Chapter 98 - Ninety-Eight: Velvet Wall

Chapter 98: Chapter Ninety-Eight: Velvet Wall

The guild hall was half empty at that hour. I’d been standing at the board for ten minutes without finding anything worth taking.

"Still nothing?"

Yenna leaned over the counter, chin in her hand. Catkin, mid-twenties, three years as a guild clerk. She’d processed my registration on my first day and called me "contractor" for weeks. Then the title fired, and I became "Noel."

"Rat contracts pay four silver," I said. "I need gold. Actual gold. Fast."

"How fast?"

"This week."

Her ears flicked. "Copper rank, this week, without dying." She started counting on her fingers. "Escort runs are booked out. Harvest hauling pays in produce. Sewer work pays well but you’d need a partner and nobody partners with Copper." She stopped counting. Looked at me. Then looked past me at the empty hall, and lowered her voice about thirty percent.

"There’s the Velvet Wall."

Pixia, from my collar: "The what?"

"Entertainment district. Licensed house." Yenna kept her voice flat, the way you do when you’re saying something completely normal and want to make sure it sounds that way. "Guild oversees their male staffing. Because of the ratio. Three gold a shift, flat, plus whatever’s in the tip tray."

"Three gold a shift."

"Six hours."

I did the math before she finished the sentence. Six hours. Three gold. Rat extermination paid four silver for a full day of swinging a club in a basement.

"What’s the catch?"

"Glory holes... Sort of." She made a wall gesture with her hand. "You never see them. They never see you. That’s the whole product — anonymity. Half their clientele are married, the other half are nobility, and nobody wants a name attached."

"That’s not a catch. For me That’s more of a... feature."

"Most men take a while to agree with you."

Pixia climbed out of my collar and hovered between us, arms crossed. "You want him to be a whore."

"I want him to stop starving," Yenna said. "And he’s already—"

She stopped.

"Already what," I said.

Her tail went very still behind her. "Nothing."

"You were going to say something."

"I was going to say," she said carefully, "that the academy rumors reach the guild hall, and you have an unusual amount of relevant experience for someone with a Copper badge."

Pixia burst out laughing.

Yenna slid a small card across the counter. Address, nothing else.

"Ask for Cressida," she said. "And Noel? Don’t mention me."

◇◇◇

The Velvet Wall didn’t look like a den of sin from the outside. It looked like a respectable, if opulent, tea house. The scent inside was a mix of expensive perfume, polished wood, and something warmer, muskier underneath. A blonde woman in a dress that clung to every extravagant curve like a grateful lover led me to a back office.

The ’madam’, Cressida, was sitting behind a large desk, but she wasn’t working. She was lounging, one leg hooked over the arm of her chair, showing off a scandalous amount of thigh and the edge of a black lace garter. She was old, maybe late thirties, with a face that had seen everything and a body that promised to show you the rest. Her eyes, sharp and amber, tracked me like a jeweler assessing a raw diamond.

"Name," she said, her voice a smoky contralto. No hello.

"Noel."

"Guild rank."

"Unregistered. Student."

"Age."

"Eighteen."

"Experience."

"Extensive."

She arched a perfectly sculpted brow. Her lips, painted a deep crimson, curved. "Extensive is a word for seasoned whores and bad liars, darling. Be specific."

I met her gaze. "A hundred-plus partners. In the last six weeks. Academy student body. Various... tier classifications."

Her amused expression didn’t change, but the energy in the room shifted. She slowly uncrossed her leg and leaned forward, resting her chin on her steepled fingers. Her cleavage was a deep, distracting canyon. "Hundred-plus. At the academy. In six weeks." She put her notepad down. "Well. That’s the first thing a prospective employee has said to surprise me in about a decade. References?"

"The entire student body," I said flatly. "And the Ethics Committee."

That got a reaction. A rich, genuine laugh bubbled out of her. "The Ethics Committee? Those dried-up cunts?"

"They investigated me. Then I fucked them. Now some of them are... regulars."

She threw her head back and laughed harder, the sound throaty and delighted. "Oh, I like you. You have a terrible, beautiful future ahead of you." Her eyes dropped, blatantly staring at the bulge in my pants. A hunger, deep and professional, flickered in her gaze. "Alright, here’s the terms sweetie. Six-hour shift. Three gold flat, doesn’t matter if you see one client or twenty. Tips are yours. House takes the booking fee. Rules: no conversation she doesn’t start, no refusing a paid booking. And the big one—" she pointed a red-tipped nail at me, "—no falling in love. Bad for business. Makes the girls sloppy and the clients jealous."

"It’s not a risk," I said.

"Everyone says that, sweetheart," she purred, standing up and walking around the desk. She moved with a lazy, hip-swaying grace that was pure advertisement. She stopped too close, the scent of her perfume enveloping me. "Turns out some people attach harder to what they can’t see."

As she said it, my system pinged.

[SMASH / PASS]

[Target: Cressida]

[Tier: Rare]

[Species: Human]

[Rank: 2st]

[SP Cost: 70]

[Status: NEW]

[Passive Bonus: +20 Stamina Recovery]

Cressida saw the flicker of distraction in my eyes. Her smile turned knowing, lewd.

She reached out, not touching me, but her hand hovered near my chest. "See something you like? Don’t worry. You’ll get your turn. But first..." She licked her lips, her gaze dropping to my crotch again. "A little practical interview. Got to test the merchandise, see if it lives up to the... extensive resume. My office has a very sturdy lock. What do you say, kid? Wanna show this old slut what the academy’s been teaching you?"

Her offer hung in the air, a lewd, tempting contract. I didn’t answer with words. I just held her gaze, a challenge of my own.

Cressida’s smile widened. "The strong, silent type. I can work with that." She stepped back, her eyes never leaving mine, and with a practiced flick of her wrist, she unbuttoned the front of her dress. It didn’t fall open; it peeled away, revealing a corset that pushed her already-impressive tits up into obscene, creamy mounds. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

"Let’s have a look at the goods, then," she purred, her voice dropping an octave.

She didn’t wait for permission. Her hands went to my belt, her movements efficient, unhurried. The buckle came undone. The button popped. She dragged my pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, and my dick sprang free, already half-hard from the atmosphere and her blatant appraisal.

Her sharp, professional eyes went wide for a split second. Then a low, appreciative whistle escaped her. "Mother’s milk," she breathed. "You weren’t exaggerating about the extensive part, were you?"

She dropped to her knees on the plush carpet without another word. There was no ceremony, no teasing buildup. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and took it. Her hand wrapped around the base, her grip firm, and she leaned forward, taking the head into her mouth with a soft, wet pop.

A shudder ran through her. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, then opened, looking up at me with a look of pure, professional approval. Then she dove.

She didn’t just suck. She consumed. Her mouth was a hot, wet, expert vacuum. Schlorp. Gulp. Slurp. The sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet office. She bobbed her head, taking me deeper with each pass, her tongue doing sinful, swirling things along the underside. Within seconds, I was fully, painfully hard, throbbing against the roof of her mouth.

I let her work for a minute, let her show off her decades of experience. But the sight of this sharp, powerful woman on her knees, treating my cock like a gourmet meal, ignited something feral. My hands, which had been at my sides, shot out and tangled in her perfectly styled blonde hair. I didn’t yank. I just took hold.

She understood immediately. A hungry moan vibrated around my shaft. She relaxed her jaw, opened her throat.

I took control. I pulled her head forward, fucking up into her mouth at the same time. I set a rough, demanding pace, my hips pistoning, driving my dick deep into her throat. Glurk. Gag. Gulp.

Her hands came up to grip my thighs, not to push me away, but to steady herself as I face-fucked her with increasing intensity. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes, but her expression was one of blissful, slutty surrender. She was a madam, a business owner, a woman who commanded a small empire of pleasure, and right now, she was my personal throat-toy, gagging and slurping on command, her expensive perfume mixing with the scent of sex and sweat.