Note: this is a follow up to
Cinder's Strange Brew
.
The nighttime breeze stirred the tattered remains of Cinder's toga, slipping amongst the folds of the makeshift garment like it had paid for the privilege. The summer air whispered across her bare skin, warm and sweet. It carried the scent of bougainvillea and jasmine, wafting up from the private gardens of the manor homes lining the street.
The elf took a deep sniff and exhaled a contented sigh. It was fortunate that the night was so pleasant, because Cinder's toga was in absolutely no shape to protect her from the elements. It hung from Cinder's curves disconsolately, like a sail that had seen its ship through a hurricane.
But like, just
barely.
Actually, 'toga' was a pretty generous word to describe the length of soiled fabric. The thing had started as a tablecloth but had been press-ganged into garment duty after Cinder and her friend Maeryll indulged in what had been a frankly excessive meal at the Vendôme.
Cinder had eaten loads of good food, not to mention... well, loads of good loads. The whole affair had rendered Cinder's original outfit unusable for anything other than a particularly sticky dishrag.
"Just give it up man," Cinder sighed, staring down at the bedraggled tablecloth wound about her shapely body.
It fluttered forlornly in the warm breeze.
The toga had held up pretty well for a while, at least until Cinder and Maeryll met an old adventuring pal outside of the restaurant.
Becky hadn't been exactly pleased when she learned what the glass of 'elfwine' Cinder handed her really was. Probably Maeryll's constant snickering gave away the game, but Cinder couldn't blame her friend. It
was
pretty damn funny.
Heh. Elfwine.
Even now, Cinder couldn't help but giggle at the memory of Becky taking a sip of the viscous liquid in the beer glass.
Alas, Becky didn't seem to have the same refined and classy sense of humor as the two elves. When Becky found out what she'd just slurped down, she shrieked, "You just had me drink a glass of your
cum?
" then hauled off and punched Cinder directly in the left tit.
They'd had a wonderful scrap right there on the sidewalk (Cinder was pretty sure that Maeryll had actually bitten Becky on the ass at one point) before the impending arrival of the constabulary meant they had to cut the party short.
"I'll get you back for this," Becky promised. The Rooster made a threatening gesture at Cinder, then darted off in the opposite direction of the two elves, muttering curses all the while.
"See ya, Becks!" Cinder had waved cheerily at the raven-braided woman's fleeing form.
While fun, the fight also had left Cinder's improvised toga in a sorry state. Honestly, she'd have been fine strutting her stuff around the city bare assed, but apparently there were 'rules' in the Silver Quarter against 'public indecency,' 'lewd acts,' and 'wanton behavior.'
Anyway, despite looking like it had been mauled by a bugbear, Cinder still preferred the tablecloth toga to that idiotic outfit Maeryll made her wear to the restaurant.
"Stupid bet," she groused out loud. "Stupid skirt."
And so, the sorry state of Cinder's clothing brought them both to this quiet, pleasant-smelling, portion of the Silver Quarter, on the hunt for some suitable replacements.
This particular street had a reputation among the well-heeled, earning it the nickname 'The Lane of Longing.' The whole boulevard was taken up by covered carriages parked end-to-end along the curb. Bored drivers in fine livery sat atop them, holding the reins of their horses and waiting for their wealthy employers to finish up whatever prurient business brought them to the lane so late at night. Presumably, they were well-compensated for their discretion.
Certain telltale sounds emanated from the carriages; sensual sighs, lusty moans, and the occasional growled curse. The muted music of wet flesh slapping together joined the noise of the nocturnal insects and the distant hubbub of downtown.
Cinder leaned back against a streetlamp and crossed her arms. She shot a glare at the carriage in front of her, which was by far the most violently rocking one of the bunch. The suspension of the thing squealed and groaned, making almost as much noise as its hidden occupants. The alarmed driver sitting atop the carriage box gripped the seat tightly to stop from being thrown off. His expression was of a person who did not get paid enough to deal with this sort of shit.
Wow Maeryll,
Cinder thought as a particularly loud cry of pleasure came from the carriage.
This is just embarrassing.
The redheaded elf rolled her eyes and looked around, seeking distraction. Down the street, a flicker of movement caught her attention. Cinder narrowed her eyes against the glare of the streetlight, waiting to see if what had drawn her gaze would reappear. It didn't, but Cinder was left with the vague, unsettling sense of being watched.
Huh.
When nothing untoward happened, Cinder shrugged and refocused her attention on the ill-used driver sitting atop the rocking carriage.
"Hey," she said, giving him a lazy, charming smile.
"Ahem," he harrumphed. He quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening.
The carriage gave a particularly aggressive heave. One of the participants inside let loose with a low, pleased wail of desperate ecstasy.
"You suuuuuure?" Cinder asked the driver, her tone cajoling and her eyebrows waggling suggestively. "Don't want to be left out of the fun, do you? I bet it's tough, having to sit up there night after night, listening to all that business going on."
"It's not
every
night," the man muttered.
"Must be frustrating though," Cinder replied. "Want me to help you work out some of those frustrations?"
Cinder bit her lip and lowered her eyes, then tugged aside the shreds of her toga to reveal the slope of one of her luscious breasts.
That
got the driver's attention, but at that moment, the violent shaking of the wagon in front of her ceased. The door swung open with a bang, and the driver quickly looked away.
"Great timing," Cinder said sarcastically as Maeryll emerged from the carriage's dimly lit interior. Cinder caught a glimpse of plush cushions and velvet upholstery.
Maeryll stepped out onto the street wearing a small, pleased grin, her lipstick smeared and her moon-pale hair stylishly mussed. She adjusted the straps of her black sheath dress where they'd slipped, then turned back to the carriage.
Another woman leaned out, reaching for Maeryll like a drowning sailor grabbing for a life rope. The pretty pile of blonde ringlets arranged on the woman's head was askew, and she was wearing a slightly thunderstruck expression on her round, flushed face.
The girl looked like she'd been run over by a whole team of carthorses, and had loved every single second of it. Lipstick marks covered her face and neck, and from what Cinder could see around the blanket she clutched to her chest, they certainly didn't stop there.
"Hope you had fun," Cinder grumped, wrinkling her nose at her friend.
"Oh, I did," Maeryll assured her. She ran her fingers through her lustrous hair, trying to bring some semblance of order to her ashen locks.
"Lady elf!" the apple-cheeked girl cried, leaning out of the carriage door so far that Cinder thought she was going to tumble out onto the street. "When shall I see you again?"
There was a note of forlorn distress in her voice that made Cinder cringe on the girl's behalf. No way Maeryll was
that
good at eating pussy.
Cinder thought about it for a second.
Ah ok fine,
she admitted.
Maybe she is, just a little.
Maeryll braced herself against the carriage door frame, then leaned in to press her lips against the soft curve of the woman's mouth. The kiss was long, slow, and more ridiculously ostentatious than all the gold leaf on the carriage's trim.
Cinder puffed out her cheeks and sent a 'Can you believe this shit?' look up at the carriage driver, but the man had apparently found something really interesting to look at on his fingernails. He was studiously ignoring everything going on around him, especially those things pertaining to his employer's erotic activities.
Maeryll whispered something to the besotted woman too low for even Cinder's pointed ears to pick up. The golden-curled lass reached behind her, then handed over a bundle of cloth to Maeryll.
"Take it, as we agreed," she said in a breathy rasp, "but know that you take my heart too."
"Oh
please
," Cinder muttered. "You literally just met the chick."
The girl in the carriage shot her a dark look, but Maeryll distracted her with another kiss, then gently shut the carriage's door on her face. The last thing Cinder saw of the woman was her expression of lovelorn yearning.
"Wow M," Cinder said conversationally from her spot by the lamppost, "you know, I think I might actually throw up. Even drinking all those mugs of jizz back at the restaurant couldn't turn my stomach this much. So congrats on that."
Maeryll ignored her. The lithe elf produced a cigarette and a match- gods knew from where, her dress certainly didn't have any pockets- and struck it against the gilded wheel of the carriage. She took a deep drag and exhaled a fragrant cloud of silvery smoke.
