Courtesan's soul

"A courtesan never removes her pearls. They are a mark of her station, a brand."

The courtesan lays on the bed and waits for her lover. She knows the sound of his footsteps. She knows his voice, his touch, his scent. She knows the pleasures he demands and some he never thought about.

Her job is to please him. Undemanding, she gives herself wholly to him. For as long as they are together, she sees only him. He is all that exists.

She runs her hands down her silk shift, feeling her body come alive. Waiting. Always waiting for him. He is her existence. Her breath.

He comes to her, touches her, loves her. She does not love him. She is a body for him, comfort and peace. An escape from the stresses of real life. She is but a fantasy. She becomes what he needs and that is all he sees. He doesn't see her soul. The person inside. He sees the body; that is all she shows.

She craves this. This contact with another without the strings to bind her. The strings that make her weak. That cause her to look at herself. This is her escape. She becomes what others wish so she doesn't have to face who she really is. A voyeur in life, she watches others live normal boring lives. She watches but never joins. She lives for this and this only.

She is a creature of pleasure. Lust. Passion. A wanton being that craves touch above all else. She is a courtesan.