Walking out of House Mink floating on air. Securing Avery's promise the first real step to maybe, possibly, hopefully getting the guild unsealed and and getting our hands back on everything they'd taken away: the accumulated spoils of all the sweat and blood and sheer effort we'd put in for six plus years. And then, maybe, getting hard feelings put aside and having everyone back together.
If it happens, if next cycle, or next month, the tunnel leading to the guild is back, and no longer a blank wall – impervious to all physical damage, elemental and spiritual spells, and even disintegrate and other sorcerous nasties – if that happened, could even see forgiving her, and possibly every one of them who had been responsible for the decision. At least at some very distant point in the future. No guarantee of that happening, of course, but as an opening salvo her promise now providing a long overdue brilliant burst of hope.
***
Early evening and entering the Rat Cellar. A slight stir of interest from the patrons inside, but then back to normal. Had tried to visit my master at the library, but it seems the building closes at three. Scanning the room for scar, beard and giant, but not finding them. Either an innocuous absence, or they were deliberately absent to avoid answering any more questions. Most likely the former, but the latter certainly a possibility. Rath absent as well, but he's not in today.
Grabbing an empty seat at the bar between two ruffians, my legs dangling, too short to reach the floor. Going through my typical routine when they weren't here, ordering dinner and a pint. The ruffian to my right lighting up a pipe, and his puffs of tobacco smoke filling the air with each breath. Hadn't felt the urge to smoke at all this entire time, but that's probably for the best. It's not the most expensive habit, but being destitute precludes even simple pleasures. Finally turned all that around today, basic gear purchased and money still in my pocket, but no real desire to start back up.
Finishing the meal and ordering another pint. Taking a long sip and looking around the room. Same atmosphere, same faces, and there, the same pointless fights, like clockwork. Not going to miss this place at all. First go with Holly to Koln, at least for a couple months, get my hands on the tournament prizes and then get my situation in the city sorted. Then rekindle with Charity at Wyrmsblood. Well, maybe not, maybe feel things out with a chat next cycle and see how it goes. Wyrmsblood's a bit rigid, but once the ice has been broken that's not necessarily a bad thing - everyone'll know where everyone stands. Well, whatever ends up happening'll be much better than continuing to waste away in here.
What'd Charity say about me? Been sulking. Ain't that the truth. If the past couple days showed anything, it was all the things missed. Lucky, in a way, to get this new perspective on everything, and lucky to have met those girls: they're undeniable proof these kids aren't all getting dumber every year. They had potential and were starting to live up to it, and tomorrow they'll be out of the dorm and ready to forge ahead. Extremely proud of them.
Finishing the second pint. Third? Nah, calling it. Still early, but nothing more to do. Paying the tab and then getting out of the chair. Whoa, definitely drunk. Passed right by happy and went straight to nostalgic. A giggle slipping out at the thought.
Turning to leave the room but tonight the serving girls and other patrons determined to prevent me from getting to the hotel. Turning the trip across the room into a game. Dodging around one, imaginary killing strike. Continuing on again, and then a quick pirouette, two more down. A fat man standing up and seeing something in my face. Letting me pass. Dodging another patron, two imaginary strikes to spill his guts on the floor. Another patron and then a final serving girl. Arriving at the other side of the room, untouched and giggling even more at my imaginary victory. Didn't even have to use the shield.
Picking up my room key and tin of sweetness, heading upstairs to drop off my gear. Cloak hung on the peg, pack and pouches tossed on the chair, kicking off the boots, armor removed and neatly stacked, outer shirt and pants folded on put on the table. Undoing the four separate pieces of spider's silk wrapped around the braid. Undoing it and pulling my hands through to separate my hair. Finding a chunky spot doing so, some dried blood. Grabbing a comb and padding down the hall to the bathroom. Toilet and then a shower. A few girls wandering into the bathroom during the shower, touching up their makeup or going in one of the stalls.
Using one of the scratchy towels to dry off and then attempting to dry my hair as best as possible. Putting the towel around my waist and then throwing the hair forward. Starting to comb, counting out the strokes. Ten. This hair's really a double edged sword. Looks great, but the maintenance is neverending. Twenty. But good things do take effort. Is a labor of love truly labor? Thirty, bringing the hair back. That woman at the clothing store had mentioned styling it for concealment, probably have to put it up, somehow. Forty. Hmm, looking at it now, that's definitely going to be a project. Maybe get Kate or Evie to help. Fifty. There, it's been getting dryer as this goes, should be good enough by now.
Grabbing my old clothing and heading back to my room. Latching every latch on the door, tossing the dirty clothes and towel on the floor, turning off the lamp and hopping into bed. Plenty of downsides to this place: dirty bathrooms, questionable clientele, no longer in a good location, but for all of that, the beds are comfortable. Closing my eyes, steadying my breathing, almost to sleep, and then voices from the room adjacent, a john and one of the girls.
Instantly craving Madam Ceclia's sweetener. Had gone overboard with it last night, taking that many hits. Good feelings and the promise of peace makes for very addicting stuff. A little here, a little there, not a problem. More? Better to tough it out instead, try to ignore the noise and sleep.
The voices from the next door turning more amorous and getting louder. Kicking off the covers and wrestling with myself, stuck between two choices. Seeking oblivion, or the other. The bed from the room next door starting to rhythmically tap against the wall, eating away at my resolve and erasing my hesitance. Opting to indulge in the significantly more tempting choice of the two.
Running my hands lightly up and down my sides, starting at the gentle swell of my breasts, then down to my hips. Lightly bringing my fingertips closer each pass up, not quite touching the nipples, and further toward my center each pass down. Squeezing my soft flesh, running circles around and around, my feelings building. Clamping down on each nipple, pinching and prodding, letting out a series of soft sounds. Squeezing my legs together and twisting my hips, slowly writhing, pinching, and then, without further preamble, bringing a hand down between my tightly closed legs, forcing it between them to seek out my leaking center.
Calling to mind what had happened earlier today, the bare knuckle brawl. The intensity of the crowd, the shouts, the yelling, the unapologetic brutality. Standing on the side of the ring, my hand now rubbing between my legs, and a thrill running through me with each swelling roar of the crowd. And then, from behind, being grabbed, strong hands kneading and pinching my defenseless nipples. Reaching a hand down again and pressing on my pleasure button.
My back arching in sudden surprise, a moan coming from my lips, pressing on it again and again. Too much, too sensitive.
Leaning back into the figure grabbing me from behind and finding myself tossed onto a bed. His form, shadowy and imposing, leaning over me. “This might be something you're good for.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
At his imagined growl, my fingers penetrating and the feeling swelling, building into a crescendo to burst through my middle and radiating outward in waves. Afterwards enjoying the aftershocks and catching my breath. Expecting tiredness, but finding none. That was intense. Starting back up again. And then a third time.
Head lolling off the bed, had gotten turned a little sideways at some point, and a dreamy smile plastered on my face. The second time had been relatively quick, but the third had taken significantly more effort. Sitting up, laughing, bringing my hands up to my face, and with them coming a tangy smell.
Had been so nervous, so worried. And for what? Stretching out my arms, then running them down my form and hugging myself. Still, there was that. Hopping to my feet and off the bed. Using the corner of the covers to try and clean up some. Putting on a fresh pair of underwear and a tanktop, and some pants. Grabbing some money and then walking to the bathroom to wash my hands and face.
Standing outside my room door, my hand bouncing on the handle, debating. Now or never. Releasing my grip, walking to the landing and down the steps. Madam Cecilia glancing up at my approach.
“Can I help you with something, Ms. Macarthy?”
“I want to get some company for an hour.”
“Really?” Her lips curling in amusement. “My girls don't usually cater to that kind of request. I'm certain you could find a gentleman at the bar who may be willing to assist you with that.” Continuing on at my blank stare. “Or, possibly, I could give you a reference to a different establishment.” Continuing on at my annoyed glare. “Or, possibly, I could see if anyone here may be willing. You're quite a one of a kind sort of customer, and someone may decide to jump at the challenge.” Pausing to gauge my reaction. “ Or not. Wait here.”
Leaning on her desk while the woman retreated into the back. Putting my hand to my face and brushing back some of the now unbraided hair. Glancing around and the brute by the door eyeballing me. Not leering at me, more suspicious than anything. Should have brought the knife, now sitting forgotten in the room, but there's probably no harm in asking, maybe he'll know. The man stopping his whittling at my approach.
“I want to ask you about the Council.”
“The Council doesn't ex-”
“Okay. I get that. How do I meet this Council that doesn't exist?” The question short circuiting his brain, an almost visible bit of smoke rising from the area above his confused expression. “The bathhouse, right? What should I say to find something that doesn't exist.”
“You should-” The man abruptly halting, but still struggling to get something out. Nothing coming, instead letting out a deep breath. “I'm sorry, I can't say. The Council doesn't exist.”
“Okay, appreciate it. I won't bother you about it anymore.” The man nodding his head in thanks.
Incapable of saying it, even when it seemed like he wanted to. That's an interesting way to enforce keeping a secret. If that's the case asking any of them any more questions will probably end in failure, so there's really only one way to find out. Next cycle is going to be very busy, Koln is going to have to wait.
“Is that-” a familiar voice behind me. Turning and finding Madam Cecilia coming back with a woman. Buxom, an extra coat of padding. Had always been a real fun lay, no need to be gentle, could take some abuse - enjoyed it, as a matter of fact - and plenty of meat to grab onto. “Mac.” the woman coming over and pulling my face into her bosom, the pungent smell of her perfume surrounding. Much taller than normal. “I'd heard what happened to you, but seeing is believing.” Letting me catch a breath. “You are so adorable.” Starting to regret this decision.
“Ms. Macarthy,” says Madam Cecilia, “I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but there was no shortage of volunteers. She elbowed her way to the front. Is she to your satisfaction?”
Putting on a brave face and handing over the money. “Yeah, she'll do fine.”
“Oh Mac,” pulling me into her chest again before thankfully letting me catch my breath again, “you are in good hands. Me and my little bag of tricks will be sure to show you a good time.”
Keeping her hands on me and leading me up the stairs. My stomach doing queasy flops out of nervous anticipation. Opening the door to the room and the musky scent from earlier still lingering. Coming into the hall.
“I see you already had an early start, you naughty girl.” Pushing me into the room and then her boisterous laughter following me from behind. Closing the latch.
“How do you want to start?” the woman saying. Pulling off her clothes and tossing them aside, her heavy breasts falling into view and her mound bare.
For the first time with something like this, completely at a loss. Should be obvious what to do, but there's no flame of desire - there's not even a spark - there's no overwhelming need to take and conquer her. Only a vague curiosity at examining the hefty, perfumed woman who's only wearing a grin.
“Baby,” a slight look of concern, and then a huge laugh, “you are so cute, I love that you're so shy. That's my mistake and I'm sorry for asking. It's my responsibility to bring you through this, so let's get you out of those clothes.”
Letting her help pull off my tanktop, her hands gently bringing it up and my arms reaching into the air. Tossing it aside and then one of her soft hands running over my neck, and then shoulder, and down my arm, entwining her fingers in mine.
“Let's get these off, too.”
Hesitating, and then undoing my pants, and the woman helping me pull those off. Her fingers starting at my toes, traveling up my legs, getting lost a time or two on my thighs before reaching my panties. Slowly pulling at those. Lifting up my hips to help her. Off. The woman taking a seat on the bed, her heavy breast pushing into me.
“You are so beautiful.” A whisper in my ear and a kiss on my neck. Her hand making gentle motions on my tummy, and my heartbeat starting to increase. Soft lips kissing mine. Trying to kiss her back, but out of sync, late on each. Closing my eyes, trying to imagine, but her soft lips and touches too delicate, not insistent. Nice, a nice feeling. But not what matched my earlier fantasies or current desires.
Bringing my hand to her breast, warm and soft, and putting my other hand on her side. Pleasant, yielding flesh in the past, not very long ago, but now more like warm dough. Flabby. Opening my eyes and breaking our kiss.
“Lay back.” Giving me a light push. Too light. Scooching up on the bed and putting my head on the pillow.
The woman crawling up and spreading my legs. Her breath tickling my sex, now touched with slight perspiration. Taking a taste, gentle and slow, and then more than a taste. All my previous qualms and hesitance quickly forgotten.
Trying to come to my senses. How long had it been? My throat sore, and my muscles still giving out small spasms. The woman giving me a peck on the cheek and holding me close.
“I'm glad you enjoyed that.” Giving me another small kiss. Looking over at her, not sure what to say, but giving her a small kiss back. “I've got something else for you,” she says. Moving off the bed and getting something. The bed shifting, and then something prodding at my soaked cunt. Glancing down, a cylindrical object in her hand. Slowly pushing in, then stopping. Spreading me apart, filling me. Putting it in and pulling it out. Closing my eyes, imagining something else, imaging my fantasy earlier. Pushing in, pressing against something, a bit more force and then a pinch, the thing sliding in. Letting out a small, distressed sound.
“Oh, no, baby.” The woman looking up at me with concern and withdrawing the object. “I'm sorry, I didn't know.” Crawling up to me, pulling my head into her chest and wrapping her arms around me. “Baby, I'm sorry.” Cooing at me. “You're okay, you're okay.”
The minor pain quickly fading. Bringing my hand to touch her concerned face and giving her a reassuring smile. Resting my head against her pillowy soft warmth as she gently continued stroking my hair.