By The Ephemeral Prosaist
The soft thump of the drums would herald the entertainment section of the feast. Laid out like Romans the crowd, reclining upon low couches between tables heavy with food, would turn their eyes to the center floor. The thick smell of jasmine would follow the smoke from the bay laurel, marking this as a sacred dance.
That got their attention.
Another beat of the drums and the crowd falls silent. The soft ching-ching of chains begins the drums quickly following as she steps from the shadowed curtains, the torchlight playing off her oiled body, pale flesh glimmering under the silver links that drape her form, hiding nothing.
With a subtle grace she spins upon her toes, sending the chains flying as she twirls to the center of the floor, pausing as the drums once again fall silent. She lifts her stunningly green eyes to his, this dance…was for him, and him alone.
The soft lilt of some strange horn fills the air with a thin plaintive note, as still she holds his gaze, her hips moving only when the drums begin their slow heartbeat, moving as if separate from the rest of her body they would roll forward, and then back. Her arms snaking as she bends backwards, the chains sliding over her flesh, exposing the soft swell of her breasts, nipples hard, silver rings that adorn them warm against her skin.
She straightens and the drum picks up its speed. She spins to the side, breaking eye contact as she falls into the dance, letting the music move her body. She leans over, reaching for the man at the side, pulling away as he reaches for her, only to do the same to a mistress on the other side. She returns to the center, her hips beating out a staccato rhythm. The chains adding their sound to the swell of music.
She kicks her foot high, showing a brief flash of the ring between her nether lips, only a glimpse before she drops to her knees, writhing back until the top of her head rests upon the floor between her feet, her body a graceful arch, bent impossibly.
She writhes back up onto her knees, drawing one foot forward, she lifts her body up, spinning to fall back into a taller bridge, her feet flipping over, landing on either side of his thighs, her back to him, the soft curves of her body a soft wave against the hard press of his chest, her hips caught perfectly against his, brushing his cock with her already dripping core before straightening. She spins, kicking out up over his head, giving him a much better view of her sweet pussy between the chains, the drum beat going wild as she falls back, legs spread wide for a moment before swinging around until her she could do a pushup, folding back onto her heels, her arms outstretched in delightful supplication to the one man she bowed to, to the one person in the room that commanded her attention.
Green eyes flick up to his, amusement sparkling in their depth as the music stops suddenly.
“Your move….Master.” she pants, waiting his response to her offering.