Pax Shouri, now called Ecstasy, adjusted the delicate lace of her lingerie, her fingers trembling slightly as she smoothed the silken fabric over her curves.

Tonight's client had displaced Navarchus Patrician Van Ruhm, the naval base commander, a man whose influence could shift fleets. That alone sent a coil of unease through her gut.

Worse, this client was paying a Voluvicas Credit. That meant an Ecclesiastic elite. Crusaders were never special clients.

As a System-approved courtesan permitted to trade favors for Voluvicas Credits, Ecstasy was considered a servant within the Liberi Humiles.

As she was irresistible, she quickly rose to L5, Custos Fabricae, the highest rank in her Order, but that pay was a pittance, barely enough for a laugh.

Her true wealth came from her special clients, the ones who paid in credits. Paid in a lot of credits.

At nineteen, she'd already saved up nearly half a million, and that wasn't counting all the jewelry and luxurious gifts her clients lavished on her.

Men fell at her feet, bewitched by her sapphire eyes, cascading auburn hair, and a figure sculpted by God Himself to inspire sin. She'd learned her power well, and at only thirteen, in Cloisteranage, where boys and clergymen alike bent to her every whim.

She certainly knew young her blessings, that her looks would make her rich. And safe. Her schedule proved that. Booked out for half a year or more, men fighting to get their chance with her.

Tuesday through Saturday were for her special clientele, only one per night, men who ensured she'd retire young and glittering.

Sundays and Mondays, she worked the house normally, accepting Voluvicas Credits for quick, hour-long appointments that never lasted close to an hour, those booked out for over a year.

She'd take thirty clients across those two days, wanting to bang that part of her job out as quickly as possible, the legal part, earning her the house and district's XP bonus as its reigning star.

Crusaders often booked but rarely appeared for those appointments, their deployments keeping them far from her bed, and she preferred it that way. Their size and strength, even when being gentle, could injure.

Tonight, though, something was different. The client's clout unnerved her, and the unneeded Voluvicas Credit, coupled with double her usual and already exorbitant thousand-credit fee, had to mean a clergyman whose piety masked rot and depravity.

But this was the job.

Those types often wanted sick things, things she'd never do. The house manager went over the rules with all clients, and she'd been lucky so far, but her luck could run out any night.

Technically, unsanctioned prostitution was illegal, as was trading favors for anything but a Voluvicas Credit within the sanctioned houses, but only on paper. Those laws were hardly ever enforced for the top girls like her, and she'd never get in trouble if she and her house manager were smart about it. And they were.

She'd save enough, then hire one of the elite ascendancy assistance services, and live a long, peaceful, and easy life.

Ecstasy applied a final layer of shimmering lotion, her skin catching the soft glow of her penthouse's chandeliers.

She crossed to her bar, pouring a drink to steady her nerves, the amber liquid burning sweetly down her throat.

Halfway through the drink, the lift dinged, and her breath caught.

A colossus stepped out. Crusader Armor covered a mountain, the shoulders so broad she knew it had to be crafted to make the man seem far bulkier and intimidating than truth.

No one wore power armor to a Voluvicas House. And this man's helm was on too. Not just that, he carried a massive hammer, its giant head etched with sacred runes.

Her pulse quickened, praying this wasn't the night her luck ran out, but she summoned her practiced smile, setting her drink down with a clink.

"God and Empire, Sir Giant," she purred, executing a slow twirl to showcase her curves, the lingerie clinging like a lover's touch. "I'm Ecstasy, your entertainment for the night."

He didn't speak. His helm's visor fixed on her unerringly. She felt his heavy and hungry gaze though it, drinking in every centimeter of her.

Perfect. He was already hers. Easily controlled. She knew she need not worry. She was safe.

"God and Empire, Ecstasy," he said at last, his voice deep and rough, resonant through the helm. "I'm Sir Lord Angar. You may be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen made of flesh and blood, or not a Reptiloid."

The comment puzzled her, but she laughed anyway, a musical sound that had melted the most powerful of men.

"And I'm all yours, Sir." She swayed closer, picking up a card from her table. "Scan this to pay the Voluvicas Credit, and I'll show you why I'm called Ecstasy."

Later, he finally removed his helm, revealing a face that stole her breath. He was young. Younger than her.

His features were rough and rugged, overly so, a jawline big and hard enough to crush rocks. A bandage clung to one side of the face, weeping blood through, an eyepatch covering an eye, lending him a roguish charm.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

His nervousness was palpable, his remaining eye lingered over her body, unable to meet her own.

So cute! Like a killer puppy, oversized and eager. She could practically hear his heart thundering through his armor, ready to explode from longing and excitement.

It took time, but as they chatted, or she chatted, she coaxed him out of his armor, revealing clothes that didn't match up with her usual special clientele at all.

He wore once-decent fabric, now stitched and patched and stained, blood washed out but leaving ghosts. Gloves covered his hands, something she was certain no one wore under power armor.

And his body was a massive slab of muscle, sculpted beyond human limits, like nothing she'd ever seen, or thought possible. But it excited her.

She wondered how he'd secured this night, displacing Van Ruhm. His wealth seemed meager, his noble title the basic Lord, but he could've lied about that. Most lied to her, to impress her by claiming nobility or lofty positions they didn't have.

She handed him a drink, guiding him to a two-seater couch. She sat next to him, then turned, draping her legs over his lap. His breath hitched at her closeness, his gloved hands hovering as if afraid to profane her.

"It's okay, Sir," she teased, tracing a finger along his arm. "I'm here to please. Tell me about yourself and touch away."

He was so nervous! So cute! Not a talker though. She practically had to coax every word out of him. They came haltingly, each one a victory she savored.

Not a talker, but his chest held a storm of desire, his body tensing under her caresses. As she sat up to take a sip of her drink, she leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear, and she felt how hard his pulse raced.

When she managed to coax the gloves off, and found the reason he wore them, the insane story, obviously a lie to impress her, made her want him more.

Sure, the hands were strange, but some of her clients had really disgusting Hellsign hidden under clothing. She far preferred this form of strangeness.

But with the gloves off, he no longer touched her legs.

"It's okay," she whispered, sitting up and sipping again, her breath warm against his skin. "Here." She placed his hand on her knee. He caressed hesitantly, and she giggled, delighted by his shyness.

She had never had such an effect on a man before, and her whole life literally revolved around this. So adorable! She wished he'd look up, look in her eyes, see how pretty she was. Her face was irresistible too, not just her body.

But his awkwardness only fueled her excitement. For once, this felt a lot less like work and a lot more like a date. A real one, something she'd never had.

She'd had some cute guys on her regular house days, but that didn't count. That was business. Getting them in and finished as fast as possible, then gone.

Her special clients were usually lecherous old men, their touches greedy and gross, and she'd never wanted to see these nights as a date. Not until now.

But Sir Angar? Young, tough, massive, his innocence and gentleness and nervousness a stark contrast to his warrior's frame and rough looks.

She imagined him as a suitor, someone to steal kisses from on a cold night. She'd never had a real suitor. She'd never wanted one. Her own desire stirred, and stirred hard, a rare spark in a life of pretend, of performance, of needing to please, and never being pleased.

Later, when she believed him ready, they moved to the bedroom, her hips swaying as she led him, her lingerie a whisper of fabric against her skin.

His body was a map of scars. There were so many, and his brows creased in confusion when she noted them.

"These are all new," he said as she traced one, a massive and jagged patch of scars on his belly and left side. "All from after I died a month or so back. I've only had a handful of battles since."

She laughed, assuming more lies to impress her, a testament to her power.

She tried kissing him, but he stopped her, asking her to pose on the bed, to do everything she could to drive him wild with desire.

He stood there, just watching for a while, practically drooling, barely able to contain himself. She loved it.

Then he knelt, hands clasped, sweat beading on his brow.

At first, she thought he was praying, his lips moving with fervent, hushed, barely audible words.

She listened closely as she seduced him, and it still took her half an hour to figure out what he was saying.

"No dark whisper of temptation shall see me falter," he intoned. "My heart burns with the righteous fire of wrath, my flesh a vessel of ceaseless might, my mind ablaze with sacred fervor, my spirit unbreakable, my soul incorruptible."

She recognized the Crusader's oath, recited like a charm against her charms. She smiled, excited, and arched her back, letting the light catch her curves, teasing him with slow, deliberate movements.

It was cute. Adorable. Their little game. Exciting too. At first. But an hour passed, and his muttering never ceased.

He stared at her, craving, needing, hands locked in prayer, saying that damned part of the oath over and over.

Her playful smile faltered. Frustration crept in, souring her fantasy of a date. She wouldn't let it. Nothing would ruin this special night.

She crawled to the bed's edge, determined to move past this.

Smiling, she placed a finger under his chin, tilting his face upward to kiss him. "No more prayer," she purred. "It's time for sin."

As her mouth moved to his, ready to drown him in desire, he looked up, and she finally saw into his eye.

It was cold. So cold. It was like a portal to Hell itself, an unholy void, a dark pit of malevolence, a nightmare of torment and misery where souls were unmade. Within its depths churned a well of bottomless hate, promising her death.

Her blood froze, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Her smile crumbled. Primal fear clawed at her chest.

She scrambled back, trembling. Her mind churned as she planned how she'd survive the night.

Her luck had run out, but she could still get through this, if not unmarred, hopefully alive. She just had to give him what he wanted, and pray it wasn't that eye's promise of death.

Masking her terror, she began a seductive gyration, putting her all into it, facing away from him, trying to forget what she'd seen.

It worked. Somewhat. For him. He went back to his infernal muttering, his creepy, unholy prayer.

She tried forgetting, she tried to do her job, but she grew more and more nervous.

"You know you're not allowed to hurt me, right, Sir?" she managed to choke out in a broken whisper, unable to even turn her head toward him.

"Why would you ask that?" He sounded genuinely puzzled, as if the question was unwarranted. But it was. It definitely was. She saw his true desire in that eye.

"Why are you trembling?" His voice was calm, curious, masking the horrors he wanted to unleash upon her flesh. "Are you okay?"

"Do what you want, but please, just don't kill me, Sir," she whimpered. She knew he would. Tears stung her eyes as she took shallow and panicked breaths.

"What? Of course I won't," he said, annoyed now. "What is going on with you? If I'm successful, I won't even touch you again."

She wiped her eyes as confusion pierced her fear. "Successful?"

"I need to conquer lust," he said, like it was obvious, annoyance still filling his voice. "It's easy resisting you now, while you're acting like this. Can we go back to how things were? It was very difficult before. I need that. For training. There are many hours left before dawn."

It took her some time to register the words, to understand. Her sobs quieted. She nodded, numb, and wiped her eyes.

The night was long, an eternity with a liar's smile plastered on her face, holding back tears as her client creepily muttered that same damned part of his oath.

She severed herself from emotions, losing herself in the rote performance, giving him what he wanted, pretending, miserable, hollow. As usual, as always.

This was the job.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.