The Inn Ch. 03

"She's stunning," I said. "Honestly, I'd kill to take her to bed. But ..."

The rest of my sentence drowned in the earnest blue pools of the serving girl's eyes. I just can't, I'd been about to say. And why exactly couldn't I?

"Hey," growled Burgham from his side of the bar. Several mugs, bottles, and liquor-filled shot glasses sat atop the counter in front of Leyna where I realized he'd been placing them as we talked. "Customers. Drinks."

Leyna took her hand loose and turned to the drinks, loading them onto her serving platter.

"I understand," she said.

How fucked up is this? I asked myself. You feel like shit because you're making her feel like shit because you won't have sex with a crazy-hot welf-whatever and make some money in the process? How is this not a no-brainer?

My chest burned with what I wanted to say, but a lifetime in a society that vilified sex-work made finding the words a fight. Finally, I tried coming at it indirectly, touching one hand to Leyna's shoulder just before she lifted her tray.

"The thing is -- I don't have any purity oil."

Her expression fluttered a little, like a new butterfly with still-wet wings trying uncertainly to get off the ground.

"Well ... I'd spare you a bit of mine, but I understand welfs always have their own." She paused, searching my eyes. "Are you really going to give it a spin? She'd be a good first one for you -- lady welfs are a gadabout's dream, they say, very easy to please. But ... I know not everyone approves of mining the sheets. It doesn't hurt my feelings so much you should do something against your creed on my account."

If I had any thought of backing out, the empathy and generosity in her liquid blue eyes killed it right there. To have a girl this sweet and pure putting my social anxieties ahead of her own emotions -- I just couldn't think anything was wrong with her or how she lived her life. Turning back now would mean I considered her choices beneath me, considered myself her moral superior. Me, the guy who'd whacked off eavesdropping to the sound of her having sex last night.

"Leyna!"

Burgham's growl made her pick up her tray and take a step away.

"If you're really going to," she said, "tell her you need a bath first, and I'll draw one for you and spot you some advice, okay? And ..." She wrinkled her nose in a kindly way. "... you do need one, a bit."

The suggestion barely even made me self-conscious. I just nodded, and she moved off toward her tables with a twist of her pretty lips that made me glow.

The welf woman's eyes tracked me all the way back to my seat. They had a zest and a hunger in their twinkling depths, a mixture of curiosity and libido that gave a surprising pump to my ego.

"Sorry to run off like that," I said, hoping I managed an even voice as I settled into my chair. "I don't know if you can tell, but I'm strange to this region and what the coins are worth here. My friend says a hafpenny's a very different thing than I'm used to."

"Hmm." Her dark eyes and blood-red lips glinted with feminine interest and amusement. "In the moments, I was thinking, 'Here is a man who does not sell his nib. Did the girl tell me wrong?' So, I am glad it is no question but of currency. What did your friend advice you, then, on price?"

Shit, maybe I should have asked Leyna that if I was going to use it as an excuse.

"Well, she said that first I should ask your specific pleasure, and how much you felt would be reasonable."

She seemed to find that a good answer and gave a grin. "My pleasure is to have you in me ... I think, three times, this night. Or two if I am well enough filled and three is too much for you. Half of one shilling, I paid at the last town. But he did not have your pretty yellow hair or teeth as white."

Half a shilling? That's four times what Turrup paid Leyna ... is she crazy or just loaded? I deliberately avoided getting mad at Turrup for thinking Leyna was worth less than this welf lady thought I was.

Trying to appear easygoing and professional, I said, "As long as I don't have to change my hair color or my teeth, I don't feel right about charging for them. A half-shilling is very fair."

I'll pay Leyna a finder's fee, I thought. However questionable the rest of this is, that's certainly the right thing to do.

The look in the welf-woman's eyes, though, wasn't questionable at all. She held her hand out as if offering it for me to shake. "This transaction suits me. I am Kizaah."

"Simon," I said, taking her hand with only a little hesitation. People in the Phaeland Empire shake hands all the time. Even if she means something else by the gesture, she shouldn't be surprised or offended at a handshake. "Pleased to meet you."

Kizaah smiled and rose from her chair. "I will leave you to total your dining, then. I am room eight when you find readiness. Agreeable?"

"Very agreeable," I said, standing along with her to be polite. "I, ah, meant to have a bath after dinner. That won't be too much of a delay, will it?"

"No," she replied, looking me up and down and licking her teeth. "I even will pay for the bath, if there are bath oils and such like for the skin. Tell our hostess, please."

"Um, yes. I will do that."

And she turned and walked off, hips and a smooth, round ass swaying beneath that golden sash and her tight brown pants.

Christ, I'm going to get paid to hit that? Who invented this place again? Some fucking genius!

* * *

"Half a shilling!" Leyna said, her eyes wide as she worked the handle of a pump attached to the bathtub. The way her breasts swayed each time she pushed down on the lever -- the way they strained at the fabric of her dress -- made the pervert in me count the number of times I could buy her services in bed for that half-shilling. "Either she's desperate to have her hole filled and her nubbin thumped, or she's even more money-flooded than I guessed." She stopped pumping a moment. "I mean, not that I wouldn't pay half a shilling for you if I had it, but -- I mean, I'm not saying -- well --"

Her clean pale cheeks went about as pink as Kizaah's.

I cleared my throat and pointed at the pump. "Look ... why don't you let me do that? I hate to make you wear yourself out --"

Laughing, she went back to her task -- up, down, up, down, leaning over to get her weight on the lever-arm and then pulling up at the bottom of the stroke when the spigot finished gushing.

"Oh, no," she explained. "If the tub overflows a smidge when you get in, that rim on the floor catches it. But if the rim tops over, it trickles down through the floorboards and drizzles into the kitchen. I've learned not to let customers draw their own baths, or it's me Burgham shouts the ears off of when his victuals get soaked. You just take your clothes off and sniff your way through that kit of bath oils to see which ones you like."

Shaking her head, she repeated what she'd said before: "Half a shilling!"

"I figured I'd give you at least ... I don't know, five or six pence out of it for sending her over to -- wait, my clothes?"

"Of course," she said, putting her back into her work. "I can't carry them out to wash them while you're bathing if you're still in them, can I?"

My cock, already half hard from watching her cleavage swing over the pump handle, surged fuller within my pants.

"Uh, but ... you can't wash and dry them while I'm in the bath, right?"

She stopped and gave me a curious smile. "Of course I can. I'll just dust a little desiccant powder over them when they're clean, a hafpenny worth'll do, which you can certain spare out of half a shilling as long as you're paying for baths and bath oil too. What's the use washing yourself and then climbing back into breeches that smell of another woman's cooch and your splurt?"

"Do they?" I glanced down at my burgeoning crotch, alarmed that I'd been walking around stinking of sex the last two days.

"Not from here, they don't," she giggled. "But I happened by your room three times trying to drop off Juliette's saddlebags the other night, and by the sound of it, she wet your pole plenty to leave a lasting whiff. To say nothing of how your sheets smelled when I washed them!" Looking down at the tub, she gave one last plunge on the pump handle and said, "There, I think that's enough. Shuck 'em and climb on in."

"Wait," I said, and not just to delay getting naked in front of her. "Don't you have to pour in some hot water too?" Room temperature couldn't be much more than sixty degrees in the inn, except near a fireplace.

"Where in the world are you from, Simon Kettridge?" Leyna asked, walking over and rummaging in the bin of washing supplies beside me. She came up with a bottle and uncapped it, revealing a bottle-mouth so narrow it was barely a pinhole. "It's like you've never heard of an alchemist."

Returning to the tub, she tipped the bottle up once, twice, and then recapped it. Each time, a single drop fell into the bathwater, which gave a hiss and a spit of steam. She picked up a long-handled back-scrubber and used it to stir the bath, then dipped a finger in and nodded.

"That's hot as I like it," she said, setting the bottle down next to the tub. "You can add another drop if you're dead set on a real simmer. Hey, not even a button undone? Come on, then, show me how you're going to drop your trousers for her in a bit. If it's as shy as this, she may want part of her half-shilling back."

I'd already felt the room warm up slightly from the alchemically heated bathwater. Now a greater heat rose up from my collar to my forehead. Man up, Simon, I told myself. She's right about Kizaah. Who's going to pay me that kind of money if I'm fumbling and awkward?

Forcing myself not to take a deep breath, I stepped out of my shoes and took off my socks, keeping my eyes on Leyna's the whole time. She met that with a look of measured, professional appraisal that somehow relaxed me and lent me some boldness as I undid the front of my shirt and stripped out of it. Then I unbuttoned and unzipped, hooked my thumbs through my waistband, and eased my slacks and boxer-briefs down, trying to be casual because I figured I'd embarrass myself if I went for panache.

When my erection popped out, Leyna gave a tiny breath and let her eyes fall down from mine.

"Is that on cue?" she asked, one eyebrow up, then a faux coy smile broadening her lips. "Or is it for me? You'll make a girl think you fancy her if you're not careful, Simon."

As soon as she said it, I felt my face reddening again. Leyna must have seen, because her teasing smile vanished into uncertainty. Not only that, but I saw, below the bobbed blonde coif of her hair, that her ears went back ever so slightly.

"You'll need a towel," she said quickly, turning to a cabinet that stood opposite the bathtub. From inside, she pulled a folded and somewhat coarse-looking brown towel, which she placed on a chair nearby. By the time she turned back to me, I had my pants all the way off and she'd put her professional face back on.

Gathering my clothes, I glanced down at the basket of bath oils and said, "I have no idea which one of those to pick. Do you recommend anything particular?"

"The brindlebloom," she replied as she took the clothes. "Its lively and fresh and not too girlish to suit a man in the bedroom. The grey-and-black bottle, there. Just use a capful."

I found the bottle she indicated and took it over to the tub. "So," I asked, trying to loosen the bottle's stubborn cap, "you were going to give me some, um, pointers?"

A glance over my shoulder showed her with my laundry folded to her chest. Her eyes, taken off-guard, dashed up my legs and back and ass to meet mine, and she quickly wrestled down a sheepish smile. "Mostly, just that it's a thing to have fun at. I mean, any job's better that way, right, whether it's serving tables or combing down a horse? Only this one will wear you down a lot more than those would, if you come at it like it's a chore."

I got the cap off and poured a measure of liquid into it -- the stuff smelled like a mixture of candles and fresh-brewed tea, with a dash of dryer sheet thrown in. When I tipped it into the bathwater, it bubbled and foamed up aromatically.

"The other thing is," Leyna went on as I recapped the oil and returned it to the basket, "if she asks something you're not keen on, give her a surcharge. And if she asks something that really puts you off, draw your lines and be firm. Most men will respect that, long as you keep your good cheer while doing it. I'm guessing a woman might pout ... but from what I heard the other night, you probably have a trick or two to distract her if needs be."

"Am I allowed to be picky when there's already a half-shilling on the table?" A finger in the water let me make sure I wouldn't scald myself getting in, so I stepped over the brim and eased myself under the bubbles to the waist. It felt glorious ... almost effervescent. "Wow, that stuff's really nice."

She grinned. "Told you. And the half-shilling's no excuse for letting yourself feel used. She's paying you to make her feel good with what you've got -- and what you've got includes what you're willing to and what you're eager for. I don't let a drunk heave on me in the common room, and I don't let a horse nip my fingers in the stables, and I wouldn't even if someone offered me gratuity for either one."

The practical integrity on her face as she offered that advice warmed me nearly as much as the bath, and I couldn't help telling her, "You know, Leyna, you may be the most sensible person I have ever met."

"Oh, if that's true, you need a much wider acquaintance!" she laughed. But she also colored a little and then stepped toward the door. "Anyway, get yourself clean and I'll be back as soon as I've given these a soap and a rinse and some drying powder."

Then she left, and I settled lower and let the bath relax me out of my very stubborn erection.

* * *

All of Leyna's advice notwithstanding, my heart could have been a set of bongos as I knocked at door number eight along the upstairs hall of the Nestled Goose.

And the drummer upped his tempo at the sound of Kizaah's voice saying, "Come in," from the other side. I opened the door to find a room larger than my own, and a bed larger than my own, and the welf-woman lying in it against a heap of pillows, the covers pulled up over her breasts. Fire crackled and leapt in the iron hulk across from the bed, splashing feverish ruddy light onto the walls and furniture.

"Mmmm," said the welf, her dark eyes reflecting the flames toward me. "I've been stoking my fire this whole hour, to keep things warm. Come in. Get out of those clothes."

I did what she said, trying not to think of her as my employer. Customer, I thought, unbuttoning my shirt. No -- fan. She's a fan, right? Just a fan of my looks instead of my books. And this kind of fan could be how I earn my keep here, no different than how the other kind keeps my bills paid back home.

Except that I tried to hold myself to a rule of not sleeping with fans, in the real world. Well, let's just reverse that too and make a rule not to write books for my 'fans' here in Phaeland.

"A nice set are your shoulders, Simon," my welfish fan said from the bed.

"Thanks. I must say, the same goes for you." And it did, in the most mouth-watering and yet throat-drying way. No longer hidden by that silky purple blouse, Kizaah's deep red neck and shoulders and collarbones made my hands ache to touch them.

She smiled, the carmine lips dark and glossy in the firelight, accentuated by the pallor of the face around them. Her hair remained up in that intricate pyramidal coiffure, her hands folded elegantly together where the blankets covered her belly.

I stepped out of my shoes, undid my belt, my fly, the button of my pants. Kizaah sat up a little higher against her pillows. I saw her tongue glide across the white of her teeth.

Socks! I thought at the last moment, suddenly mortified at the idea of presenting this woman with a naked man in dress socks. I lifted one foot and then the other to peel them loose, keeping my eyes on hers the whole time. Then I gathered the undone waist of my pants in both hands.

"Yes, my Simon," she breathed, "show me."

I slid everything patiently downward, smiling at the "Ahh!" she gave when my erection jumped free. The bath had calmed it down for a while, but the calm ended as soon as Leyna came back in with my clothes, and it had stayed stubbornly firm the whole time I dried off and dressed and pep-talked myself along the hallway to Kizaah's room. As a result, I could feel a precum-slick spot in my underwear pull loose from my tip as my pants descended, and another drop swelled and then dangled while I got everything past my ankles.

"Catch that!" I looked up to find her arm out and pointing at the clear, descending dribble. "I want it!"

I got one palm under the viscous drop before it swung too low, and seeing the enthusiasm on her face, I clenched the inner muscles of my groin and milked my shaft to spill out as much more liquid as I could, ending up with almost a dime-sized dollop in the center of my hand.

"Yesss," Kizaah moaned, both hands out toward me now, gesturing me to her. With her body upright and her arms stretched out, nothing held the bedcovers to her, and they fell free, revealing her breasts and belly. She had amazing breasts, full and smooth, large enough to be impressive but not so large that they drooped or sagged. In the firelight, their deep crimson was less noticeable than it had been in the lamplit common room downstairs, so that you might have mistaken them for a dusky brown. But unlike an African-American or a Sarti Highlander like Juliette, Kizaah's abdomen made a pale oval beneath the dark flesh of her rib-cage and luscious tits. The lighter skin of her belly faded to pink and then a dappling of red at each edge of her waist. I couldn't see what the two-tone pattern did below the crest of her pelvis, still hidden by the blankets.

I moved over to her, made more confident by her enthusiasm -- and made enthusiastic myself by the incredible exoticism of her figure and coloration. The scarlet and pink and the darkness of her eyes and sharpness of her ears could easily have made her look a bit fiendish in the firelight, if her smile hadn't been so warm and happy and her lust so frankly open. Reaching out as I drew near, she cradled the back of my hand in one palm and caressed up around my elbow to my triceps with the other. Her nose dipped and sniffed at the glistening bead in my palm, those glinting eyes closing with a flutter. Then her tongue eased out to gently but steadily circle its tip through the precum before lapping the fluid up in three quick strokes.

She looked up at me with a fiery grin of gratitude. "It is very good."

"I'm glad you like it," I said, my head almost spinning with arousal and ego. I could feel heat from the fireplace radiating against my legs and ass and back, while the front of me basked in an entirely different heightening of temperature. "What should we do first? How do you want to get started?"

"First," she said, releasing my hand and switching her grasp to the root of my cock, "I taste from the source."

And she tugged at me and leaned in so that I came closer and her upper body came forward and her lips parted and swept around my tip and all the way up along my shaft.

"Oh god, Kizaah ..."

She just hummed with her eyes closed again, kneading my root with her lips and the squeeze of her grip, sucking hungrily with the muscles of her cheeks to coax another fat runnel of precum out of me. Then, swallowing, she slid off with a pop and said, "Ahhhh."