"So do we have a deal?" the mysterious woman asked, leaning over the table to gage Galvyn's reaction, and also revealing and endless expanse of cleavage. Galvyn had no idea how such a busty woman was able to keep her mountainous breasts from spilling out of her very low-cut dress. He thought it might be magic, but as one of her ruby red nipples began to peek out of her bodice Galvyn just figured her tits were especially firm despite their size. They were incredible tits, probably some of the best he had ever seen. Like two giant melons just begging to be juiced, or big warm pillows he could sleep on. Her skin was so smooth and clean he could almost see his reflection in it, and she had none of the freckles or veins that women usually had with breasts the size of flour-sacks.
Galvyn blatantly gaped at the woman's cleavage with obvious intent, as he also gaped at the bag of gold she had placed on the table. Fifty crowns. Most jobs Galvyn took only paid twenty or thirty silver, and one gold crown was worth a hundred silver. There was enough money in that purse to buy a townhouse and retire on.
Galvyn gaped at her cleavage, then the gold. Then he cleavage again. Then the gold. The cleavage. The gold. The cleavage. The gold. The cleavage. The gold. Her nipple peeking over. The gold.
"What's the catch?" Galvyn asked, resisting every instinct and desire to just scream "YES!" at the top of his lungs. He would have, had he been a bit younger, but Galvyn had just turned 30 years old, and for thieves, 30 years was ancient. By that time they hit 30, most thieves were either dead or comfortably retired, but Galvyn was neither. Lady Luck kept him alive, but also poor.
The woman leaned back and coyly bit her lip, smiling just enough to seem condescending, but also confident. She discreetly tugged up her bodice and hid her nipple away, but not so far that Galvyn didn't expect to see it again. She sipped her wine and licked the rim of her glass with a long, lewd tongue. She really was one of the most purely erotic creatures Galvyn had ever come across. Tall, toned, long-legged, buxom to the extreme, fiery red hair, incandescent green eyes, plump lips, and buttocks as big and hard as a mare's. She could have stood in as a stature of Luxuria, the Goddess of Lust, at the Temple of Passion, and no one would have questioned it. She made nymphs look like gawky teenagers.
"No catch," the woman said, her voice hot and sweet. "But it will be dangerous. The Ruins of Irah Atam have been abandoned for centuries, but some of its traps might remain active. The cult that built it was known for being particularly crafty."
"Not to mention the orcs," Galvyn grunted.
"Mmmm. The orcs," the woman chuckled, as if she were just talking about a herd of troublesome swine and not a barbaric band of brutal brutes. "The 'Head Banger-Boyz' as they call themselves, lead by the black-orc Crunk the Elf-Skewer. Yes. They've been squatting in the ruins for the last year and using it as their base. They shouldn't be any problem if you can sneak past them though."
Galvyn was not so cavalier about the issue of orcs. "Do you know why the call Crunk the 'Elf-Skewer?'"
"No. I assume because he skewered and elf."
"He did . . . on his penis."
"Oh."
"Crunk's cock is supposed to be three feet long, and as thick as a fence-post."
"Oh."
"And the elf he skewered on it was only about four-feet tall."
"Oh."
"And a boy."
"Oh!" The woman chuckled curtly. "Well . . . if the job was easy I wouldn't be willing to pay so handsomely for it. The orcs are the main issue, really. I only offered the first two adventurers I sent after the relic twenty-five crowns, but the orcs caught them, raped them, and sold them into slavery. Poor girls. They were sisters I think . . . or lovers . . . or mother and daughter . . . I forget. I have trouble remembering losers. After that I had to raise the price to forty crowns, and the only taker was a half-ogre who was as big as a house. Crunk apparently killed him though, and so now I'm offering fifty. Considering your reputation for being such a particularly stealthy fellow, Galvyn the Sparrow, I believe you would be perfect."
Galvyn rubbed his palms and considered it. He was stealthy, that was true, and he was decent in a swordfight, but stealth was his game. As a child he had stolen nuts from squirrels. As a young man he had stolen maidens out of their husbands' beds, and plucked their cherries from virgin brides before their betrothed could. He had once stolen a loose tooth from the mouth of a sleeping dragon, and the hat off a wizard. Galvyn was a good thief. There was no arguing that. But 30 was very old for a thief, and Lady Luck had a funny habit of shoving her fist elbow-deep up his ass at all the most inopportune times. Galvyn had just gotten out of a three week stint in a Hedonian prison for stealing a countess's diamond-encrusted dildo. He had been sentenced to three months, not three weeks, but he got the time reduced when the countess in question started paying him conjugal visits. It seemed she liked his big warm cock to her cold golden dildo, and was willing to vouch for him after three weeks away from her husband, who was now after Galvyn's head. Lucky but not lucky. That was Galvyn's life
"Seventy-five," he said.
"I'm sorry?"
"Seventy-five crowns. And as a bonus, if I get back in one piece, I get to shove my dick between those fat tits of yours until I nut. I want to see my milk plaster that pretty face of yours."
The woman snarled, her erotic lips curling over her perfect white teeth in beautiful disdain. For a moment she dropped her facade and revealed to Galvyn just how superior she felt about herself, and how disdainful she was of Galvyn. He didn't really blame her though. This woman had the body of a fertility-goddess and the swagger of a slutty succubus. Even when he closed his eyes, Galvyn could smell the sex oozing off of her skin. She was perfect. He was not. She was a sexual queen. He was shit. Also, from the way she had been looking at their waitress all night, Galvyn guessed she was a lesbian.
"I . . . you . . . I," the woman stammered. "My . . . you are a cocky fellow."