Cecil and the Satyrs
The early months of Cecil's days as wench of The Bull and Mare inn continued to have their ups and downs - but mostly downs. Though improving, the arrival of guests was still sporadic. With a tiny improvement in revenue, the innkeeper Richard had begun to make repairs, but the inn was still far from the most impressive in the land. His well-intentioned efforts to spruce up the inn frequently went awry as many things continued to go poorly, and often.
One hot summer day, when the air was still and the sun blazed, Cecil lounged inside, fanning herself. Even sitting inside, sweat beaded on her smooth olive skin, trickling down from her neck and across her chest. She had unbuttoned her shirt and rolled her dress down to her waist, desperate for relief from the heat. Cecil waved a cheap fan, her curly hair wavering back and forth.
"Cecil!"
Richard's voice roared from outside. It was followed by banging on the roof. Cecil sighed, looking up at the patchy roof. The innkeeper was outside, mending broken shingles. His stomping threatened to put new holes in the roof, and each bang sent dust tumbling down. With a sigh, Cecil dragged herself from her chair and went outside.
"Cecil!" Richard yelled, looking down at the wench. He froze on seeing sweat soaked her shirt and the thin linen clung to her tits and her nipples were perfectly outlined.
"You called?" Cecil yelled back up.
"Right, the well ran dry. I'm out of water up here, and we're near out inside. Grab those buckets there and head to the river. We need both of the barrels inside full."
Cecil looked at the two buckets, hanging from a yoke, then over to the shallow river some hundred paces away. "You mean to make a pack animal of me? It'll take all day to fill those barrels. I'm a wench, not an ox! Ask Georg!"
Richard wiped sweat from his dripping brow. "Gods above, I don't know where my son is, and I have to fix this roof. If we don't have water, any guest that comes will leave in an instant! You were the one to deal with the tax collectors, Cecil! You know this inn is barely holding on. Help me, please."
Cecil put her hands on her hips. "The baths are full."
Richard groaned and tugged at his mustache. "We can't drink water from the baths! We need those barrels full, Cecil."
"RICHAAAAAARD!" roared an awful, cacophonous voice. "WE NEED TO GO TO MARKET."
The innkeeper scrambled to his ladder at the edge of the roof. "My wife is calling, as if the day couldn't get worse. Village will be half a day's walk in this heat, we'll likely stay there for the night. Please, Cecil, fetch the water."
"What do I get?"
"You're the wench!"
"And this is decidedly more than normal wench work. I want something more."
"Fine! You can have the next three days off, not a lick of work," Richard said in defeat.
"Enjoy the market," Cecil said, taking up the yoke and buckets.
With Richard gone and Georg missing as usual, Cecil trudged to the river. She stepped inside, the waters refreshingly cool. Dipping the buckets in, she heaved the load back onto her shoulders and marched back to the inn.
"At least I'll be able to take a bath," she said to herself. "Not like we'll be getting travelers on a day this hot. Anyone with half a mind will rest wherever they are."
Cecil labored back into the inn and kicked the door open. Stumbling around the bar, she reached the two large barrels which needed filling. She emptied the buckets in, then peered inside.
"Fuck!" she said, the first of the barrels less than a tenth full. "Well, seeing as no one is coming, I might as well get comfortable."
Cecil took off her shirt, freeing her perky breasts. She wrapped the garment around the yoke and raised it back to her shoulders and resumed her march.
As Cecil returned with her second load of water, she wondered about Georg. That useless sack of meat. Boy has a great cock, but he hides like an owl from the sun. If he were ever around, I bet I could teach him to be quite the lover. Bet he could be of use around the inn, doing things like HAULING WATER.
When Cecil was carrying the buckets back for the fifth time, she spied two people walking down the road. The thought of putting on her sweat-soaked shirt was so repulsive that she didn't care if they passed the inn or not and saw her tits on full display.
After a few more loads from the river, Cecil looked to the approaching travelers. Sauntering down the road, she could tell they were satyrs. Cecil sighed, as satyrs were known to be rude tricksters. Not a single other race cared for their company, and she hoped they would simply pass by or take a different road.
Another two loads of water and the first barrel was full. Cecil grinned, then stepped out of the inn. The satyrs were near enough to see them clearly. Their appearance surprised Cecil.
While satyrs were known for scraggly hair, blemished skin, unclean bodies, and horrible teeth, these two were markedly different. Short by human standards, the two male satyrs were similar in height to Cecil. Their hairy legs were covered in smooth, soft, trim light brown hair. Their hooves were neat and clean. They were both fit and lean, with the pronounced muscles of their humanlike upper bodies on display. Simple loincloths covered their crotches, but even the fabric looked well-made and hemmed instead of the expected coarse material. Cecil wondered what might hide beneath, as satyrs for all their repulsiveness were rumored to be well endowed...
Gods, am I attracted to satyrs? This heat must be getting to me, she thought.
Cecil hurried to the river and filled the buckets. Turning back, the satyrs stood between her and the inn with their arms crossed. They had handsome faces with trim beards and narrow, spiraling horns.
Cecil's hands dangled over the yoke which pressed against her shoulders, the barrels full of water. "If there's a pair of eyes between the two of you to see with, you'd notice the buckets I'm carrying. Please move."
