It was twilight on the peninsula that marked the northernmost tip of the southern continent, a place where the weather was always balmy and mild, though the inhabitants were seldom as pacific as the climate. Arun was a major port of call for all kinds of travellers. Merchants sailing north or south, mercenaries temporarily between wars, priests on pilgrimage, actors and mummers on tour, scholars visiting the big local library or one of the academies known for the learned people who taught there. Not a peaceful place by any means. Or a particularly decent place by the standards of many. But always colorful. Always exciting.
My company had been deployed on a long slow slog through the south, that had finally ended (after far too long) with capitulation rather than a fight. We had a month's leave, most of us, and money in our pockets. I was ready for some companionship that didn't involve the same old faces. I was ready for excitement. I breathed in the warm spicy air and almost laughed out loud with exhilaration. This was my favorite place. There were no rules here at all. I carried a short sword just in case, but I knew I wouldn't need to use it. And I saw that my favorite inn -- The Eagle -- was still standing at the crossroads just ahead of the big public square. (I was relieved, accidents were sometimes known to happen when the carousing was excessive.)The merchants were just lighting their torches in the square up ahead, and a festival atmosphere was already incubating. A group of musicians played a gay dance tune that set a few folk twirling in the dusty road. I'd scrubbed myself clean and dressed as I liked -- leather and brass, but not much of either, my hair hanging loose across my shoulders and down my back, my amulets jingling between my exposed breasts.
The inn welcomed me like an old friend with smells of cinnamon and cider and smoke, interior lanterns already lit, a happy crowd calling and laughing to itself to herald the onset of night. This was not the kind of place where anyone had inhibitions. I passed two women twined in one another's arms on my way to the broad wooden counter, and a couple that seemed almost ready to fuck was poised at one of the long narrow tables at the back, the woman bent over, looking coyly over her shoulder and laughing. There were a few friendly catcalls, and several creative suggestions. The atmosphere was of benign, albeit investedly interested, approval. I felt a tingle between my legs. It promised to be a splendid evening.
I always preferred smoke to mead, and the smoke at the Eagle was the best in town. Mild, no nasty surprise additions, no unpleasant stimulants. I took a seat at the counter, puffed my pipe and sipped a goblet of cider, taking some time to look around. I saw you almost at once. You were scanning the room too, leaning casually on a corner table. You were armed, but not ostentatiously so -- I assumed that you were probably in the same line of work as I. And, I was happy to see, you were wearing almost as few clothes. A leather kilt and arm guards, a beaten metal belt low on your hips, and a single talisman on a leather cord at your throat. A red cord was woven in your long hair, most of which hung loose. A ruby glittered in your ear. You were very tan, your skin several shades darker than mine. I knew I wanted you at once. That was lucky. Sometimes I didn't see anyone who interested me at all. But that was only half the battle. Now I had to see if you wanted company as well.
Someone began to play something lively at the back of the big high-ceilinged room as I managed to catch your eye and smile. I raised my pipe in invitation.
"Join me?" I mouthed.
It was too noisy for a shout to be heard. You ambled over, and you looked even better to me standing than you did leaning. The breadth of your shoulders and the narrowness of your waist just took my breath away. I smiled again as you took a seat beside me at the counter and passed you the pipe. You inhaled and smiled back into my eyes. We didn't need words. We knew why we were there. We knew what we wanted. Before the bowl was empty, your hand was sliding along my thigh.
I couldn't resist moving my own hand to your lap, where the shape of your cock grew unmistakable through the leather. I'd only set the pipe aside, and you were on your knees before me, your arms wrapped around my waist, your mouth on my breasts. The breath hissed through my teeth.
There was a stir around us. The patrons of the Eagle looked forward to just the kind of entertainment we seemed about to provide. There was a kind of rustle of anticipation, and interested focus of attention.
Well, why not be accommodating? I loosened the belt at your waist and dropped your kilt (approving murmurs from the crowd) and knelt to take all of you in my mouth at once, savoring the drop of dampness at the tip of your cock, running my hands up your chest as I took you as far down my throat as it seemed possible for you to go.
You were so big now, and so hard, that I couldn't fit all of you in my mouth any longer. But you seemed quite pleased nonetheless, burying your hands in my hair, gently moving your hips back and forth to appreciative cries from the crowd.
Then you lifted me to my feet and had my own kilt off in a trice (someone behind us whistled) so that I was clothed in my long hair and my amulets and nothing else at all. And that's when you sat me on the counter of the Eagle and began to fuck me in a way that set a record in that establishment and became a standard for performance for years to come.
Time slows down. I feel the wooden counter under my ass, worn absolutely smooth by nearly a century of service, some of it probably the kind of service it's doing now. I glance to the side as the barkeep winks and stows my belt pouch and sword where they can't be lifted. He wants to keep me happy. At the moment I am very, very good for business. So are you. The staff regularly encourage displays of affection, the more explicit the better.
And we're enjoying showing off. My white skin and tangled hair, your contrasting bronze. I arch my back and shake my hair out of the way, feeling the eyes on me almost like fingers stroking. I spread my legs for you and arch my back to angle my cunt forward, so wet that nothing at all needs to be done to make me ready, something you discover when you stroke my clit.
Your smile is almost feral. I can see the muscles in your arms and shoulders tense as you grip my hips, and then you're inside me all at once, making me sob at the feeling, the bigness of you filling me up like a vessel at the bar.
I hear an intake of breath from the room at large, as if it's breathing with us -- surging with you, filling with me, rousing with the two of us as we lose ourselves in the ebb and flow of motion, the extra sensitivity from the smoke, the extra intensity of every movement on account of its being seen and lingered over and watched with brooding, curious eyes.
I lean further and further back until I'm lying on the counter, raising my legs until one ankle lies over your shoulder and one foots rest gently on your collarbone. The depth of penetration is fantastic, almost painful, so intense that for a moment all I am is one pulse of sensation, almost screaming to be so completely filled. Someone in the room is screaming, I think, but my senses have become so focused to a pinpoint that I can only ride the orgasm like a whirlwind, hurled into it by forces entirely beyond my control.
