"You know, I'm pretty sure this counts as racism, or something."
 
I sucked in a breath as the corset was cinched tighter around my waste, wincing as Celith pulled the constricting bands of leather and whalebone even tighter around my belly.
 
"I mean, why couldn't I be a ghost, or a witch, or something?" I sulked, glaring at my reflection as the man put the finishing touches to my costume. It was a scene being repeated a dozen times over; one of the Second Circle's store-rooms had been hurriedly cleared out and, with the installation of a few seats, clothing rails and mirrors, been converted into a temporary dressing room. All around me, the working men and women who plied their trade out of the bar-brothel were dressing up - and, it must be said, stripping off - in all manner of costumes, from the simple to the elaborate. 
 
"It's not like this is the only costume here that'd fit me," I continued, pouting into the mirror as Celith tied off the laces and raked back my hair, sliding a carved, wooden headpiece topped with a little little pair of horns into place. "But no. I have to be the succubus. Why do I have to be the succubus again?"
 
I turned in my seat to address the room, my tail lashing irritably behind me.  
 
"Ireela," Celith said, laughing airly at my annoyance. "You are bright red. You have horns and a tail. What else are you going to dress up as?"
 
"Paint some bones on her, she can go as a skeleton." Bryndila snorted from across the room. The big orc woman was a few scraps of ratty fur away from being completely *****, painting her powerful body with the vicious, tribal patterns the old orc clans had used in their hayday. Another pair of girls circled her, splattering glossy red bodypaint over her. It trickled over her fearsome bust and down the lines of her muscles like freshly shed blood, lending her the image of a wild berserker fresh from the kill. "She's certainly skinny enough."
 
"At least I won't have a bent back by the time I'm forty, cowtits." I shot back. Bryndila and I had never really warmed to one another. She had entered the *** trade out of necessity, while for me it was something I did for fun, and she resented me for it. Thankfully things rarely escalated beyond mutual low-level bitching - something the rest of the Second Circle found endlessly amusing, as the brief flurry of whooping from the other men and women in the room paid testament to - and we were both smart enough to stay out of one another's way when we could.
 
Bryndila sneered and turned away. I gave a despairing little shake of my head and gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. Despite my complaining, the outfit didn't actually look half bad. In a way it reminded me of the beautiful golden panoply I'd been gifted with the month previous; it certainly displayed about as much skin, and the thought of strutting around so deliciously exposed sent a warm little flush through my body. But while the first outfit teased, showing off almost every inch of skin while somehow conspiring to keep my most intimate spaces hidden, this one put everything on display. Consisting of little more than an underbust corset and a pair of thigh-high boots, the whole ensemble sculpted from black leather and decorated with embossed flames, it left my small, pert ******* and my crotch tantalizingly bare, as if they were screaming out their availability to any potential client who might run his eyes over me. 
 
The accessories, on the other hand, were less than impressive. A pair of sad little horns that any right-minded Tiefling would be ashamed of - because my natural ones weren't 'cute', apparently - just about poked through my hair, and a heart-shaped bit of red leather had been strapped to the end of my tail. That had been something of a hasty improvisation. The original outfit's tail had been a long, thin, ratty thing attached to a butt plug. I'd put my foot down on that one on the grounds that having two tails would look even more ridiculous than having four horns, even if two of them were so small as to barely count.
 
"One of these days, we should cover the pair of you in grease and let you have it out in the rear yard. I'm sure people'd pay good coin to see it." Celith said, rolling his eyes. "Can you do my hair?"
 
I nodded and moved behind him, plucking the pile of freshly-cut vines from the table we were at and began weaving them through the man's hair. Celith was popular with male and female customers alike - his large eyes, pointed ears and lean, youthful face marked him out as someone with a healthy dose of elf blood somewhere in his family tree, so he'd leapt at the chance to dress up as one of his distant ancestors.
 
"I still can't believe you guys take Harrow's Night so casually." I said, as I worked the vines through the young man's hair. "I mean, it was a big thing when I was little. People got hurt. I remember, once, I snuck out to try and see the dark ones. My mother was so angry when she caught me." I smiled a little at the memory. 
 
"Well, it's less of a problem here in the cities." Celith shrugged. He squirmed a little as I worked, plaiting his fiery tresses with the vines, my ******* occasionally brushing up against the elf-blooded's bare back. "We've got walls, guards, lots of light. I think the elves mostly just come round to make sure we don't forget what day of the year it is."
 
"Maybe that's why you make such a big deal about it." I laughed. "If everyone's busy getting drunk inside the city, they won't go outside the walls and get killed."
 
---
 
Harrow's Night, I suppose I should say, takes place at the height of midsummer. Back during the Elven Civil War, their capital city was wiped off the map by a spell so powerful, it left a permanent magical wound upon the world. Every year, on the anniversary of that night, that wound splits open, allowing demons and other monsters to slip through and escape into the forests. It's also one of the few times of year that the Dark Elves come up from underground, ghosting through the trees and hunting down as many of them as they can catch, or helping people lost in the backwoods return to their homes. Growing up, Harrow's Night had been a very real, very frightening thing - though, yes, I was dumb enough to try climbing up on top of my house in the hopes of seeing a Dark Elf, chalk it up to youthful enthusiasm - but in Swyndel, it had become a festival. 
 
The streets were a riot of colour, flooded with men and women in costumes ranging from little more than a sheet and a mask to great panoplies of feather and crystal, and the air was thick with the sound of shrieks and laughter as they leapt out at or snuck up upon one another. Street vendors and salespeople fought through the crowds, and everywhere you looked, there were Dark Elves. They led the processions and orchestrated the festivities, their slender, ink-black forms painted or tattooed with stark white skulls and bones, dancing through the adoring crowds like little gods.
 
Not, of course, that I had much time to enjoy the festivities myself.
 
The man writhed and shuddered beneath me, his face turning purple and breath coming in thin, reedy gasps as I tightened my hands around his throat. I grinned, letting him get a good look at my fangs, and ground forwards on him, hissing in delight as his desperate spasms forced his **** up deeper into me. Were it not for the look of absolute bliss on his face as I rode him, sliding my hips back and forwards through the mixture of precome and my own fluids smeared around the base of his ****, I would have released him and called for help. My heart hammered in my chest and my head spun as I forced him down deeper into the sheets, clamping my thighs tighter around the hot spar of flesh lodged in my body, ******* him all the harder as he thrashed and bucked against the restraints that tied him to the bed. It wasn't so long ago that I'd been the one spreadeagled and helpless atop it, the thrill of that reversal coursing through me even as the corset pinched uncomfortably and the silly little horns began to slip off my head with the vigour of my grinding. 
 
He groaned, shuddered, the sudden need with which he pushed up into my tight, waiting body all the sign I needed that he was about to reach his climax. I clamped my hands all the tighter around his throat and then, just as I felt his first pulse of liquid heat flooding my ***, released him. His eyes bulged and his whole body jerked upwards as air rushed into his aching lungs, the slap of his thighs against my buttocks and the sudden impact of his **** hilting itself pushing me into my own climax as I rode him mercilessly, my shuddering body milking every last drop of come from his twitching manhood even as I rode through the orgiastic tides.
 
And then it was over. I slid off and collapsed across him, the corset forcing my back straight and pushing my ******* out towards the ceiling as we caught our respective breaths, the slow trickle of his seed leaking from between my lips cool against my hot skin. The rest of our time together passed in a blur, as it always did when I was finished with a client - I untied him and we cleaned each other off, wiping the sweat and fluids from one another's bodies, before he dressed, paid, and left. The sight of the door closing always gave me a little glow of satisfaction; the pride of a job done well, and the smug feeling that came with having wrung as much money out of someone as I could, to do something I enjoyed doing anyway.
 
Once I was sure that I'd cleaned myself off as best I could - the vice-like corset and heeled boots being too much of an effort to prize off - added a bit of perfume to cover up the 'just ******' smell and adjusted my accessories, I tidied up the bedsheets and ventured back to the party. I could hear music and laughter echoing up through the floor as I crossed the landing and began descending the stairs, mingling with the festivities outside, and part of me longed to be out there with them; moving through the crowds, feeling the crush of bodies around me, laughing and singing in the streets, and I resolved to make sure I didn't spend too much time whoring before getting changed and joining the celebrations.
 
Not that the Second Circle was in any way quiet, of course. The front doors had been thrown open to let the warm summer's night air in, and the bar was filled with people of all kinds, either looking for company or simply refreshment before rejoining the street party. Jelinda, another of the working girls, strutted up the stairs with one of the Dark Elves hanging off her arm; his sculpted, ebony physique glistening with sweat and perfumed oils, the stylized ribcage painted across his narrow chest starting to drip and run in the heat. She and I exchanged a quick grin as I passed her on my way down - we'd both hoped to land one of the Elves before the night was over, and despite the little stab of jealousy I felt at the idea of her getting in before me, I was glad that at least one of us had scored.
 
I put a bit of a strut in my step as I emerged from the stairwell, slinking my ***** hips from side to side and weaving my tail sinuously behind me. My heart jumped in my chest as those nearest to the stairs turned towards me, their eyes drinking in the sight of my near-nudity as I descended into the crowd. I said nothing; the outfit and my confident, even arrogant, stride spoke for me. This is me, they said. This is all of me, my most intimate places laid bare for your inspection, and I am not ashamed. Touch me, taste me, buy me. Worship me or humble me. Rather than bending under the collective weight of the crowd's gaze I felt buoyed up, my skin flushing with fresh warmth as the men and women inspected my slender body, running their eyes over my *******, my ass, even peering to try and catch a glimpse of my my ***** ***. I could already feel moisture starting to gather on my lips, a single bead working its way down my inner thigh; walking around with my ***** bared and on display felt so deliciously scandalous, like at any moment I might find myself being forced over a table by someone who wanted to make use of it. My body smouldered at the thought.
 
Collecting a glass of red wine from the bartender, I hopped up on one of the stools and settled down to wait. It was funny to see the effect I'd had on the crowd; you could see by the patches of furtive conversation and groups of people digging through purses where I'd walked from the foot of the stairs, round the curve of the room, and finally gravitated towards the bar. I'd made damn sure that people knew I was available, and with a growing feeling of excitement, now all I had to do was wait to see who would approach. 
 
Taking a sip of my drink, I relaxed in my seat - or at least, relaxed as best I could with my body buzzing with arousal and anticipation - and let my attention drift to the myriad of costumes on display. Here, a woman had dressed as one of the old Elven gods, wearing a robe of leaves that would probably fall apart as soon as she got home, and there a man had, to my amusement, tried to make himself look like a Tiefling by painting himself red and tying a pair of manky old deer's horns to his head. But the one that really caught my attention was the one that was steadily pushing through the crowds towards me. She was tall, statuesque, and had dressed herself up as one of the old Caliphate mummies, all wrapped in bandages, her broad shoulders decorated with armour, and her face hidden behind a beautiful, serene marble death mask surrounded by serpents cast from the same gold as her armour. A young man dressed as a zombie - shorter than her, his blonde hair and scruffy little beard dirtied to match the grave-pallor makeup he wore -  followed in her wake, but quickly pulled ahead of the woman.
 
"Uh...hi." He said, giving me a rather sheepish grin. I nodded and raised my glass to the pair in greeting.
 
"Can I help you, sir? Madam?" I replied. He wasn't bad looking, now that I saw him up close - he had a roguish, charming cast to his features, and there was a surprising tightness to the lithe muscles I could see under his ripped, open-fronted shirt.
 
"Well, hopefully. I, uh, I mean my partner and I - " He indicated the woman next to him, who cocked her head in response. Her mask had no slits or holes that she could see out of - which in retrospect really should have tipped me off - and I could smell a faint, dusty spice about her. "We were hoping to, uh..."
 
I grinned and cut him off. "Buy me?" I said, languidly uncrossing my legs for a moment, a rush of excitement passing through me as I briefly exposed my *** to him before hiding it once more behind my crossed thighs. "First time, right?"
 
He just nodded. I finished my drink and set it aside, leaning towards the couple. "I normally charge eight gold for an hour, but I do discounts for groups. So, shall we say, twelve for the pair of you? Thirteen if you want my ass. Oh, and I love your costume, by the way." The last line was almost an afterthought, directed at the woman dressed as the mummy. She nodded in reply.
 
"Thank you." She said. Her voice seemed to echo strangely, but at the time, I just put it down to my imagination and the racket of voices and music around me. Besides, I had more important things to concentrate on as her partner began counting out coins. In a way it was a little disappointing - I've always found the cut-and-thrust of barter to be a lovely bit of foreplay, something to get both myself and the client fired up before venturing upstairs - but I wasn't going to turn my nose up at the extra money. Twelve gold coins were counted out, and then, after the pair shared a look, one more was offered.
 
"Good choice." I purred, clamping the coin between my fangs for a moment to test it, then passing the little pile off to Trik'il, the old Kobold working the bar for safekeeping. And that was that - I was theirs. I hopped off the stool and beckoned them with a finger, making sure the undulating movement of my tail drew the pair's eyes to my ass as I led them up the stairs. They'd paid the extra for it, after all, and I imagined the sight they must be getting - behind and below me on the stairs, all they had to do was look up to get a perfect view of my bare *** pouting out behind my swinging tail, and I grinned madly to myself at that.
 
We entered my room, the couple shuffling over towards the bed, not quite sure where to put themselves. "So, do you two have names?" I called over to them as I locked the door. A lot of clients don't care about that sort of thing, or they find the anonymity of buying *** a turn-on, but I thought it might help the two of them relax. "I'm Ireela. Go ahead and get undressed."
 
"I'm Kellan." The young man said. I turned to see him perched on the bed, pulling his boots and shirt off.
 
"Diyabushi." The woman said. She had made no move to remove her costume, and shared another look with her partner, turning her blank, white face-mask towards him as if it were a thing of flesh and blood. I felt a brief kernel of worry starting to gnaw at me. 
 
"Is everything alright?" I asked, taking a step towards the pair. "We've not done anything yet, so if you've changed your mind, you'll get your money back."
 
"No, no, it's not that. It's - " Kellan started, before Diyabushi cut him off.
 
"This is not a costume." She stepped towards me, and for a moment I had to fight the urge to quail back at the woman's presence. Away from the racket downstairs, her voice was strange and ethereal, like water and wind-chimes, and the sightless eyes of her death mask bored into me. She held herself like royalty, her mummified body disturbingly still, bereft of both breath and the countless subtle little motions made by the living, and my mind reeled as the dry scents of dust and foreign spices washed over me. 
 
"Okay. Okay, uh, shit." I said, my eyes roaming up and down Diyabushi's body. I could see now how her midriff had sunk inwards, emphasising her hips and her bust, a ghoulish mirror to the way the corset affected my own figure. 
 
She's dead, I thought. There's a dead woman in my room and she wants me to sleep with her. Hell, she's bought me, I'm obliged to sleep with her! My conscious mind rebelled at the idea - sapient undead weren't entirely unknown within Swyndel, they offered trade like everyone else, but the idea of whoring myself out to one sent a shudder up my spine. 
 
"Look, I'm really sorry, but I think this might be a bit above my pay grade." I said weakly, glancing towards the door. "You can get your coin back at th-"
 
Kellan hopped up from the bed, a distraught look on his face. "Ireela, please." He interrupted. "Just hear us out? Please? A few minutes, that's all we're asking."
 
Something about the man's expression hit me, deep inside. I was halfway towards shaking my head when I saw the pain on his face - disappointment, yes, but shame as well. He'd as good as admitted that he was in a relationship with the undead woman, something which society didn't exactly look kindly upon. He must have thought I'd have understood and been sympathetic - either because of my race, Tieflings attracting their own share of prejudice even in civilized society, or because of my prostitution - to his plight. He'd trusted me with that exposure. What sort of person would I be if I just threw him out without a second thought? With a slightly pained smile and a nod, I dragged a chair over to him and plopped down in it. 
 
Kellan sat back down on the bed, joined by Diyabushi. She looked smaller, somehow, sitting next to him - small and nervous, a far cry from the imperious princess she had been a moment ago.
 
"Kellen and I are unable to fully make love." The Revenant spoke first. Strange though it was, her voice was beautiful in a way, and I forced myself to keep eye contact with her as if she were a living person. "I can feel, or...remember feeling when I'm touched, but my corpus cannot be..." she trailed off, her blank face turning down to stare at the floor, and I felt a sudden surge of pity for her.
 
"He can't actually get inside you?" I ventured. She nodded. Kellen reached out and placed a reassuring hand on her arm.
 
"We thought that another woman could act as a go-between." He continued. "If she was involved while you and I coupled, it might help her remember what it was like when she was alive."
 
I leaned back in my seat, thinking, mostly feeling sorry for them. It can't have been easy for them, to be in love but never to be able to fully express their feelings for one another physically. I've never been one for deep, intimate relationships, but my heart ached for the couple, and I felt strangely proud that they'd chosen to come to me for help. 
 
Breathing out a long sigh, I reached a decision. "One condition." I held up a finger and turned to Diyabushi. "You're not going to, uh, unwrap, right?" I winced a little as I said it, hoping I wouldn't offend her. 
 
"There is nothing under these bandages anyone would wish to see." She replied. "Just dead flesh and cladding."
 
"So, you'll do it?" Kellen asked, a smile starting to creep over his face, and the sight of it blossoming into a full grin as I nodded warmed my heart. I kicked the chair away and offered Diyabushi my hand. The dead woman took it and rose, drawing me towards her until my ******* crushed against her chest and the twin scents of spice and dust rolled over me, making my head spin. Her body was hard and unyielding, the bandages that enshrined her rough against my crimson skin, and my nipples sparked with pleasure as they dragged over the linen wrappings.
 
I've always been a bit of a muddle when sleeping with other women - I never really know where to put my hands, doubly so now that I was dealing with a dead one. We pulled back a little from our initial embrace and stood together for a moment; my arms loosely thrown around her neck, her around my hips. Diyabushi's carved, stone mask hung in the air like the face of an angel, the lips but a few inches from my own. I hesitated there for a moment longer before pushing into her, taking her head in my hands and kissing the cold, marble lips as if the dead woman would spring back to life at any moment. After a moment, the Revenant's hands began to move, one set of rough fingers creeping up to caress the length of my spine, the other sliding from my bare hip down to *** the swell of my petite buttock. 
 
"I remember your kind." Diyabushi's ghostly voice seemed to echo out from all around me. Her fingers found their way to my shoulder blades and caressed the skin there, working in little circles as I let out a low, shuddering gasp against her mask. "You were touched by the divine, so we dressed you in gold and silk, we made you the heralds of our gods, and in return you promised to serve us. In every way."
 
I shook and gritted my teeth as her rough, linen-wrapped fingers found their way to my tail, working their way across the top of the muscular appendage, before working their way to the underside. My wet lips slipped away from her masp as her questing fingers found their way to the sensitive spot at the base, her dry, scratching touch somehow only driving me even wilder, my forehead resting on her shoulder as a throaty moan forced its way out of my mouth. I clung to her shoulders with one arm for stability, my tail lashing weakly at the remorseless stimulation, the other hand pawing blindly at the dead woman's *******. They were as stiff as the rest of her, giving way only a little under my fingers, and she made no indication she could even feel me.
 
"How is she, darling?" Kellen called out. I opened one of my eyes to see he had already stripped off and lounged across the bed, slowly jerking himself off as Diyabushi groped me ever more aggressively. 
 
It took me a moment to realize that the dry, wheezing sound coming from the Revenant was laughter. Diyabushi spun me around to face the wall and shoved me forwards, forcing me to to throw my arms out and brace myself for fear of going head-first into it. A heartbeat later her knee forced its way between my thighs, spreading my legs and exposing my drooling *** as she leaned over me, one of her own hands covering mine, her other fingers scratching their way through the trails of juices clinging to my inner thighs. My ***** ached with desperate heat, screaming to feel something inside.
 
"Wet, my love." The Revenant's voice held little emotion, but I could imagine the mocking tone that might have come from the mouth of a living woman. I let out a yelp as her fingers pushed against my entrance, instinctively flinching away from the dry linen grinding over such a sensitive place. She was gone a moment later, her fingers held up, the dark patch showing here my wetness had soaked her bandages. "Oh, so very wet. So ready and eager." I felt the weight of her blank stare fall back upon me as I ground my bare hips back against the empty air, the breeze through the window sweet agony against my engorged slit.
 
"And you?" Kellen's **** jumped in his hand, precome beading upon its fat tip. 
 
"I remember Aza'leigh." She replied. "I remember the heat of her against my body. She reeked of sulphur when the heat was upon her."
 
I barely had time to register what was happening before Diyabushi wrapped one of her hands around my horn and pulled me away from the wall, half-leading and half-dragging me over to her partner. My mind whirled madly, trying to find some sort of anchor point - she had gone from gentle, almost nervous, to powerful and domineering within the space of a dozen heartbeats. Like she had stepped back into the memories of a former life, I thought, remembering how she had looked when she had told me of her condition - a queen or a princess, used to being obeyed, never questioned, never doubted.
 
"I used to pair her with Mandulak," the Revenant continued, speaking to Kellen as if I wasn't even there. "I watched them couple before enjoying her myself. Let us see if this one is as skilled at pleasing a man as she was." 
 
She deposited me down in front of him. I had no idea who she was speaking about - a former lover, probably - but I knew an instruction when I heard one. Well, fine. I could play sub when I had to, and at least Kellen had a body I could understand. Kneeling between his legs like a supplicant before the alter, I wrapped my hand around the base of his **** and gave him my best doe-eyed, innocent look as I pulled it towards my mouth. I purred as I took the hot, silken flesh into my mouth, closing my lips halfway down his shaft and sliding the rest of the way, feeling a rush of sympathetic pleasure as the young man groaned and leaned backwards, his narrow muscles glimmering with sweat.
 
Diyabushi stalked around me as I sucked him, bobbing up and down upon his shaft and gently massaging his balls with my free hand, rolling them around in his sac as I eagerly worked him deeper into my mouth. Though my thick, black curls bounced around at the edges of my vision I could still see her, pacing back and forth like a cat, scrutinizing me like a teacher examining her favorite pupil. Another quiet moan of pleasure cut the air as I let Kellen's **** slip from between my lips, greedily lapping my forked tongue over the bead of salty pre that bubbled from the head of his **** as I worked his shaft with my hand. He thrust his hips towards me, his need only fueling my own lusts, the heat and wetness between my thighs steadily dripping onto my kneeling legs.
 
The Revenant joined me without warning, silently kneeling next to me, her pale, expressionless face inches away from the tight seal of my lips around her partner's ****. She watched me work in without making so much as a sound, the air filled with quiet slurping and Kellen's increasingly heavy breathing, before reaching out for his manhood herself. She had peeled the bandages away from her hands, I noticed, the skin below shrunken and faded to a blotchy grey. The sight sent an unpleasant little shudder down my spine. It was a stark reminder of what - who, I corrected myself - I had sold myself to. Kellen's **** fell from my lips with a wet pop as Diyabushi guided it towards her mask, her blind stone eyes staring at the glistening head for a moment before pressing it against her false lips. She began to awkwardly rub it against her death mask in a bizarre parody of the blowjob I'd just been performing, letting the hot spar of meat slip into the channel formed between her nose and cheek and sliding it back and forth. There was something desperately, painfully sad about the sight of her rubbing against her lover, unable to fully pleasure him like a living woman could, and I quickly pulled it away from her.
 
"Look, go behind me," I said, gesturing for the dead woman to kneel at my rear. "Take my horns. You can guide my head like you'd do it."
 
I normally hate people moving my head back and forth during ***, especially if they yank me around by my horns, but I couldn't stand the sight of her miserable attempt at fellatio, and it seemed like the best thing I could do for her. She and Kellen exchanged a quick look, before he gave her a nod and she shuffled around behind me. The dry, rough curves of her ******* pushed in against my back as Diyabushi settled into position, one of her arms hugging me tight against her stiff body as I pulled her in closer with my tail, the other getting a good grip on my left horn. Kellen seemed to take the hint and grabbed my right, and together they began to guide my head back down onto his ****. It felt strange - reduced to little more than a puppet for them to live out their private fantasies with, there was nothing I could do beyond go slack and concentrate on working him with my tongue, lavishing his throbbing shaft with licks and flicks as they pulled and pushed my head in accordance with their own rhythm. It was a little faster and a little deeper than I would have liked, and now and then I had to fight not to gag as Kellen's head slipped towards the back of my hot, sucking throat, and I confess that I was grateful when Kellen gasped out "Shit, stop, stop" and pulled away.
 
"Nah'jalan?" The dead woman rose, letting me sag down into a tangle of black leather and sweaty crimson skin at the side of the bed, the corset pinching in at my sides making it hard to catch my breath. The word she used meant nothing to me as she went to her partner, placing one of her bare hands on his shoulder. "Is everything well?"
 
"Yea, yea, sorry." Kellen gasped. His wet prick still stood proud, green and blue lights from outside shining off the slick of saliva and precome drying upon the rod of turgid flesh. "I just don't want to finish yet."
 
I grinned, pulling myself back to my feet. "Sounds good to me." I said. "For a moment there, I thought the pair of you were gonna finish without getting me off as well."
 
We shared a laugh at that. Kellen and Diyabushi curled around one another upon the bed as I poured out three glasses of water - not wanting Kellen to pop his cork right away, a few minute's break seemed like a good idea - and offered one to each of my clients. It was only when Diyabushi turned her blank, marble gaze from the offered glass to my face did I realize my mistake.
 
"Oh, gods, I'm sorry!" I gasped, nearly dropping the glass as my already flushed skin reddened deeper with embarrassment. "I should've - I mean, I didn't think, I - "
 
The Revenant let out another of her dusty, croaking chuckles. "No, thank you." Her voice - some sort of magic, I assumed - was strangely soothing compared to the dry rasp that had preceeded it. She cocked her head at the expression of confusion that flashed across my narrow face. "That's exactly it. You didn't think. You treated me like you would have treated everyone else. You didn't act like I was strange or needed special allowances." She reached out and took my hand. "Thank you."
 
It seemed like a bizarre scene - me standing there decked out in black leather, blushing awkwardly while holding hands with a dead woman as her lover looked on - but the rare moments like that were some of the high points of my prostitution career. Every now and then, in the midst of the nightly grind of money and ***, there would be a client whom I'd connect with - that I'd take into my life, my arms and my body for one brief hour, and know that they would leave a better person. I felt like that then, a rather sheepish smile on my face, until Kellen reached over and slapped my tight, red backside. I shrieked and laughed, leaping backwards in surprise as the man grinned.
 
"Come on, girl." He said. "I paid good money for that ass. Time to stop keeping it to yourself."
 
His words sent a hot thrill through me, and I eagerly hopped up onto the bed. Crawling onto all fours, I lifted my tail and thrust my ass back for his inspection, making sure he got a good view of my tight little pucker and wet, throbbing ***. After a few quiet words between them, Diyabushi made her way around to my front, her hands busy between her own legs, and I felt a brief flicker of trepidation as I saw her unwinding a length of bandage from her crotch. The sight of her hands had been bad enough, and my stomach twisted a little at the thought of what her slit would look like after gods-only-knew how long she'd been dead.
 
My heart froze for a moment as she slid onto the bed in front of me and spread her legs, the patch of grey-brown skin stark against her creamy bandages. Fortunately, I was able to keep myself from obviously sighing in relief as I inspected the Revenant's body; her *** was dry and shrunken, little more than a cleft in her age-spotted skin, but the festering rot and maggots that my overactive imagination had conjured were nowhere to be seen.
 
I breathed out a low murmur as I felt Kellen's hands alighting on my buttocks, pawing their way over the crimson flesh, his questing fingers leaving little dimples in my skin as he pulled me into position. "Guys," I said, my voice low and husky with need, as Diyabushi laced her fingers through my hair and pushed my head down towards her waiting ***, "lube's in the drawer to your left."
 
There was a scrape of wood and a rattle as the pot was produced and opened, before the touch of Kellen's fingers smearing the icy grease around my sensitive asshole made me gasp and squeak in surprise, instinctively flincing away before pushing back towards him. His slick fingers danced around the tight ring of muscle, tracing circles on my hot flesh before gently probing inwards. I hissed and forced myself to relax, letting out a slow breath as the first of Kellen's fingers pushed past the tight entrance, easing himself one knuckle at a time into my rear passage. The breath became a soft whimper as he drew out and added a second, working his fingers round and around inside my trembling body, probing, questing, stretching, rubbing the greasy lube into my inner walls, making sure the body he'd bought was ready to take him. 
 
Diyabushi pushed down on my head again, dipping me towards her waiting ***. The scent of dust and spice was almost overwhelming, my heart raced in my chest, and even as I slipped my long, forked tongue out of my mouth, the pointed tips a heartbeat away from running across her dead flesh, I almost expected something to crawl out and snap at me. 
 
But nothing did, and slowly, hesitantly, I lowered my mouth and ran my hot, wet tongue up the length of the dead woman's slit. 
 
And nothing happened. Her corpse tasted musty and bitter, her skin had the texture of old leather, but nothing happened. Frankly, I'd seen worse things from clients who hadn't washed before soliciting my services. I lapped at her a second time, my tongue writhing up and down the tight trough of flesh, trying to ease itself inside her body. 
 
The sudden absence of Kellen's fingers from my ass told me that he was ready to take me. I felt the bed sinking behind me as he got into position. I lifted my head from his partner's dead lips as the slick bulge of his cockhead butted against me, crooning encouragement as, slowly, inexorably, he began to feed his **** into my tight, clenching depths. I lifted my shaking tail higher and draped it over his shoulders, winding it around under his armpits and using it to pull him in deeper, even as I slid my narrow hips backwards, wincing and biting my lip as I impaled myself on the hot, hard length of flesh steadily creeping into my rear passage. 
 
"How does it feel?" Diyabushi said, her ghostly voice low, distant, almost desperate. "Tell me how it feels. I want - I need - I need to remember."
 
"Oh gods, it's so tight." I gasped, rocking backwards as Kellen eased himself an inch or two out of my body, before feeding himself back into my shuddering depths. "****, I, I'm clenching around him and it hurts a little but, ah, I feel so ******* full -"
 
Any further insight I could have given was lost as Kellen pulled himself back and slammed into me, hilting his **** in my ass with one ferocious motion. I let out a shriek of surprise, pain, and sudden, intense pleasure that I knew the girls in the other rooms - hell, probably the ones downstairs - would be teasing me about for days as the young archeologist began ******* me in earnest, one hand on my hip and the other wrapped tightly around the base of my tail, pulling me into his every thrust as if I wouldn't already have been bucking back onto him otherwise. Sparks shot through me and my thin wails of pleasure were only muffled by the dead woman forcing me down into her ***, grinding my nose into the bandages over her mound, filling them with the rich, spicy scent of embalmed flesh. My tongue lashed at her, teasing and probing, working my saliva into her tight, dry skin. It was like trying to eat out a statue - Diyabushi remained perfectly still, her back arched, broad shoulders thrown back, arm pushing me down into her, something which only made me more perversely determined to get a reaction from her. 
 
Even as her partner battered away at my ass, the sound of his hips slapping against my buttocks mingling with my muffled grunts and gasps, I worked at her, alternating between lapping with my tongue and kissing or sucking with my lips, until I was finally able to writhe my wet, squirming tongue into the dead woman's body.
 
And that, finally, got a reaction. As my tongue invaded her, like hot, pulsing life creeping into the barren desert of her body, the Revenant began to jerk and squirm like she'd been electrocuted. Even Kellen paused mid-thrust, my asshole clamping down on his stiff prick as he watched her writhe in silence, her blank face-mask as serenely immovable as ever. I grinned and lashed her harder, working my tongue along her inner walls, ignoring the taste of old dust in my mouth as I incessantly rubbed against what I hoped was - or had been - her g-spot as she writhed in ecstasy. Whether it was felt, imagined, or remembered, the ethereal banshee-wail that echoed through the room was sign enough that she'd reached her peak. 
 
Diyabushi collapsed onto her side, sprawling down next to us and siding one of her hands up between my spread legs. "Oh, my priestess, my whore, my sweet lover." She murmured, her withered fingers brushing through the wetness clinging to my thighs. My whole body ached, either from the violation of my rear passage or the hot, desperate need that radiated out from my ***, and I whined and whimpered as the dead woman's fingers danced near my heat. "You must be so close."
 
It was all I could do to nod, my hair thrashing back and forth, the silly little costume horns hanging in front of my face as Kellen ****** my ass. 
 
"Tell me you want it." She said, her voice drifting around me like the air from a tomb.
 
"Gods, y-yes. I need it. I need to come." I forced the words out, my body tight and frantic, singing with unquenched need. 
 
"Please," I added, part of me hating the whine that came into my voice as her fingers crawled all the closer to my ***, dancing on the tip of my mound, sliding through the moisture clinging to my lips.
 
"Then with my permission, you may do so." The dead woman whispered, finally pressing her fingers up against my stiff, sensitive clit.
 
The effect was immediate, that final stimulation pushing me into my own climax. My body jerked and twisted around the **** still lodged between my buttocks, sweat flying from my hair as I convulsed, back arching, toes curling inside my boots and fingers clenching around the bedsheets as waves of pleasure rolled through my sweat-soaked, crimson body. Diyabushi's cruel fingers worked my clit relentlessly, tweaking and twisting the nub of flesh, dragging my orgasm out for as long as possible, leaving me gasping and wailing as the lightning-crackle surged through me again and again. I barely noticed the sucking feeling and the sudden emptiness that came with Kellen's withdrawal from my shuddering body, until I found myself pulled up onto my knees, face pressed in tight against the other woman's death mask, the fat head of her partner's **** bare inches away from our faces.
 
The prospect of a sudden load in the eye - not fun, trust me - was enough to drag me back to my senses. I narrowed my eyes to slits and opened my mouth, lolling my tongue out eagerly as I watched Kellen's bulging red head throb and glisten in front of my face, heavy with the promise of his coming ejaculation. Flushed with anticipation, every second felt like an eternity until the young man gave one final grunt and the first thick streak of come spurted forth, spattering stringy warmth into my mouth and up across my face. I groaned with pleasure as he turned and shot another load across Diyabushi's mask, the pearly liquid running in long strings across the pale marble, before twisting back to dump one final gush of seed across my narrow features.
 
I've always loved the feeling of a man ejaculating upon me. It makes me feel powerful, sexy, that first sensation of hot seen splattering across my red skin like something akin to a reward, physical proof of the pleasure I'd brought him. Once I was sure none of his seed was going to trickle into my eyes, I turned to the Revenant and pressed my face against her mask, lapping up the long, gooey strings of salty fluid that clung to the pristine serenity of her false face even as the load her partner had dumped on my began to drip from my chin to my flushed, shaking *******.
 
By the time I pulled away, strings of saliva and semen linking me to the other woman before breaking and falling to the floor, Kellen had collapsed down next to us. "Darling?" He said, nudging Diyabushi. "Love? How was it?"
 
The Revenant let out a strange noise - a long, dry rasp that I guessed might have been an indulgent groan, dragged from a pair of little used lungs - and dropped her head down onto his shoulder.
 
"Wonderful." She said. "It was - I think - I think I felt. Not just remembered. Felt something."
 
It was, as I wiped her partner's seed from my face and lapped it off my trembling fingers, probably the sweetest, most complimentary thing I'd ever had someone say about my performance.
 
The rest of our time together was little different from the final few minutes spent with any other client. We cleaned one another up, re-bandaged Diyabushi, and made a little small talk as they prepared to leave. Before they departed, though, Kellen dug into a pocket and pushed something into my hand.
 
"Here. We saw you having a set of armour serviced a few weeks ago." He said. "You're not just, uh, I mean,"
 
I grinned. "I've got a life outside the Circle, yea. I do merc work, adventuring, that sort of thing."
 
"Take this, then." He said. "It's our-" he shot a look at Diyabushi, giving the dead woman a small smile. "-card. If you find anything we might be interested in, give us a shout."
 
"Sure. And if you need a few extra pairs of hands, you know where I am." I replied. We exhanced one last grin, and a deep bow with Diyabushi, before the pair of them slipped from the room and let the door close behind them.
 
The room fell quiet, echoing to the sound of the festivities outside. I took a moment to enjoy the silence, then glanced out of the window at the carnival of costumes parading through the streets.
 
"Right." I said to myself. "Time for someone to get me out of this ******* corset."