"I should have stayed in bed...or taken the day off...or something," Alissa thought as she stood behind the bar, gripping onto the edge of the small shelf under it to keep her shaking to a minimum. "This just isn't going to work."
Work. That one word held so many meanings. At least, at that moment it did. It reflected how busy the tavern was that afternoon. It relfected how much stress this added to the workload she was picking up from three bar maids being out sick. And most of all, it reflected on how hard it was to get anything done with a five inch vibrator happily humming away deep in her cunt.
Most of this was her own fault. She was far too nice to turn down a double or a triple shift, no matter how annoyed or tired she felt. Her co-workers sick leaves were usually no more than a hangover or a black eye from a rowdy customer that thought he was getting charged too much for a blow job. But that went with the job. Alissa was one of the few girls in the tavern, perhaps the wholw city even, that did not offer such graphic sevices. So, naturally, everyone dumped their workloads on her when being in tip top shape to score the richer hard ups wasn't a viable option.
As for the vibrator...that was her reminder of why she shouldn't pick up strangers in the tavern. Who knows how sadistic they may turn out to be. Or, if not sadistic, creative, as he turned out to be.
In hindsight, it had been rather foolish of her. Agreeing to leave with any of the customers, no matter who they were, was bound to give the regular cunt hounds a bad idea and tarnish the respectible reputation she had built up for herself. Alissa knew next to nothing about this man, aside from the fact that he always came in alone, usually left alone (from what she could tell, that is) and his drinks varied between water, ale or whiskey on the rocks, sometimes drinking only one while on other nights he drank all three. Then there were rumors.
Telling a bar maid or a whore you were a famous musican, poet, the Count of Timbucktu, Red Beard the pirate with a murder record a mile long and more treasure that could never be spent in a single life time was typical. It got purrs, flashes of skin, the impressed whore would let "Red Beard" fuck her in the ass and all would go home happy. But the whispers Alissa heard in the corners of the tavern when this man started to come in were highly unsual. They said he was a vampire slayer.
It was not an occupation to take lightly or throw around with a loose tongue. Walls have eyes, and the shadows ears. Word gets around fast in a town like Tià Suth. The tables can turn, the hunter becomes the hunted and then inexplicibly disappears to either not be seen again or found later on, which was sometimes worst.
It went without saying that most slayers stayed tight lipped about their line of work. They posed as inne keepers, tenders, farm hands and the like to avoid suspicion. With everyone seeming to know so much about this one man, Alissa figured it was just a rumor, a story someone with a grudge made up to get revenge for fucking their girlfriend. It was settled in her mind when she actually started talking to him and found out he was a nice as they came, though a bit on the flirty side, and could put Prince Charming to shame.
Finally, Alissa gave in and agreed to get a room with him, though it couldn't be where she worked. She didn't want the other customers to get any ideas and start to think they could start getting in line. That was the first time she had ever picked someone up from the tavern and she intended it to be the last.
Regardless, she was not dissipointed by her decision. Before they had even left the porch, he had her pressed against the wall, her skirt around her waist and his dick deep in her cunt. He fucked her hard until he came inside of her, his fluids running down her inner thighs once he pulled out. Letting her down off the wall then, they went to an inne down the road to get a room. Once behind closed doors, they stripped each others clothes off and began again.
He took her cunt, her ass, her mouth, in any position she seemed willing to do it in. And finally, around nightfall, after hours of fucking, coming and a little bit of sleeping, he left her. He claimed to be leaving for his patrol, to watch out for the vampires and other various deamons that like to haunt the streets of Tià Suth. It was rather surprising he would admit to it but she still passed it off as a story, nothing more than a way to cut and run.
That was when he introduced the vibrator.
"Dont' touch it," he had said, turning it on before sliding it into her cunt. "I don't want to see it moved when daybreaks."
"Ah...and how am I supposed to keep my mind on work with that in me?" she asked, squirming around. The vibrator was small, a typical slim line model, but packed quite a punch. Soon, she was clutching at the bed as another orgasm surged through her.
"Try real hard," he said with a chuckle, then left.
That was earlier in the evening, sometime around six. Alissa went into work at ten, after three and a half hours of attempted rest. What little she managed to get had been fitfull. But at least she didn't have to clean up the bed.
In actuality, it wasn't that bad walking around with a vibrator humming away inside of her. After awhile, she had gotten used to it. But when it made her cum...that was another story altogether. Rather than short, small spurts of electricity and wetness, they had evolved to the longer, slower, dripping type that was not in the least bit helpful while trying to run a business. Sure, they were further apart now, but at that price, the more frequent and shorter ones had been better.
The first time the long ones hit, she had pulled onto the lap of one of the drunk patrons. The force of which she was sat down made the vibrator jab deep into her and forced her to cum. She would have gotten up right away, but it was all she could do to keep from trembling right there. So, she ended up sitting on the strangers lap for awhile longer, tolerating his whiskey tainted breath and batting away his probing hands until she was sure she could make it back to the bar. She could only hope that she hadn't left a wet spot on the poor fools pants and, if so, the dark coloring would conceal it.
Aside from the earth shaking orgasms, the other tavern maids and regular customers that came to chat while they enjoied a night cap all kept asking her what was wrong. They said she looked pale, sickly even. Often enough she was offered food, water or a chair to sit down, but she declined all. If she kept working, maybe it would take her mind off of it. And it worked, for the most part,
