Though this story is fantasy, all characters in it are of a legal age. The protagonist is in his mid-twenties, though it will not come up. If you wish to skip to the steamy part of the story, you will find it in section 2. Thank you.
* * *
1: A Bath and Laundry Fee
I dropped to one knee, narrowly dodging the Red Orc's backswing. It's crude jagged blade thudded into the tree behind me. I rolled to the side, dodging, as the bastard kicked a hobnail boot at me and shot to my feet, expecting a meaty fist to remove my jaw from its socket. Instead, the orc was taking the time to pry its sword free. I did not hesitate. Pressing forward, I slipped my dagger into the back of the creature's knee and twisted just as it wrenched its sword free in an explosion of pulp and splinters. It fell to all fours, its sword clanging safely out of reach, and swiped at my head from the ground as it turned to face me in a sitting position. It missed by several feet.
"You still wanna do this?" I asked it in the common tongue.
"Ith muk grakar zrak, korthak sharn, zhorak vulk," the red orc growled.
I am bad with the Goblin languages; you can never tell when they are talking about your mother, their own mother, or just have seasonal allergies. This one had said something to the effect of,
I will destroy, you tiny cocked dog
. Or something close to that.
"Rithkra ith zathka," I said.
Fuck your mother
. It was one of the few phrases I could utter like a native speaker. This caught the orc by surprise. Then, as he turned a deeper shade of red in anger, I kicked the shit out of him, knowing it would only buy me a second.
There was a howl of pain—it was mine; orcs are hardheaded—as I dove behind the thing in a practiced tumble, grabbing up the ugly slab of cold iron it had wielded, and striking hard at the back of the creatures neck. I did not wait to see if I struck true before I struck again. And again. And again. If you have never heard a severed head hit the ground and roll, I can't explain it save to say, it sounded like victory.
* * *
Contrary to what they say about the adventuring life, civilian women don't generally find a man caked in the gore of battle sexually appealing. That's why inter-party relationships are so common. That's also why most parties have a hard expiration date as soon as members start banging. My last party had been no different. Ah, but that elf was limber.
I was thinking of these things and more as I sat in a warm bath of what used to be hot water, in the fine town of Grisford. It was a nice little room the inn prepared off to the side, in a separate building. though it cost three coppers extra a night to use.
That Innkeeper had been brutal with negotiations. His wife had nice tits though. She hadn't been fond of all the blood on me either—less found of the orc ears in my knapsack. Wouldn't even let me take a bath without dumping a few buckets of cold water over me. The devil could take orcs of all colors. I was going to have to add a "bath and laundry" fee to my service bill from here on out. The guild needed to start issuing promissory notes for expenses, or something. It was a two day ride to Tarynn, if I left at dawn—
"Excuse me," a velveteen voice said, in a muddled accent. I was pulled from my thoughts. I looked up to see the voice was attached to a slender woman with an athletic frame. She was almost as tall as I was, with thick locks of hair the shade of rich walnut that fell to her shoulders in ribbons. She was only wearing a towel and I could see she had few tattoos I didn't recognize and a number of thin, silver scars shimmering against her tanned, honey skin.
I tried to nonchalantly answer her while covering up my member like a gentleman.
"Yes—um—how can I be of service?"
"Service? I was told there were baths here." She arched a dark eyebrow.
"Just the one actually but I finished already, so—."
"Have you, now?" The corner of her cupid lips turned ever so slightly upward. "Is that why the water is
mot'rossi
? So murky? Are you spent?"
