Chapter 2: The Job Offer

As the blood-red sunrise cast a crimson hue across Dreadrock Ridge and the temperature of the day began to rise, Vanity lay in the bed of her room at The Dirty Pickle; the thin, stained sheet kicked off and crumpled on the bare wood floor, the sweat glistening on her naked body as she languidly rubbed her slick, smooth pussy with one hand and gently tugged at her erect nipples with the other, squeezing and rolling them as she traced circles on her clit. She felt herself reaching the plateau of climax, the warmth in her body and the swelling of her dark nipples, the quickening of her pulse and she breathed more heavily. The memory of the previous night's sex with the two girls was still fresh in her mind, and the heat in her cunt was hotter than the rising sun outside as she slid three fingers inside herself; her fingertips caressing the sweet spot inside her pussy, her juices running down her ass and inner thighs and dripping onto the stained straw mattress. The room smelled of the delicious cocktail of sweat and sex, sour and sweet, and Vanity bit her lip, tensing as her body began to shudder...

Just as she was about to reach orgasm, there was a knock at the door. "Fuck!" she hissed, frustrated at being interrupted. She rolled off the bed, naked and slick, her thick nipples standing at attention, pushed her messy red hair back from her eyes, and pulled the door open. As she opened the door, she was met by the sight of the busty barmaid from the previous night, dressed in extremely revealing lingerie which barely covered her massive breasts or her plump, firm ass; her own nipples visibly hard through the black satin and lace negligee. The barmaid's eyes looked tired like she'd pulled an all-nighter, but they lit up as they roamed hungrily over Vanity's naked form, taking in every curve and contour of her tits, her dripping, hairless tight pussy, her supple thighs and shapely legs.

"Mornin' sugarplum" she drawled, her gold tooth glinting in the red morning light streaming through the wooden shutters of the bedroom window "Hate to disturb your beauty sleep but some men from the mining company're downstairs and want to meet with you. They heard there's a monster hunter in town, 'pparently they got a monster needing hunted."

Vanity's heart leaped as she considered the potential job. A monster in some backwater tin mine didn't sound like Zoran, but she was always prepared to kill a monster and make a few Thalers on the side. She eyed the barmaids thick, curvaceous body and strong arms, biting her lip again as she imagined being relentlessly fucked by this strong woman, being tossed around effortlessly and used in every way imaginable by her; smothering herself in those huge tits while the barmaids rough fingers fucked her cunt and asshole. Her pussy throbbed, the wetness dripping from her into the floor and the sweet scent of her fresh arousal filling the small room. Plenty of time for that later, she thought; her other great passion needed tending to first.

"Tell them I'll be right down" she said, her voice low and sultry. The barmaid nodded.

"Sure thing, sugarplum." Her eyes trailed down Vanitys body one more time, catching sight of a solitary clear drop of juice hanging delicately by a sliver from her pussy. She reached down and caught it gently on her fingertip, her eyes locked on Vanity's as she lifted it to her lips and sucked her finger, long and wetly, savouring the taste of it. "Well I'll be damned, baby" she grinned. "Sweet as a sugarplum after all." She winked at Vanity, and headed down the rickety wooden stairs to the taproom. Vanity watched her go, aching with need, but she pushed her arousal to the back of her mind as she slipped a barely-there silk robe over her naked form, and a pair of soft hide boots over her petite feet, and made her way down to the smoky taproom.

The reddish morning light shone through the shutters, illuminating the bar. It was still early, and the Dirty Pickle only had a few customers, most nursing coffee or whiskey as the smell of cooking eggs and oats wafted through the room. Sitting at the bar, drinking beer from thick black glass bottles, were three rough looking men, not one of them below six feet tall; arms muscled like knotted rope from years of work and faces leathery from the sun. The eldest was a man looking to be in his late 50's, thick salt and pepper hair oiled back from a broad, not unattractive face lined with age and the sun, several days stubble growth on his chin and circles under his eyes made it look like he didn't get much sleep. He wore a leather vest over a slightly stained shirt, open to nearly the navel revealing a powerful, hairy barrel chest, sleeves rolled up showing off thick muscled forearms dappled with dense black hair and several tattoos; one prominently showing a tally mark of three vertical lines, the third line still relatively freshly scarred. At his belt he wore a large hunting knife and a holstered pistol, and one of his compatriots carried a large, mean-looking long-barreled rifle.

Vanity approached the men, hips swaying as she strode slowly but confidently, the thin, almost sheer silk of her robe barely covering her ass and sticking to her curves with the moisture of her sweat; the red morning light reflecting off her smooth legs as she walked to the bar. The three men gazed at her lasciviously as she leaned against the bar and reached for one of their beers, taking a swig of the meady, dark ale.

"Heard you boys need a monster taken care of" she smiled.

The elder looked incredulously at his companions, and the three of them laughed uproariously; a cruel, sneering, ugly laugh.

"The fuck is this?" he scoffed. "I come here to hire a monster hunter, not to get my dick sucked."

"I got a monster you can take care of, girl" the man with the rifle snickered, grabbing at the bulge in his crotch visible through his woollen pants. "Real big one too, be a real treat for a whore like you."

All three men laughed again. Vanity's expression didn't change; she kept the confident smile on her full lips as fast as lightning, she reached for the elders belt and pulled his knife out. In one swift motion, she spun it in her hand and threw it at the man holding his crotch. The knife embedded deep into the barstool between his legs, less than half an inch under his balled up fist, a mere hair's breadth from his balls. He froze in shock, going instantly pale. The quiet murmur of conversation from the few morning patrons stopped, an uneasy silence suddenly filling the taproom as the knife impaled the wood of the barstool with an audible 'thunk'. The elder reacted fast, face twisted in surprise as he reached for the black iron six-shooter at his hip; but Vanity had already pulled it from his holster in a blur of preternatural speed, and the sound of the hammer cocking echoed through the now silent taproom as she pressed the barrell hard under his chin. Her smile dropped a little as her eyes burned into his, which were now wide with fear and shock.

"Listen up, motherfucker. I'm Vanity Fucking Hellsong. Whether or not Vanity means jack to you ain't neither here nor there to me, but I bet sure as the sun rises red that the name Hellsong means something to a mean old shitkicker like you."

She pressed the gun harder under his chin, and the man nodded slowly but surely.

Everyone knew the name Hellsong. Vanity's father Rudolf Hellsong was the most famous monster hunter in all of Tierra Muerta; a true living legend. The Lich-King Ossisoul of Necropolis and the Vampire Lords of Carnifale were even said to fear him. He may have been retired, but his name still carried a weight to it, even out here on the frontier. Vanity smirked at the glimmer of recognition on the elders face as she pressed the gun harder under his chin. "And I'm gonna need for you to put some fucking respect on my name, motherfucker. Just because I'm pretty, doesn't mean I can't handle whatever kinda problem you got. You feel me?"

The man nodded slowly again, perspiration dappling his upper lip. Vanity released the hammer slowly and deliberately, and moved the gun away from the man's chin, spun it on her finger and offered it back to him, black-pearl handle-first. He swallowed hard and took it, hastily re-holstering the weapon. The other two men sat in stunned silence; the one with the knife between his legs fumbled the rifle and it clattered to the wooden floor, breaking the silence in the room.

"Apologies ma'am if I come across disrespectful" the elder said, voice hoarse as he rubbed his chin where the gun had pushed against the stubble covered skin. "My mistake."

Vanity smiled again and slid onto a barstool, motioning to the server, a nervous looking, shirtless young man in tight leather pants who stood frozen behind the bar. Despite his tight, toned physique his youthful good looks belied his youth, eighteen or maybe nineteen at a push she guessed; younger than her. Vanity bet herself this kid got good tips from the women of the town.

"Coffee and eggs, kid. Throw a little whiskey in the coffee." She turned her attention back to the men. "Don't believe I have the pleasure of your names, gents, nor what sorta trouble you'd like me to deal with."

The elder spoke up.

"Rickard Cole. I'm the foreman o' the tin mine, and 'bout as close as you'll find to somebody bein' in charge of the company. These here are Jack and Francis." Jack, who was pulling the knife carefully from between his legs, and Francis, both nodded respectfully. "Trouble is somethin' in the mine that oughtn't be there. Now, we ain't exactly seen it, but we've heard it, and we've seen what it's done to two o' my boys."

"Go on" Vanity cocked an eyebrow, as a wooden cup of hot, thick black coffee with a scent of whiskey was slid to her by the young server. He stayed by her side behind the bar, half listening to Rickards story, half gazing at Vanitys body; the visible outline of his thick, stiffening cock bulged at the tight tan leather of his pants. Vanity sure hoped it was in response to her and not what Rickard was describing. "I know it's tough, but I need to know what you found, in as much detail as you can stomach. Might help me figure out what I'm dealing with."

Rickard sighed.

"Eviscerated is the word you'd use. Buck and Jimmy, may the Radiance rest their souls, met a real bad end. Francis here found 'em torn apart in the newest room they was stripping out. They was naked, clothes torn off, bodies shredded, blood everywhere. Like some sorta animal, but I ain't never seen no animal attack like that." Rickard shuddered and reached for his beer. "Jimmy's head turned all the way around to the back, jaw danglin' like a palm branch after a storm, guts ripped open from collar to cock and smeared across the floor. Buck was decapitated, 'n his legs was broke at the hips like he'd been folded up like a gods-damned butterfly knife, arms torn off... " Rickard took a gulp of his beer and made a protective hand motion of the Church of the Divine Radiance.

"You said you heard it. What sort of sound? Howling? Screeching?" In her mind Vanity was going through the probabilities; Werewolves fitted the description to a point; they were mean, vicious and strong enough to do what Rickard was describing, but the legs and the twisting of the head didn't sound like any Were's she'd fought before; maybe Chupacabras in a large enough pack, one or two wouldn't likely attack two strong men, but a pack hungry or desperate enough might do it.

"Sounded like, y'know when you're hungry" Francis spoke up "and your belly rumbles, but louder, much louder, and lower."

Chupacabras tended to screech and yip. Werewolves howled and growled. Maybe something else in that mine...

"Was the flesh eaten?"

"Wasn't eaten far as we could make out" Rickard continued. "Played-with, maybe you'd call it. I mean, they'd been ripped up and tossed around the room like fuckin' ragdolls."

Vanity sipped her coffee. Something marking its territory. Maybe something that lived in the caverns they were mining... the notion of that rumbling sound put her on edge. Sounded like something diabolical. A Curse-Spitter or a Hook Horror. No mention of acidic burns though, Vanity thought as she slipped her coffee, feeling the heat of the liquid in her chest. Ruled out spitters.

"Any tracks?"

"Didn't see none, but we was hardly stickin' around lookin'. Like I say, Francis found 'em yesterday mornin'; we did a quick sweep and heard the sound, thought to the Seven Hells with this and pulled out what we could o' the bodies and boarded up the mine entrance. We got no standing army and no sherrif. Was plannin' on puttin' a posse together once we got enough men and enough weapons, or maybe blowin' the mine altogether; but then we heard tell you was in town."

"No sherrif huh?"

He stopped Vanity as she was about to speak further.

"Now listen, we are proud folks here. Don't like relyin' on others, or lettin' folks come in tell us what to do. In fact, lotta folk in this town are here precisely cos they don't want no law sniffin' around 'em, and that's fair by us. We give everyone a second shot here as needs it, long as they'll put in work at the mines or the farm or the whorehouses, and damn to the Seven Hells anyone try and push their snouts into our way of life. See this?" He held up his muscular forearm, with the tally mark of III on it. "Three times men have come here, either of their own volition or sent on behalf of Zach Blackwood's Iron Mule Company, to try and take over as sheriff, and three times I killed those men. I ain't afraid of no man, alright? But whatever did this to my boys..." He shuddered. "Ain't no man. Much as it pains me to say so, we are out of our depth here and we need your help."

Vanity sucked her teeth as she mulled it over. Unknown monster, most likely something diabolical and dangerous. It was a diversion on her bounty to find Zoran the Damned, but she could use the money.

"Two hundred silver Thalers."

Rickard scoffed, spraying beer across the bar.

"Two hundred?!. That's more'n most here make in a brace!"

"Most here don't risk their pretty ass killing monsters. Now, I don't know what I'm dealing with. Could be as simple as a solitary angry and confused Chupacabra, or it could be nasty as a fucking Hook Horror, and since I don't know which end of the yardstick this falls on, I'll split the difference. And you can afford it, what with not paying any dues to a marshall or Zach Blackwood, ain't that right?"

Rickard nodded, an uneasy but undeniable pride in his eyes. Vanity sipped her coffee and continued. "Good. In that case, you can consider your troubles good as over. I'll kill your monster today, Rickard, and you can get back to work. Meet me at the mine before highsun, and bring the money."

Rickard agreed; the men finished their beers and left the Dirty Pickle as the young, shirtless server brought Vanity a cracked plate with sloppy looking scrambled eggs and some toasted black bread.

"Can I get you anything else, miss?" His wide blue eyes looked her up and down, dallying on where the fabric of the robe rode up and showed her thighs; an obvious mix of admiration and arousal on his face.

"Your boss around? I assume she's your boss. Strong woman, gold tooth, rough, sexy; beautiful big tits."

The server smiled and blushed a little.

"That's uh, that's my Ma. And uh, she left, um, went home to sleep not a few minutes ago. Just me and the kitchen right now."

"So nobody else to watch the bar?" Vanity looked around the mostly empty tap room, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Not til the highsun shift starts."

Vanity shrugged.

"Don't want you getting in trouble for ditching your post." Vanity downed the last of the whiskey coffee in one gulp, and licked her lips. "Better do this here then."

"Do wh-" the young man was cut off as Vanity slid from the bar stool and effortlessly vaulted over the bar to stand in front of him; he was taller than Vanity by nearly a foot, and she stood close, her body pressed against his as she looked up at him.

"I need something from you" she whispered as she leaned in close, smelling the musky scent of him and feeling the heat radiating from his taut shirtless body, and kissed his neck. His breath caught in his throat in surprise as Vanity hooked her thumbs through his waistband and pushed his leather pants forcefully down over his thighs, his thick and smooth semi-erect cock bobbing free, hidden behind the bar from the view of the few patrons who'd started to take interest in what was happening. "What's your name, kid?"

"R..Rhys.." he stammered, his impressive cock growing thicker and harder as Vanity allowed her robe to fall open, showing her fully naked body in all its smooth, curvaceous glory as she pressed her firm, round tits against Rhys's slim, muscular torso.

"Rhys, I need something from you, is that okay?" Vanity whispered seductively, her delicate slender fingers wrapping around the thickness of his shaft as one hand gently caressed his balls. Vanity's hand slid up to the smooth purple tip and already felt the glistening slipperiness of precum dripping there. "Just a little something. I need you to cum for me. Will you do that?"

Vanity gently caressed his cock, her mouth working its way to Rhys's nipple and flicking her tongue as he gripped the bar tightly.

"Yes ma'am" he breathed, his voice low and husky. Vanity moved one hand from his balls and grabbed one of the hands he was gripping the bar with, moving it to her breasts.

"This ain't a sixpenny lapdance, Rhys, squeeze my fucking tits... there you go." Rhys's large warm hands squeezed and caressed Vanity's breasts as her nipples grew hard, pushing between his fingers. "Mmm that's it, feel them. You feel how fucking hard you're making my nipples?" She moved both her hands to his cock, expertly stroking the smooth, hard shaft as she felt it pulse in her touch, the thick veins of it rigid against her fingertips. "You're making me so fucking wet. I bet you fuck all the girls in here, Rhys; I'd bet you a Thaler to a penny that all the women in town love this pretty fucking cock."

Rhys leaned back on the bar, his leather pants around his ankles as Vanity pushed her naked body against him, expertly working his cock, her warm, firm round tits in his hands as he gasped and moaned.

"Ma... says to keep it in my pants less they're payin' good silver..."

Vanity chuckled and licked Rhys's neck, and started grinding her smooth, aching wet pussy against his muscular thigh, the sliding wet sound mingling with the slopping sound of her precum-soaked hands caressing Rhys's cock faster and faster.

"This is better'n any fucking silver, wouldn't you say?"

"Mngh fuck yes..." he moaned back.

"You like my tits, don't you Rhys? You want to fuck them? Wanna feel them against your big cock, wrapped around your slippery dick?"

Without waiting for a response Vanity dropped to a crouching position, her thighs spread, and pushed her ample tits together around Rhys's cock. She spat on the shining, swollen purple tip and let her saliva drip from her tongue, her spit mingling with his pre-cum, then started moving her body up and down as Rhys grabbed her shoulders, jerking him off with her tits. She could feel his cock pulsating between her breasts, and she knew he was going to cum soon. "You gonna cum, Rhys? Don't you fucking cum until you tell me you're gonna cum, okay baby?"

He made a guttural, wheezing noise which in Vanity's considerable experience passed for an agreement. "i want to taste your fucking cum. You wanna cum in my mouth?" The same noise came in response as Vanity slid her tits faster and faster against Rhys' cock. Abruptly he grabbed her hair in both hands, his whole body tensing up. He didn't need to say it, and before the words uttered from his mouth Vanity changed from a crouch to her knees and took the head of his cock between her plump, perfect lips, her tongue flicking against the underside of the tip of his cock as she stroked his slick, long shaft with both hands, grip tightening as she wrung and stroked it, the heat and wetness of Vanity's mouth driving Rhys over the edge.