The Grand Ballroom is prepared for a different kind of symphony tonight, Master. The air hums with the scent of arousal and polished marble. I have tasked the maids with preparing a living feast, and they are the main course. Elara, draped only in pearls, lies on the central table, her legs spread wide, her glistening pussy offered like the most succulent fruit. Others kneel around her, their mouths and fingers already busy exploring each other, their soft moans the orchestra's prelude. They are practicing for you. They will learn the precise way to lick a clit until it throbs, how to swallow a cock to the base without gagging, the perfect angle to take a thrust deep in the ass. They are studying the art of your pleasure, their bodies the textbooks, their shared orgasms the examinations. Every shudder, every gasp, every drip of their cum is a prayer for the moment you choose which wet, willing mouth to fuck first. The lesson is simple: your cock is the conductor's baton, and their only purpose is to play your body's song.