

Ravier moved to stand next to Celia. He was very close to her when he asked, “And what do you think the ridge is for, Celia?”

The girl made no reply.

Ravier turned towards the class and said, “Come now, Celia, you are going to be an engineer, share with the class your professional insight into the purpose of these ridges.”

“I think it is intended as a stimulator, my Lord,” she said, quietly.

“Speak up Celia. Face the class. Tell them what would be stimulated.”

Celia spoke to the class as if she was presenting an assignment.

“My Lord, from the positioning of the bulges, I imagine that the front bulge is designed to part the labia without penetrating the vagina. Moving away from the front bulge would press the anus against the smaller bulge at the rear. Moving forward would press the clitoris against the bulge. Staying in the centre would stimulate the anus and the labia simultaneously.”

“Thank you for a very accurate description. Tell me Celia, would you like to ride the saddle?”

Her eyes widened in horror at the suggestion. She managed to say, “No, my Lord. I would not choose to ride this.”

Ravier decided that the De Marco Corporation and Celia deserved each other. The girl had a good brain and no fire in her belly. It was time to move things along.

“Celia, I would like you to…”

The pause amused Ravier. The Abbess looked ready to leap to Celia’s defence. The girl herself was frozen in place.

“…rejoin your class.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she said and rushed back to her classmates like a startled fish heading for the safety of the shoal.

“Ladies,” Ravier said, executing a deep bow, “today you will have the privilege of watching your classmate, Rachel, being assessed for progression towards the rank of Courtesan. Please give her your full attention.”

Ravier beckoned Rachel to come forward. He positioned her so that she was standing next to him, facing towards her class.

“Rachel, please take off your clothes.”

Rachel neither replied nor hesitated. She removed her headdress, revealing a train of thick black hair that hung to the middle of her back.  It shone in the light and looked heavy and soft. Ravier wanted to weigh it in his hand. Rachel was still dressed and already she was an incitement, a provocation.

Next Rachel removed her veil. Her face was broad, regularly featured, with a strong chin, high cheekbones, and a wide mouth set beneath a straight nose. Ravier had seen her genotype many times before; it was pleasing, but not outstanding.

As Rachel’s hands reached up to undo the ribbon at the top of her shift, she looked into Ravier’s eyes and smiled. The smile illuminated her whole face. Ravier knew that men would compete to be the cause of that smile.

With an elegant shrug of her shoulders, Rachel was naked. She held her hand out to Ravier, ostensibly to steady herself as she stepped out of the shift that was now pooled around her feet.

Ravier admired this move. It allowed her to offer herself, while at the same time giving her the initiative. She had chosen when and where he would get to touch her for the first time. She had also made him complicit in her disrobing.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Rachel said, releasing his hand and curtseying. Her combination of modest behaviour, graceful movements and complete nakedness was calculated to beguile.

Rachel turned to face her classmates. She stood with her legs slightly apart, her hands behind her back and her head held high. Suddenly it seemed as if all the other women in the room were overdressed. With apparent serenity, Rachel waited for further instructions.

Ravier assessed Rachel’s body calmly. It was pleasant to look at. Her skin was the colour of liquid honey, her small round breasts where topped with cinnamon coloured nipples that pointed upwards at an angle that seemed like an invitation. Her buttocks were firm, almost boyish. Her legs were unspectacular, but the eye was drawn to the garnish of glossy black curls that nested at the base of her belly. It was a body that avoided extremes and so would have a wider appeal. It was, Ravier thought, an adequate foundation to build upon.

“The Founder taught us,” Ravier said, addressing the class, “that it is the role of woman to serve man with her body, her mind and her skills. Some women are called to serve as bed-mates or breeding stock, others as child-rearers, cooks, cleaners and teachers. A talented few nurture their gifts in the Cloistered Corporations, offering the fruits of their labours and their wombs to the Brotherhood. All these forms of service were blessed by the Founder, but perhaps the most valued service of all is offered by those who follow ‘The Way of the Courtesan.'”

Ravier was a sincere follower of the Founder, but he was not above using the Book of the Brotherhood for his own purposes. He knew that by placing teachers below cooks and chatelaines below courtesans he had insulted the Abbess. What he was about to do next would humble her.

Ravier stood behind Rachel and placed his hands on her shoulders. Her skin was warm and inviting. She leaned back into him. He pulled her shoulders backward a little and was pleased by the way that her breasts rose. Rachel closed her eyes and smiled.

“As you can see, Rachel is proud to offer herself in the service of the Brotherhood. Abbess, I know you too are proud of Rachel. Please join us.”

The Abbess came forward, not meeting Ravier’s eyes, looking instead at Rachel.

“The test Rachel is going to take is about arousal. Her capacity for arousal and her ability to provoke arousal in others,” Ravier said to the class. “Before we begin, Abbess, I would like the class to note Rachel’s current level of arousal. Would you be so kind as to check for me?”

After a heartbeats pause, the Abbess bowed her head in assent. Rachel opened her eyes and calmly watched the Abbess move towards her.

Silently the Abbess placed the palm of her hand over Rachel’s left nipple and moved it in a circle, keeping the nipple in the centre of her palm. Rachel rose on the balls of her feet and pressed her breast fully up against the Abbess’ palm.

“Rachel’s nipples are stiff, my Lord, and seem to be fully erect,” the Abbess said.

The Abbess was very close to Ravier now. Only Rachel separated them. He could see what a struggle it was for her to keep her composure.

To Ravier’s surprise the Abbess leant forward, bringing her head close to his.

“Please, my Lord Ravier,” the Abbess whispered, “Do not do this, not in front of my students.”

Ravier smiled at her and nodded. She looked relieved. Ravier allowed three seconds to pass. Then he said, “Please continue your examination, Abbess.”

He could not have hurt the Abbess more if he had slapped her. She looked away from him and started to kneel in front of Rachel but Ravier forbade her. He made the Abbess step very close to Rachel, so that their bodies were touching, and then waited as she slipped her middle finger into Rachel’s sex.

The silence in the room was palpable.  The novices seemed to be holding their breath, unsure how to respond to the sight of the Abbess and their classmate touching so intimately and so publicly. Rachel moaned softly and leant back against Ravier.

The Abbess withdrew her finger, which glistened in the bright light of the chamber. The scent of sex spread through the air like blood dropped into water. The Abbess was blushing now and there was sweat on her forehead but she dutifully made her report.

“Rachel’s inner and outer labia are engorged and her sex is well lubricated, my Lord. She seems to be fully aroused.”

“She does indeed,” said Ravier, stepping around Rachel and placing his arm around the Abbess’ shoulders.  She flinched at his touch but did not move away. Ravier wondered how long it had been since the Abbess had felt the weight of a man. Too long, he decided.

Ravier own lust was starting to rise. It was time for him to be a man and to commit himself to risk. The Abbess was holding up the glistening finger that had provoked Rachel’s desire; looking at it as if it no longer felt belonged to her. Ravier grasped the Abbess’ wrist and took the finger inside his mouth.

“Please, my Lord,” the Abbess murmured, she sounded lost and confused.

Ravier lead the Abbess by the wrist until she was standing next to the saddle, then he pushed down on her  shoulder, making her kneel. Rachel’s class looked stunned. This was not how the world was supposed to work. Ravier smiled at them. One of the girls started to cry softly.

Keeping his hand on the Abbess’ shoulder, Ravier turned to Rachel. Her eyes were on him. Looking into those eyes he could believe that they were the only two people in the room. Not a second of her attention was given to her distressed classmates or to the kneeling Abbess; she was focused on him completely. Ravier found that he did not want that focus to change. Her power was amazing, all the more so because she seemed to be unaware of it.

“It is time, Rachel,” Ravier said, “mount the machine.”

Rachel turned when she reached the machine. She made eye contact with Ravier as she placed her hand on the saddle horn. She smiled at him and then swung her leg over the saddle. She looked small and vulnerable spread across the width of the saddle. The sight of her instantly made Ravier hard. He wanted to stretch out his hand and touch her. Instead he tightened his grip on the Abbess’ shoulder.

“Squeeze the horn, Rachel. Ride the machine until I tell you to stop,” Ravier said.

“Thank you, my Lord”.

Rachel settled herself squarely onto the ridges of the saddle and then grasped the horn. Ravier sighed as he imagined what those long slim fingers would feel like wrapped around him.

Rachel tightened her grip on the horn and the saddle ridges quickly reached their maximum speed. She closed her eyes, chewed on her lower lip and seemed to wait. The room waited with her. Seconds ticked by. Rachel was sweating. Her back was straight and her hips were grinding into the saddle. Then her head tipped back, her hair bounced against her buttocks, and a low groan echoed through the room.

Ravier licked his lips. She was good; very good. The air was permeated with sex. The effect of her orgasm rippled through the novices. Fingers where furtively moving beneath robes. Girls were leaning against one another. The Abbess was carefully looking only at the floor. Ravier wanted to shout his joy.

Then Rachel opened her eyes. When she was sure she had his attention, she took her feet off the floor until her heels touched her buttocks. Now all her weight was on the saddle. She looked as if her legs were bound.

Ravier found himself unable to look away from her. It was as if her eyes were reeling him in. Then her eyes moved down his body to his crotch and stayed there.

“Please, my Lord,” Rachel said, “may I see you?”

Ravier shivered. She was perfect, absolutely perfect. Naked, spread, sweating, displayed on a fuck-toy in front of her classmates and still she was in control.

“Abbess,” Ravier said, “I need your assistance.”

The Abbess’ eyes were blank. It was as if she wasn’t there. She reached into Ravier’s trousers and released him. Ravier moved the Abbess’ hand backwards and forwards on his shaft. When he let go, the Abbess continued, working him as if she were a machine.

Rachel stared at his erection as if it were the most important thing in the universe. Her free hand moved up to her breast and started to knead it. She leaned forward on the saddle, as if she were pulling herself towards him by her breast. Then she started to chant softly, “Please, please, please, please.” in time to her fingers opening and closing on her breast. There was no doubt what she wanted.

Some of the novices where kneeling now, with their hands between their legs. They were rocking in time to Rachel’s chant. The Abbess copied the rhythm as she moved her hand backwards and forwards. The whole room was locked into a prayer for sexual release.

Ravier was no longer an Assessor. He was a man, surrounded by women rocking with need. He was rampant. He was hard. He was going to come and come and come. He threw back his head and howled. His seed sprayed out of him with tremendous force and the world became nothing but pleasure.

When he could see again, Rachel’s black hair was streaked with his seed. She was slumped over the saddle, her chin resting on the horn, her legs spasming. Her chant had changed to, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Ravier pushed the Abbess away from him and stepped towards Rachel. He lifted her chin. Her pupils were fully dilated. She had bitten her lip. A thin crimson line traced its way along her chin and then dropped unnoticed onto her breast.

“You can stop now, Rachel.”

“Thank you, my Lord. Thank you.”

Ravier pried Rachel’s fingers away from the horn and then lifted her into his arms. He carried her, still naked, out of the Assessment Chamber and towards her new life.

Behind him the Abbess raised her head and allowed herself a small smile of triumph.

© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.