Cinder and the Runny Gutter

At her peak, Cinder snatched the cocktail glass from the table. She shoved her knuckles into her mouth to keep from screaming in ecstasy, while under the table she spread her legs wide. Cinder pressed the empty cocktail glass tight against her pussy, and came like a fucking fountain.

"Hnnf! Gnnngh! Fffuck" she grunted like a mounted cow into her knuckled fist, straining to keep from wailing her delight out for the whole tavern to hear. The hooded man sat forward in his seat, hands wrapped tightly around his beer mug as he watched.

Even though her muscles felt like wet pasta and her eyes had momentarily crossed, Cinder managed to catch most of her squirt in the glass. Not all of it, of course, and whatever she missed splashed against the floor under the table like warm rain. She didn't feel all that bad. Given the general state of the Runny Gutter, it probably wasn't the worst thing soaking the floorboards.

Over on the stage, the minstrel had come to the end of her song. There was a round of clapping from the rest of the tavern, and even though Cinder knew the applause was meant for the bard, after that orgasm she felt like getting up and taking a bow herself. At least her audience of one appeared to appreciate the show. She couldn't see his eyes, but given his posture, he was riveted by the sight of the two elves quietly fucking in their booth.

With her glass full and her body still coming down from the high of her orgasm, Cinder pushed Maeryll back. The snow elf didn't want to stop sucking on her friend's tit, and Cinder had to grab a handful of moon-pale hair to drag Maeryll's hungry mouth away.

"Ow! C'mon man, let go!"

When Cinder finally got her to quit sucking, she saw that Maeryll's eyes were glassy and limpid. Her lipstick was smeared all over the tanned flesh of Cinder's breast, and long strands of saliva connected those rose-pale lips to Cinder's turgid nipple. Maeryll was drooling, her mouth parted, her breath coming in panted gasps. Under the assassin's black dress, Cinder saw she was rubbing her thighs together, seeking relief from her lust-crazed state with the friction of her flesh.

It was a singularly gratifying sight. Maeryll talked a good game, but right now? Well, she was as desperate as any other dog in heat.

Cinder kissed Maeryll's blushing mouth, hard and fierce, then batted away the snow elf's groping hands. Cinder lifted the cum-filled cocktail glass, then tugged again on Maeryll's hair, using the girl's tresses as a handle to angle her face up a little.

"Open wide," Cinder demanded. Out of the corner of her eye, she made sure the stranger was watching.

"Cin," Maeryll was breathing hard, a bubble of saliva dripping from the edge of her mouth. Her gaze was fixed on the viscous liquid swirling around the inside of the glass.

Cinder knew an opportunity when she saw one. She set the rim against Maeryll's parted lips, then tipped the contents into the girl's waiting mouth. Maeryll's eyes were lidded and hazy as she gulped down the warm glass of girlcum. Cinder watched the swallowing action of Maeryll's pale throat and felt that angsty heat slither around her sex, always eager for more.

"Hey, greedy. Don't swallow it all," she said. "I wanna taste some too."

Cinder leaned over and covered Maeryll's lips with her own, thrusting her tongue into the woman's mouth. She found a last little bit of her feminine honey and licked at it, lapping her girlcum from Maeryll's mouth like a hummingbird at an open flower.

As they kissed, Cinder kept her hands busy. She rucked up the hem of Maeryll's black dress and slid a finger along the soft lips of her vulva, delving deeper to stroke the smooth pink wetness beyond. Maeryll shivered beneath her touch, her tongue hungrily twisting around Cinder's.

Oblivious to whoever might be watching, the redheaded elf ground the heel of her palm against Maeryll's stiffened clit as she fingered her, eschewing softness for the rough thrusting she could tell the snow elf craved. They'd known each other for a while now, and Cinder recognized this particular mood of Maeryll's.

"Cinder, Cinder, Cin, fuck. Godsdamned cuntwormsBastArD," the snow-elf blathered incoherently, "oh SH-,"

"-ush!" Cinder finished for her, trying to pull Maeryll's mouth onto her still bare breast to get the girl to shut up. "I forgot how fucking loud you are sometimes."

"Fucking FUCK me you fucking fuuuck!" Maeryll snarled.

"Pff, not with that attitude!" Cinder pushed the other elf back against the bench of the booth. "Anyway, it looks like you finished your drink." She nodded cheekily to the drained cocktail glass. "I bet you're thirsty, right? Yeah, you look thirsty. Hot night, wouldn't want to get dehydrated and all that."

A dangerous cobalt gleam entered Maeryll's eyes, who managed to somehow look haughty despite the desperation written in the smudged eye-shadow, drool, and pinked cheeks of her face.

"Cin, if you don't make me come, so help me I will flip this table over and-"

"Ah come off it," Cinder interrupted.

She spread her legs wide and pointed down at a little waterfall trickling down the edge of the bench, dampness staining the wood dark. "Lick it up or something, M, but watch my back too. I'm gonna go get us some drinks, and go talk to our sketchy voyeur." She waved at the hooded man. "I'll be back in a sec."

Cinder tucked her free-hanging tit back into the gin-soaked corset, then slid out of the booth, leaving a spluttering Maeryll behind. It was kinda mean, but hey- two skirts and a corset in one night? Bitch had it coming.

Ignoring the hooded man for now, Cinder sauntered over to the ironwood bar along the back wall of the taproom. Despite the skirt and corset, she had a broad smile on her face. Her cunt was wet, and her heart was happy. Coming here tonight had been such a good decision, and that first orgasm had really helped clear her head.

She passed a group of women shouting catcalls at a serving jack, who danced nimbly from their grasping hands with a laugh. The Runny Gutter had a kind of wild, anarchic energy that seeped into Cinder's bones. It was invigorating.

Shel was busy pulling drinks down at the other end of the bar, so one of the tap jockeys stepped up to take Cinder's order.

"I'm Hugo," the serving-jack introduced himself. "What can I get ya?"

Hugo was wearing an apron and had a pencil tucked behind one ear, but he didn't pull it out to write anything down. His hair was close shaved, and he sported an interesting-looking scar on his mouth which pulled down his lower lip a little when he spoke or smiled. A five-o'clock shadow dusted his jawline, and a gold ring shone with reflected lamplight in his nose. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, displaying the dark lines of tattoos obscured by the hair on his arms.

He was a good-looking dude, but then Cinder would expect nothing else from a member of the Runny Gutter's waitstaff, hand-selected as they were by Shel.

"Hey there Hugo," Cinder said, "I'm, uh-" what had she told Shel? Oh yeah. "-Cotton. How 'bout two pints of that dark lager?"

"That's all?"

Cinder eyed the sensual curve of his mouth. "Hm, how about a shot of you, too?"

Although he must've been swatting away horny women like flies all night, Hugo laughed. He leaned against the bar and grinned.

"Two pints I can do. The shot though... that costs a little extra."

Cinder returned his smile with interest. "Aw, I promise that the tip'll be worth it."

Hugo was a tall fucking drink of water, and Cinder was thirsty. She reached across the bar and let her fingers rest on his forearm. She figured that the only way to be more obvious would be to yank down her corset and let her girls bounce out, but the flirting was fun. Besides, the longer she let Maeryll stew in her juices back at the table, the more spectacular the explosion would be later.

While the serving jack chuckled and set about pouring her beers, Cinder stared openly and admiringly at his ass, framed by the tight trousers he had on. Aside from the aprons all the tap jockeys seemed to be wearing, the Runny Gutter didn't really have a uniform, per-se. Still, the boys waiting tables all favored close-fitting garb that did a good job of showing off their best assets.

Thank you, Shel. You had to respect a woman with good taste.

"There you go," Hugo said, dropping two frothing mugs of ale onto the bartop.

"How much do I owe you?" Cinder asked.

Hugo shook his head. "Shel says elves drink free."

Cinder turned. Down at the other end of the bar, the orc woman gave Cinder a thumbs up.

"Shel, you're a gem," Cinder yelled, cupping her hand over her mouth and shouting to be heard over the hubbub. She scooped up the drinks, then refocused her attention on Hugo. "And you," she said coyly, "can bring that shot over to our table whenever you're ready for a break. We're at a booth in the back."

Hugo winked, the scar on his lip making his smile fetchingly lopsided. "Oh yeah. I noticed."

"Ha! Did you now?"

As she walked away from the bar, Cinder put a little extra sway in her step. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to be sure Hugo's attention was on her. Yeah, skirts were dumb; that was Cinder's position and she was stickin' to it. Still, they had some uses, i.e., making people want to bend her over into a certain position and stick it to her.

Cinder whistled to herself as she strutted away, swallowing a mouthful of the thick, dark ale with relish as she walked. Instead of heading directly back to Maeryll, she veered towards where the hooded stalker sat at his lonely table.

The mysterious man tried to shrink down in his chair when he saw Cinder approaching, but there was nowhere for him to go. The elf set one of the mugs of ale onto his table. It scraped the tabletop as she pushed it towards him.

"Yo," she said, "how come you're perving on me and my friend?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he replied.

"And I'm sure that if you were having this conversation with Maeryll instead of me, you'd be a lot less comfortable, and there would be way less free beer."

The man tensed as if he meant to argue, then his shoulders slumped. He reached up and drew back his hood, revealing a craggy, deeply lined face with windburned cheeks and watery blue eyes.

"My name is Treader," he said, "and I'm a-"

"Ranger," Cinder finished for him, taking another sip of her beer. "Yeah, I picked up on that."

Treader grunted in surprise. "I knew you were the right elf for the job. What gave me away?"

There was the trail mud on the hem of his cloak of course, and the faint smell of the pines that wafted from his unkempt brown hair. The calluses on his hands and the dirt under his nails were also clues, but the biggest thing was probably the anxious way he looked around the tavern as if the walls were closing in on him. Clearly, he missed the woods.

"A whole lotta stuff, honestly. Why 'Treader,' though? No offense man, but that's kind of a lame nickname. Stomper would be funnier. Oh, I got it! How about Strider? That's a pretty good codename for a ranger."

Treader gave her a pained look. "I'll take that under consideration. Look, I wasn't 'perving' on you and your companion, mistress elf."

Cinder snorted. "I bet. Enjoyed the show?"

The man squirmed uncomfortably. "I'm here on a mission," he said, quickly changing the subject, "of utmost importance. I'm-"

"Gonna stop you right there," Cinder interrupted again. "M and I aren't interested. I'm sure that the fate of the city, or the future of the world, or whatever you've got cooking is really important, but I'm no one's quest bitch, alright?"

"I assure you, my mission is indeed of the utmost importance. If I might have but a moment of your time to explain, I'm sure I can convince you."

Cinder shook her head. "Man, what aren't you getting? We're just passing through, ok? Tonight, I'm planning on getting stewed-" she shook her beer mug for emphasis, "screwed-" she pointed at back at Maeryll, sitting in the shadowy booth, "and nude-" Cinder did a little shimmy, and her tits wobbled dangerously in their corset. "Maybe in that order, and maybe not. Questing around doesn't even enter the equation, alright?"

"Listen," Treader said, a little panic entering his face. This clearly wasn't going how he'd expected. "The maggot-kin are writhing unquietly in their barrows, and a shadow is rising in the south. I have reason to believe that the secret to stopping the coming darkness is located in a hidden library below the wraith-haunted Shattervault Cathedral, not far from here."

"Cool, cool, cool," Cinder said. "Is there beer in the Shattervault Cathedral?"

"Um. Well, no."

"Bummer. What about hot nuns?"

"Hardly! The cathedral has been a ruin since the Age of Bleakness."

"That's a shame. Well, have a good night, dude. Enjoy your beer, and good luck with all that maggoty shadow stuff. I'm sure you'll handle it great."

Cinder turned to go, then stopped. "Oh, and Treader?"

"Yes?" he said hopefully.

"Seriously, think about changing it up to Strider. Sounds way cooler."

Cinder was in high spirits when she left Treader's table, and when she caught sight of Maeryll, her good mood only improved. There she was, sitting at the booth and looking all flushed, distracted, and antsy. It was rare for Maeryll to be even one of those things, but all three?

Oh, man. This is gonna be so great.

"Hey M," Cinder said, sliding back into her seat.

"Where have you been?" Maeryll said archly, drumming her slender fingers against the pitted surface of the table. "I'm getting bored."

The pulse fluttering in her neck put paid to that.

"I just had a few words with our stalker. Turns out, he's a ranger named Treader, looking for a couple of saps to join a quest."

Maeryll's fair eyebrows drew together. "Treader? That's an idiotic pseudonym for a ranger. 'Strider' would be better."

"That's exactly what I said! Anyway, I told him where he could go and stuff his quest."

"We should cut his throat."

"Or just, like, ignore him?"

"Boring."

"Oh, also," Cinder said, thinking of Hugo, the handsome bartender, "I went ahead and put some slutty irons into some sleazy fires. Things are cookin' as we speak, if you know what I mean." She rubbed her hands together.

"I do not, and I really don't care." Maeryll's cerulean gaze was fixed on Cinder's chest. "I don't even mind that you didn't bring me a drink. Just take out the girls, and let me play."

"Whaddaya mean, I didn't bring you a drink?" Cinder replied, ignoring Maeryll's order. "Sure I did."

Cinder locked eyes with her friend, then spread her legs wide under the table. The wood elf dragged two fingers down her mouth, pulling at her lower lip. She favored Maeryll with a lazy smile, then walked her fingertips down the centerline of her body. She pulled aside the skirt to reveal the little thatch of russet hair that adorned her pussy. Cinder petted it like a kitten, stroking her fingers through the soft curls.

"Plenty to drink down there. You just have to work a little to get it. Come on, hop on under the table, and tap my fuggin' keg. Make me forget all about Treader and his shitty quest."

Maeryll wet her lips with her tongue. Then, without another word, she slid from the bench like a silk-draped snake. She crawled between Cinder's legs underneath the table, roughly shoved the wood elf's thighs further apart to expose her blossoming sex, and started to lick.

Cinder leaned back into the bench with a contented sigh. She reached for her beer and took another pull of the dark liquid, nodding congenially at a couple of patrons walking by. Across the room, Treader sipped sullenly from the beer she brought him. She smiled and raised her glass, but he didn't return the gesture.

Cinder shrugged and focused on her pleasure. Now, this was the life.

The wood elf was in the process of swallowing another sip of ale when Maeryll pushed a finger into Cinder's ass and did something magical that also involved her lips, her tongue, and Cinder's clit.

"Waa-hrkk!" Cinder choked on the beer, spluttering and writhing on the bench. Maeryll's chuckle was muffled by the tabletop.

"Fine, be that way!" Cinder said.

One of the passing serving jacks gave her a funny look.

"Not you, you're good!" Cinder called after the man. "Keep doin' what you're doin'. Damn, those pants are really working for you."

From below the table, she heard a throaty, self-satisfied chuckle before Maeryll resumed her sex-drenched work.

Cinder's eyebrows drew together in consternation, peering down into the shadowy depths of the undertable. The only things she could see were the twin jewels of Maeryll's eyes, glittering with azure amusement in the darkness.

"It's on," Cinder promised.

She reached down between her legs under the table and pressed Maeryll's face into her cunt. Cinder worked her hips, grinding against the other elf's face, smearing the lust that dripped from her nethers over each of the woman's lovely features. She painted Maeryll's face like a royal cartographer mapping out all the rivers, brooks, and tributaries of the eastern Wetlands.

"Fuggin' big ol' delta right there on your nose," she muttered distractedly, grunting as she rubbed her pussy all over her friend.

For her part, Maeryll sucked at Cinder's clit with the same skill and vigor she'd used on Cinder's tits. The russet-haired elf squeezed her ass involuntarily around Maeryll's probing finger, wrapping it in a hot, tight clenching grip. The sucking wet slurp of Cinder's well-lubed asshole was audible to the wood elf's keen, pointed ears, even over the music the bard was playing on the stage.

Maeryll knew what she was about, and must've sensed Cinder was close. She thrust her tongue between the folds of her friend's vulva and rubbed the pads of her fingertips fast and hard against the pearl of Cinder's clit, just flicking the crap out of her bean.

Maeryll, it appeared, was giving no quarter. Cinder didn't stand a chance.

"Ff-fuck's sake," the wood elf whined, putting her hands into her face. She forgot all about Hugo, Treader, and even her half-drunk beer as a flush spread from her chest to her cheeks. "I'm gonna- I mean, I'm already- aaAAHaaaGRp!"

Cinder managed to turn her full-throated howl of ecstasy into a strangled gasp. The spark of her pleasure caught, raging fast and hot through her like a wildfire. She came- gods, it felt like she was letting loose with buckets and buckets of Cinderish jizz down there- but even the syrupy shower of her climax wasn't enough to put out the fire that had ignited in her flesh.

As always, she wanted more.

Between her legs, Cinder could feel Maeryll drinking her, gulping down the nectar that squirted from her sex as if it were the headwaters of life itself. Cinder could feel the sheer volume of it splattering against her own thighs, running down her calves and into her boots, as if she'd trudged through a particularly slutty swamp. She could only imagine what Maeryll looked like down there, directly in the splash zone.

"Huugh," Cinder panted, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands and trying to catch her breath and her bearings. They were in a tavern or something, right? There was a lot of music, and she was all sweaty, and her socks were wet.

Dimly, Cinder realized someone was standing by their table. She stared out through her crisscrossed fingers, peering at the face of Hugo, the tap-jockey.

"Bluh?" she said, pushing back the sweat-damp hair from her forehead.

"I brought you a present," Hugo replied, sounding amused. A little dimple appeared in one of his cheeks when he smiled, which was just about the cutest damn thing Cinder had seen all night.