Cinder and the Runny Gutter

"Fa-La-la-LA."

The pink-haired bard stroked the strings of her instrument, then frowned with displeasure at the noise it produced, fiddling and plucking until she was satisfied. She did a double-take when she spotted Cinder and Maeryll standing by the door, staring at their pointed ears in open fascination.

"A song," the bard declared, giving Cinder a wink that was somehow private despite the intervening length of the tavern, "for the fey and the feisty!"

The crowded bar erupted into applause, although Cinder was pretty sure they had no idea what they were clapping for. The minstrel launched into a tune, her voice as sweet and fresh as spring water running down a mossy cliffside.

Il était une fois un doux elfe rougissant

(Jolie et sauvage! Jolie et sauvage!)

Elle avait le visage d'un ange

(C'est de la mayonnaise sur son halo? Non ce n'est pas le cas!)

Mais elle aimait se faire baiser comme une chienne en chaleur

(Wouf wouf wouf!)

Cinder didn't understand the song's meaning, but she recognized the flowing lilt to the words. Thoughts of a certain one-eyed pirate danced through her head, and she felt a lusty heat snake through her core.

"The Patter," she said to Maeryll out of the corner of her mouth, clapping along with the rest of the taproom's patrons as the song ended. "The sailor's tongue. Did you get any of that?"

Maeryll's shoulders twitched in an untroubled shrug. "Something about mayonnaise and dogs? I dunno. Anyway, let's dance. I wanna see your ass shake in that skirt."

"Jeeze, keep it in your pants," replied Cinder with a giggle, but she allowed the pale elf to lead her to the open space in front of the stage.

"Got anything we can shake it too?" Cinder asked the bard as they passed the stool at which she sat.

"I got you covered," the pink-haired woman replied. The minstrel put her fingers to the strings of her mandolin and plucked out a rollicking, bawdy tune. She kept the beat with rhythmic slaps, her palm striking the wood of the mandolin's body.

The elves moved together as the song burst from the bard's instrument, their bodies twining and pulling apart like a pair of mated basilisks. There was a good deal of touching, grinding, sliding, and gyrating, accompanied by rolling hips and shaking bosoms. A light sheen of perspiration trickled down Cinder's neck, which Maeryll's eyes tracked avidly as it slid down her collarbone and into the deep valley of her cleavage.

The pace of the song picked up, and more of the tavern's patrons joined them on the dance floor, perhaps emboldened by the example the two elves set. Cinder's movements grew wilder, her thighs sliding against one another as she shook her body to the rhythm of the song. The elf's increasingly frenetic dancing caused her tits to keep popping out of the stupid fucking corset, and she had to repeatedly shove them back in like a pair of unruly hams.

Throughout it all, Maeryll couldn't seem to keep her damn hands to herself.

Among the press of gyrating bodies, a great deal of groping was taking place between the two elves, ranging from the moderately clandestine to the downright brazen. Maeryll was grabbing her so much that Cinder was starting to feel like a seabag manhandled by a careless porter. A tit popped free again, and Maeryll's fingers snatched at her nipple before Cinder could tuck it away. The pale-haired assassin's stealthy hands groped her, stroked her, dipped in and out of her; whatever they could get away with, really. And it was shocking what Maeryll's hands could get away with.

"Keep that up and I'll pin you to the dance floor right here and sit on your face," Cinder growled.

Maeryll's mouth quirked. "I'd like to see you try." She pinched Cinder's ass for good measure.

"Maeryll," the redheaded elf warned.

The other girl slid in close, her supple body pressed against Cinder's sweating curves. Cinder felt Maeryll's hands circle her waist. One of them tracked lower, sliding easily under the (truly idiotic) skirt, her fingers questing for the sweet, wet heat dripping between Cinders legs. She found it, and Cinder moaned into her friend's ear.

"Maeryll, shit... Let's get a table, alright?"

"I told you that I wanted to dance," the other elf insisted.

Wow. The chick could be such a brat sometimes.

Cinder flexed the muscles of her aching cunt down on Maeryll's cheekily thrusting fingers, trapping them in the velvet sleeve of her pussy. Still surrounded by other dancers, Cinder squeezed her thighs and moved her hips backward, thrusting out her bottom a bit. It was a little awkward, but she managed to pull Maeryll towards her with the action while keeping the snow elf's hand clenched between the drippy lips of her vulva.

"Are we holding hands now?" Maeryll asked, a half-amused, entirely aroused expression on her lovely face. "How sweet."

They were nose to nose now, lips separated only by breath. Instead of trying to pull her fingers out of Cinder's cunt, the snowy-haired elf flexed, driving them deeper into Cinder's sodden snatch.

"Let's go," Cinder said, trying not to shiver in pleasure. "I'm a sweaty mess, and I'm fuggin' parched."

Maeryll finally relented. When she withdrew her fingers from between Cinder's legs, she reached up and dragged her lust-wet digits through the auburn tumble of Cinder's messily cropped hair.

"There. All clean."

"Nasty," Cinder chuckled.

The two elves wiggled through the press of dancing ladies, heading to the open booth Cinder spotted earlier. It was one of several semi-private alcoves along the far wall, all nestled together in a row. Each was separated from its neighbor by wooden partitions, and each sported a table surrounded by a U-shaped bench. Cinder and Maeryll slipped onto the wooden seat, sitting hip to hip, looking out at the rest of the common room.

Cinder squinted in the gloom, trying to make out the menu chalked up on the wall behind the bar in the dim light provided by a trio of battered, candle-festooned chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. She barely managed to read the specials before Maeryll's dangerously clever hands were all over her again.

With a few smacks on her bottom and a whispered word, the blue-eyed elf had Cinder scoot to the edge of the bench. She then promptly slid one hand down the small of Cinder's back, working her way south to delve between the cleft of her ass cheeks.

With the asinine skirt providing easy access and the table hiding what was going on, Maeryll was all too happy to play with the sweet pucker of Cinder's butthole. Her other hand toyed with the tuft of russet hair above Cinder's sex, curling it about her finger and tugging gently, all while the assassin practically drooled over the redheaded elf's tits.

Cinder closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get her bearings amid the maddeningly delicious sensations. The noise of the crowd in the tavern and the heat washed over her, sweeping away any thoughts Maeryll's ruthlessly effective fingers had left her.

Honestly, after the debauchery at the Vendôme, Cinder hadn't ever really stopped being a sopping mess. Her thighs were sticky with the streaky tears of lust wept by her pussy, and every minute her cunt was empty she felt a dull, throbbing ache as if there should be something in there for her the lips of her vulva to clamp down on.

"M, wait a sec," she grunted, gripping the edge of the table for support, writhing in place. She felt hot and foggy, like there was an itch inside of her in desperate need of scratching. All of the intermittent squeezing, teasing, and straight-up fingerblasting were driving Cinder into a kind of stupor. She felt exhausted, hot, and dumb--she tried marshaling her thoughts into some semblance of order but had a hard time getting any proper words out. She was extremely aware of the way her sweltering thighs slid against each other with no friction at all.

"H-hold on man, I'm gonna goosh all over the floor if you keep that up-"

Maeryll, as it happened, did not hold on. Cinder felt like she should maybe keep some of her wits about herself, given the whole 'being followed through the city' thing, but fuck, Maeryll was good at what she did. Cinder grew increasingly desperate, biting her lip and grinding back into her friend's fingers until a loud voice interrupted her lust-mushy thoughts.

"Well! I'll be a one-armed paper-hanger in a windstorm, if it isn't a pair of the finest, feyest, feistiest folk this side of the Cut! We've got elves in the Runny Gutter tonight!"

Wha-?

"Cotton, you horse's ass," the voice continued, "why didn't you come up to the bar and say hi when you walked in?"

Cinder's eyes flew open at the sound, and Maeryll's relentless fingers ceased their lovely torment. The blue-eyed elf didn't go so far as to relinquish her possession of Cinder's holes, content to leave two of her fingers lodged in her ass and one in her cunt. Maeryll rested her chin on Cinder's shoulder, adopting an expression of entirely false innocence while Cinder's thoughts struggled to climb back into her horny, fuzzy brain.

"Bluh- Huh?" Cinder said groggily, looking up at the speaker and trying to blink away the haze of her close shave with ecstasy.

The tall, broad-shouldered orc woman who'd been tending bar when they came in stared down at her. A gregarious smile split her face, and she crossed her impressively muscled arms over her chest.

"Cotton fucking Thatcher! Don't you dare try and say you don't remember me, not with the trouble you caused the last time you visited my bar!" the orc said, not appearing to notice Cinder's disheveled state. She chuckled, a sound that put Cinder in mind of a minor landslide. "I had to pay a hydromage six silvers to hose down the stage, and it was still sticky!"

Cotton who?

That was a pretty cool name, but she didn't know anybody named...

Ah. Right. It took Cinder a minute to recall that's what she'd been going by when she last visited the Runny Gutter.

"Oh," Cinder said, then, "Oh! Hey Shel, how are you?"

The orcess spread her hands to indicate the packed tavern. "Can't complain, Cotton, can't complain. Business is booming, and my boys have their hands full. As do I, har har!"

As Shel spoke, a serving jack walked by carrying a brace of beer steins. The orc woman favored him with an affectionate swat on his well-formed ass, and the serving-man threw her a roguish grin over one shoulder as he continued on his way to deliver the drinks to a table of giggling women.

Cinder watched the man's backside as he disappeared back into the throng of the tavern crowd. She shook her head, and some more of the lust fog cleared from her eyes, no thanks to Maeryll's surreptitiously thrusting hands. Getting fingerblasted while you tried to have a conversation was tough.

"You sure do know how to pick 'em, Shel, I gotta give you that," she nodded at the serving jack.

"I've got an eye for talent and hard workers," the orc chuckled again. "But I'm being rude! Please forgive my manners. It's not every night that two elves come into my bar, one looking like a blade of sharpened silver moonlight, the other as toothsome as a buttered brisket. Who's your friend, Cotton?"

Buttered brisket? Shel had some weird ideas.

"This is Maeryll," Cinder said, tilting her head to indicate the other elf. "Maeryll, meet Shel. She's the owner of this fine and respectable establishment."

Shel guffawed.

"Hello Shel," Maeryll said. She pulled her left hand up from betwixt Cinder's thighs to give the orc woman a little wave, heedless of the glistening evidence of Cinder's excitement spiderwebbing between her fingers.

Shel didn't seem to notice; it was pretty dim inside of the Runny Gutter, with the flickering illumination provided by the chandeliers above and a few greasily burning oil lamps hung from hooks along the walls.

"Shel here has a passion for hospitality," Cinder said. "We had a fun time when I passed through a couple years ago."

"Hospitality is just one of my many passions," Shel replied with a hearty laugh. "Men, hunting dogs, and getting roaring drunk are a few of the others!"

"Just men?" asked Maeryll, idly tracing one of her lust-wet fingers along the lovely bow of her lips.

This time, Shel did notice. Cinder sighed inwardly. Only Maeryll could make a woman like Shel blush like that in her own damn bar.

"Right," Shel cleared her throat. "Well, don't start a brawl this time, Cotton," she waggled a scolding finger at the elf. "I'll send along a couple of beers."

"Hey, I don't start brawls," Cinder protested, "but I do finish them."

"Ha! I remember!"

"Do you have anything with gin, instead?" Maeryll interjected.

"Sure," said Shel, "you got it." She nodded at Cinder. "Good to see you again, Cotton."

While they waited for their drinks, that neck-prickling sensation of being watched returned. Cinder flicked her gaze about the room until she finally found what she was looking for. There, at a small table in the shadows along the wall, sat a hooded figure. Cinder couldn't make out their face, but when the figure took a pull at their pipe, the glowing coals illuminated a cleft chin covered in stubble.

A moment later, a serving jack in an apron walked over to the mysterious figure. "Excuse me, sir," Cinder heard the waiter say, "but there's no smoking in the Runny Gutter."

"Oh!" the hooded man replied, hurrying to put out his pipe in an extremely non-mysterious way. "Sorry about that."

Cinder nudged Maeryll. "Hey. I think that's the guy who's been stalking us."

"Yeah. What a dork." Maeryll snorted derisively.

The hooded man shifted, looking back to the elves. Cinder gave him a friendly wave. Flustered, the man quickly grabbed the beer glass in front of him and took a hurried drink, trying to feign disinterest in what the elves were doing.

"Oh yeah," Cinder said to Maeryll. "What a dweeb."

A keghand brought along their drinks shortly; a tankard of ale for Cinder, and something fizzy and clear for Maeryll. When he departed, Cinder barely had the time to have a sip of her beer before Maeryll sank three fingers into her wet asshole.

"Fuck," she hissed, resting her elbows on the table and dropping her face into her hands while Maeryll went to town on her butt. "You're just going for it, huh? Three fingers right out of the gate?"

"Come off it. After what we did in the Vendôme, you're stretched enough, you slut," Maeryll whispered with distracted affection, all of her focus on the sneaky violation of Cinder's anus.

"What about the hooded peeper over there?" she asked, nodding to indicate their cloaked voyeur.

"Let him watch."

Cinder very nearly exploded all over herself right then and there. With an effort of willpower, she managed to ride the edge, taking a deep breath and slowly grinding her butt into Maeryll's hand, slyly enough that anyone looking their way- including the mystery man- would only see two somewhat flustered elves huddling over their drinks.

Probably.

She heard the snow elf moan in her ear, and noted with satisfaction that Maeryll was completely flushed, sweating, her makeup smeared. Cinder knew that right now, superior affectations aside, Maeryll was actual putty in her hands. Try as she might to hide it, the pale-haired woman was just as worked up as Cinder, and Cinder wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste.

"I hope you're fuckin' thirsty, you dog," Cinder growled into her friend's ear. "I just got my second wind."

Cinder snagged the glass of Maeryll's fizzy whatever from the table, then upended it on her chest. The drink poured across the tanned mounds of her breasts, then disappeared into the deep crevasse of her cleavage. The corset she was wearing grew soaked, but Cinder was too damn aroused to care much about ruining another outfit.

She glanced around to see if anyone was looking. The coast seemed clear; everyone else was either too busy slurping down drinks, dancing by the stage, or ogling the waitstaff. Everyone except for the hooded figure. She could feel him looking.

Perfect. Enjoy the show.

She set the glass back onto the table and tugged at her corset. It wasn't hard to get one of her tits free from the torturous confines of the garment. It hung there, swaying gently, sweat and gin dripping across the curved, caramel skin, trickling down her nipple. Her supple flesh glowed warmly in the dim oil light.

Across the room, the hooded figure stiffened, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, apparently twigging to the fact that one of Cinder's boobs had come out to play. Maeryll was also transfixed by the sight of Cinder's bosom, her blue gaze bright and wide and liquid.

"Wow, rude," Cinder teased. "My eyes are up here."

"Mhm," came the reply.

"Ha! Ok then, go ahead and suck it," Cinder ordered Maeryll in the most haughty tone she could muster, "while I use your fingers to come like a fucking bitch."

With that, she grabbed Maeryll by her silky white hair and pushed her face against her exposed breast. It didn't take much convincing for the snow elf to latch onto Cinder's stiff nipple and start sucking like a nursing lamprey. The heat of the girl's mouth and the pressure of her lips resulted in a pulse of pure pleasure, which raced through Cinder's nerves and sent a shiver down her spine. The fact that they had an audience of at least one also didn't hurt.

"Good," Cinder grunted, looking quickly around the room again to make sure the mysterious man was still looking. "Gruh- auuugh, just like fuckin' that. Go on, use your teeth. Get mean, I can take it."

Maeryll had a lot of skills; she was handy in a fight (if a bit of a show-off), and a friggin' psychopath in the sack (again, kind of a show-off). But one of Maeryll's best skills was her ability to suck a tit.

Cinder stared down at the elf lapping at her, mesmerized by the details of her friend in the lamplight. Her eyes were lidded, half-closed in either concentration or pleasure as she supped at Cinder's nipple. Her ruby-painted lips pressed against the curve of Cinder's skin, and she alternated her sucks, swapping fierceness for gentleness while mixing in little nips with her teeth and flicks with her tongue. She moaned into Cinder's chest, and the wood elf could feel the vibration of her lust throughout her entire body.

"That," Cinder cooed, biting down on her lip, "is fucking great."

While Maeryll- obediently, for once- sucked at Cinder's aching nipple, the russet-haired elf flexed the ring of her sphincter around Maeryll's trio of questing fingers. Ever so gently, trying to keep the booth from creaking, she rocked back onto them. She ground her ass against Maeryll's plunging digits, building the pleasure, throwing more fuel onto the bonfire of her lust. The snow elf's tongue rasped against her nipple, and the girl's teeth nipped at the flesh around her sensitive bud.

Cinder stared brazenly across the room, gaze locked with the patch of shadowed face where she imagined their mysterious stalker's eyes might be. She pursed her lips to blow him a kiss, but Maeryll bit down on her nipple a little too hard and Cinder had to grab the edge of the table to steady herself. Being saucy and seductive with weird strangers was all well and good, but the pleasure Maeryll supplied demanded her full attention.

It didn't take long for it to all become too much for Cinder to bear. The noise of the crowded taproom faded, and the elf shuddered as she clenched her ass down around Maeryll's fingers. She flinched, her body quaking in the way that only an orgasm forced from her ass and accented by a bit of tit play could make her feel.