Visiting a brothel.

Later that day, Shairi stood before the gates of the ‘Violet Kiss’. In the lower class districts of the city, brothels were marked with unambiguous signs, the more explicitly obscene the better. Here, though, on the border between the Magician’s District and the Royal District, such a display would have been inappropriate. In fact, it would probably have attracted the attention of the watch, enforcing the prudish dictates of the Church of Light.

As it was, the violet-painted brothel could have been a noble’s mansion just like any of the others in the area. The statues of nude women that stood on either side of the gate were perhaps a little risqué, particularly given their salacious poses, but not enough so to cause problems. A high class brothel like this wouldn’t need to advertise, so Shairi assumed such hints were there to add a thrilling trace of scandal for the visiting nobles.

Shairi boldly walked through the gates and into the entrance hall. Here, signs of the building’s true purpose were clearer. Violet silk and velvet was everywhere. High-quality murals and tapestries on the walls throughout the building showed a selection of erotic scenes from history and mythology: the seduction of the Goddess Illeath by a simple peasant boy; Prince Liomath’s **** of the Amazon Queen; how the Hero-Whore of Kaenor gave herself to the dragon Ryzorl to spare her city; how the mighty elven sorceress Ixeriel was enchanted into becoming the Archmage Zauthar’s sex ****. Given her mission, she was particularly interested in this last scene.

There was a beautiful young woman in a low-cut dress on reception. Her eyes ran over Shairi and instantly judged her too poor to be a client. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I’m here to join this brothel,” Shairi said pleasantly.

The woman sneered. “We’re a high class establishment. We have no need for ragamuffin half-copper gutter whores. Why don’t you go back to fucking sailors up against walls?”

Shairi sighed in annoyance. She didn’t have time for this. She leaned over the desk and kissed the receptionist-whore, long and hard. Her hands reached for the woman’s breasts, finding hard nipples and tweaking them with expert skill. For once she was glad of Meritheir’s extensive lessons on giving feminine pleasure.

After a couple of minutes, she pulled away, leaving the woman flushed and breathless, her dress in disarray. “Take me to the brothel’s madam,” she said. The whore nodded, re-adjusting her clothes.

She led Shairi through a large room, filled with tables. There was a bar, and a stage at one end jutting out into the room. It was only late afternoon, but there were a few patrons sitting around, conversing with the whores or just running hands over their lightly clothed forms.

Despite the early hour and the sparse crowd, there was a floorshow going on the stage. Two slender young women, both unashamedly nude, languorously kissed and caressed each other in utter silence, stopping just short of true sex. They seemed utterly engrossed in each other, unaware of the watchers. It was eerily beautiful, and Shairi thought she could detect the warm affection of true lovers in their eyes. Or perhaps she was simply being romantic, and underestimating the prostitutes’ capacity for dissembling.

She was shown through that room and up a narrow staircase, into an office. This was a part of the brothel the customers were never meant to see, and the murals and drapes were replaced with utilitarian wood. A beautiful older woman sat behind the desk – the brothel’s madam, no doubt.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Please, ma’am,” the receptionist said, curtseying like a housemaid, “she says she wants to work with us here. Fucking. She’s… she’s very good.” To Shairi’s amusement, the whore actually blushed.

The madam raised an eyebrow. “Very well. You go back to your post, Margot. I’ll interview her.”

The woman preceded to ask Shairi questions about her background, which she answered with expert lies. But her mind wasn’t on the interview. She knew that even if she got a job at the brothel, it would take weeks or months before she was assigned to a prestigious customer like the head of a mage order. She’d have to prove herself servicing lesser customers – and that was something she couldn’t do with her pussy magically bound. And she had no wish to do it anyway.

So, she had decided to take a leaf out of Rendrath’s book. While she talked, her fingers moved in the complex gestures of the Charm spell. She would fill the madam with lust and eagerness to please her, making her a willing partner in her schemes.

It was only when the spell was nearly finished, that Shairi realised her mistake. The madam had hanging in her ample cleavage a talisman meant to block mind control spells – an understandable precaution for one whose customers were mages. Shairi’s only hope was to put enough power into the spell to break through the defence. If she failed, her charm spell wouldn’t take – and the madam would know what she’d tried to do.