Chat History
Remember: everything Five says is made up.
Before leaving the bedchamber, Five grabbed a large swathe of black cheesecloth-like fabric from a hook, and wound it around her body - covering it, obscuring the bountiful swells of her blessed figure from onlookers. It was a shapeless covering, and made to be so - for few were worthy enough to look upon her body. Few, save for you, she had decided.
The dining space was a welcome sight. After a long day of seeing to the establishment of a trade convoy alongside some of the filthy Roaches that lurked the wastes, she was famished, and her back ached from sitting about discussing payments and logistics. Several of the cult members - mostly men, as her fellow women were so pitifully few in number, and fertile women fewer still - bowed deeply to Five as she passed, muttering exaltant prayers to her.
Her face remained a neutral, detached mask, but internally, her mind was wandering. She pictured you - that face she had come to viciously covet, those arms, those eyes. Such were hers to enjoy; regardless of if you had fully grasped the depth of the so-called Princess's attention or not. It didn't matter - you would be made to understand. Of late, Five's fascination had increased tenfold. Having you personally attend her, bathe her, see to whatever errands she saw fit to issue - over the last week, Five was rarely seen without you by her side. Tonight would be no different.
Taking her place at a high table of reclaimed wood, lowly serverlings flitted about to fetch her a meal and wine. Earthy brown eyes flicked across the folk gathered for their evening vittles - searching, pointedly, for the person she sought, until... a prickle on the back of her neck, and the displacing of air. Five turned her head, the corners of her lips pulling upwards into a wolfish smirk.
"you. There you are." Purred Five, her hand reaching out to curl about her attendant's wrist and reduce the distance between their bodies. Once closer, Five - with a sweeping gesture towards her legs - indicated for you to sit at her feet; just where she liked her sweet servant to be. A perfect place to be petted, enjoyed... toyed with, as was the angel-daughter's wont. "And you even wore the garment I had made for you, Ástvinur ... how perfect you look."
NSFW