Cinder and the Runny Gutter

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.

"Where's your gratitude?" Maeryll asked. She held out the bundle towards Cinder, who accepted it dubiously. "I got you some clothes, didn't I?"

Cinder picked through the garments and felt her heart sink.

"Whoa, hey, hold up- is that another skirt?"

Maeryll ashed her cigarette onto the pristine flagstones of the Lane of Longing, then shrugged. "It's what her ladyship was wearing." She inclined her head to the carriage, which was pulling away from the curb. Cinder was annoyed that the driver didn't look back to get a last peek at her rack.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me, Maeryll-"

"Night's not over, is it?" Maeryll's eyes were blue fire; a pair of wicked, dancing flames. "So neither is the bet. Put the skirt on." She idly walked around the lamppost so she could give the toothsome peach of Cinder's ass a lustful, lingering ogle.

"Ugh, fine."

Cinder pushed her auburn hair from her forehead and fixed her winsome friend with a frown, but all the same, she stripped off her bedraggled tablecloth toga and stepped into the skirt. It was short and black and barely covered her rump.

The elf stood there topless, wearing only the skirt. Her suntanned skin glowed warm and ruddy under the light of the streetlamp. Cinder spread her arms, then set her hands on the curve of her hips. Her breasts gave a gentle, tantalizing jiggle.

"There. Are you happy?"

Maeryll's lips flickered into a grin. "Almost."

Despite her annoyance at the skirt, that particular look on Maeryll's face made Cinder feel warm in ways that had nothing to do with a summer breeze. Her nipples stiffened, and she felt a sweet, liquid heat coil languidly somewhere south of her belly.

"Now put on the rest," Maeryll instructed.

The snow-elf's cobalt eyes shone greedily as Cinder picked up the next piece of clothing. When she saw what it was, Cinder almost lost her shit.

"Oh COME on! Is that a fucking corset!?"

"Yes Cinder," Maeryll said, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. "Yes, it is."

"No. Uh uh," the other elf shook her head. "No way. If I try and stuff my tits in there, I will die. It's not happening."

"Cinder-"

"Screw you, don't 'Cinder' me! I put on your stupid skirt. Do you want me to suffocate? Is that what you want? Because these," she gestured to her lush breasts, hanging with a provocative weight on her chest, "are not going to fit in this... thing." She shook the whalebone-and-linen torture device for emphasis.

"Aw," Maeryll pouted innocently. "And here I thought you liked being choked."

"Well yeah! But that's different."

"A bet is a bet, is a bet. Also, it is a bet. And you lost." Maeryll's voice was a singsong tease.

Cinder raised her hands to the heavens as if to ask the gods for succor, but Maeryll's flame-blue eyes were pitiless.

"Aw dang it," Cinder muttered. "Fine. But you gotta help me squeeze myself into this fucking thing. And there's a condition."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I get to pick the next place. Like you said, the night's not over yet."

Once Cinder finally stuffed herself into the corset, the two elves set off down the street. Before they left the Lane of Longing, however, Cinder took a last look at the row of carriages, unable to shake the sensation of being watched.

***

"I think I'm gonna pass out," Cinder complained, "I can't freaking breathe."

She ducked to avoid a brightly colored streamer waved by a half-clad dancing girl. The girl giggled, twisting sinuously to give Cinder a saucy wink before vanishing back into the crowd.

"Don't be so dramatic, Cin," Maeryll admonished, "if you couldn't breathe, then you couldn't whine, and I'd be able to enjoy the view in peace."

Cinder thought that her friend had been talking about the dancing girl, but when she looked, she found Maeryll staring at her backside with a greedy expression. The snow-elf dampened her upper lip unconsciously with the tip of her tongue. Her eyes lingered upon Cinder's skirt-clad ass before sweeping up to Cinder's chest. The ribs of the corset strained heroically, fighting to keep the curvy elf's tits in check.

Oh ho. It's like that, is it?

Cinder was about to say something both witty and sexy in reply, but her train of thought was interrupted by a crash of splintering wood as a pair of half-drake bouncers chucked a troublemaker out of a nearby tavern. The man bounced a few times painfully before he came to rest in the gutter. Some soft-looking garbage cushioned his fall though, so there was that.

The two scaly enforcers leaned out of the smashed doorway and snarled at him in their language, which Cinder guessed meant something along the lines of, 'and don't come back, dickface.'

"Lively place, this Reeperbahn of yours," Maeryll said.

Cinder snorted. Her companion had a talent for understatement.

In this city, the Reeperbahn was about as far as one could get from the fancy frippery of the Silver Quarter. It was a wild, raucous place, a red-light district filled with disreputable merchants, bawdy taverns, and gambling halls of dubious legality.

Coinlasses and lads stood on every street corner, and groups of drunken friends wove unsteadily down the beer-slick cobbles, singing off-key drinking songs at the top of their lungs. Hungry-eyed merchants extolled the virtues of their wares to anyone who would listen, insistently beckoning passersby into their shops. Adventures in battered armor jostled shoulder to shoulder with clever-fingered street urchins, while conjurers and street performers tried to coax the coin out of half-drunk revelers. The constabulary generally avoided the Reeperbahn as if it would give them a bad case of crotch rot.

Which it, y'know, actually might.

In short, it was a perfect place to take Maeryll after the pageantry and folderol of the Silver Quarter and dinner at the Vendôme. A little palate cleanser, so to speak.

"Yeah, lively," Cinder replied, stepping around a purple-skinned woman in a bearskin cloak who'd passed out in the middle of the sidewalk, a handle of some clear liquid that smelled like paint-stripper in one hand, and the haft of a notched axe in another. "That's one way to describe it."

They'd just turned around a corner when the hairs on the back of Cinder's neck stood on end. She'd spent enough time in the wilds to trust her instincts, so she grabbed Maeryll's wrist and pulled her down an alley. The close space smelled like boiled shit, but at least they were out of sight of the street.

"I think we've got a tail," she explained to Maeryll.

The blue-eyed elf shrugged. "Yeah, since the Lane of Longing. Honestly, I'm a little disappointed it took you this long to notice."

"Hey, I noticed! I figured it out while you were getting your fingers pruny in that stupid carriage with lady goldencurls!"

Maeryll gave her a flat, unimpressed look. "What do you want to do about it?"

Cinder tapped a finger against her lips, thinking. "Eh, let's not let it ruin our night. Whoever it is, we can take 'em if they want to stir up trouble. Anyway, maybe they're just curious? Not many elves in this city." She flicked her ears.

"Could be," Maeryll replied noncommittally.

The two women left the alley, weaving through the raucous throngs until Cinder spotted the sign she was looking for. She grabbed Maeryll's hand and dragged her past a man juggling serrated knives, heading to the battered wooden door that served as the entrance to a half-timber tavern. The place looked like it was held together mostly with tobacco smoke and paint, and the paint was peeling.

"Here we are!" Cinder said with an air of satisfaction.

Maeryll read the sign over the pub's door, her brow furrowing more deeply with each letter.

"The Runny Gutter?" she asked incredulously. "So let me get this straight. I bring you to one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, where we have a magically enchanted meal culminating in a threesome so hot that it ruins your entire outfit."

"Yep!"

"And in return, you drag me to a bar in the ass end of the Reeperbahn called 'The Runny Gutter.'"

"Yop!" Cinder replied. She slapped her hands together, rubbing her palms in anticipation. The movement squished her corset-cradled tits together. "You can thank me later."

With that, Cinder lifted her dumb skirt, shook the juicy peach of her ass at Maeryll, then pushed through the door. She wasn't worried about Maeryll following; the entire time, Cinder felt the azure weight of the elf's regard upon her behind. She did glance around quickly to see if she could spot their mystery stalker, but the crowd was too packed for Cinder to pick anyone suspicious out of it. On the Reeperbahn this late at night, everyone looked suspicious.

Inside the Runny Gutter, the windows of the taproom were open to let in the summer breeze. The warmth of the place still hit Cinder like a wave of beery dragon's breath as she stepped across the threshold. Her cleavage started to sweat almost immediately, and beads of perspiration gathered upon the compressed mounds of her tits like dew on meadowgrass.

The sound of happily chattering voices washed over her, accompanied by the clink of cutlery and the slosh of beer. The well-worn countertop of a big ironwood bar stretched across the far wall of the tavern. Behind it sat a row of enormous kegs bristling with a dizzying array of brassy spouts. A tall, green-skinned orc woman with a pair of tusks protruding from her lower lip was slinging drinks behind the bar. The serving staff- uniformly male, and quite comely- hurried between tables to bring food and ale to the customers.

The patrons of the Runny Gutter mostly appeared to be women of various ages, races, and inclinations. From stag parties to couples, the Runny Gutter seemed to be quite popular with the ladies, possibly owing to the handsome serving jacks which worked the tables and booths.

Maeryll eyefucked a table of scantily dressed university students out for an evening on the town. Several of the coeds returned her regard with wide-eyed interest.

"Ok," the pale-haired elf said, "this place might not be as terrible as I first thought."

"Busy night," Cinder observed, peering around the packed room for an open table.

She spotted an empty booth on the left side of the common room, but before Cinder could snag it, a clear, sweet voice caught her attention. It belonged to a woman with a slender, waifish figure and bright pink hair worn loose under a floppy hat. She sat on a stool upon the low stage to the right of the long bar, tuning her beetle-back mandolin and running through a few vocal warmups.