Pleasure Parlour - Episode 4

She stepped into the Pleasure Parlor and the hush swallowed her whole. A low throb filled the room, velvet curtains muffling every sound. The attendant, a woman with ink-black hair and arms bare to the shoulder, took her coat without asking. Her fingers lingered at the collar, nails grazing the skin beneath. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The attendant led her past flickering lamps and heavy doors until they reached a private booth. Inside, the air was warmer. She stripped without instruction, letting each garment fall where it landed. The attendant watched, then moved closer, circling her with the calm patience of someone who had done this a thousand times. A hand slid down her spine. Another cupped her breast, thumb brushing the nipple until it tightened. The attendant knelt. Her mouth found the inside of her thigh, teeth just grazing. Then her tongue parted her, slow and deliberate, dragging through wet heat with a precision that made her knees give. She caught herself on the wall, breath sharp, hips tilting forward without thought. The attendant didn't rush. She licked, sucked, pressed two fingers inside and curled them just right. Every stroke hit deep. Her thighs shook. A sound escaped her throat she didn't recognize. The attendant kept working her—mouth sealed over her clit, fingers pumping, relentless—until her legs buckled and her whole body clenched hard around those fingers. She came with her forehead pressed to the wall, pulse hammering, breath ragged. The attendant stayed with her through every tremor, tongue still moving, gentler now, drawing it out until she was spent and dripping down her own thighs.