This 1,000 word fantasy quickie is for mature readers only. It features a monstrous handjob and a buxom tavern wench. (Before you ask, it’s pronounced ROW-sheen.)
Another night at the Color Animal Inn. Another blotto farmhand sneaking his grubby fingers under her dress. Another hall-to-hall brawl that she’ll have to clean up after when the sots have all passed out. Another game of “What’s That Stain?” on the way to her quarters. Oh, just another night.
Roisin sighed as she wiped the spittle off another fractured mug. She happened to catch the shattered reflections of her tired face as she held it up to the firelight. Eyes like emeralds, lips as full as the moon, and a set of tits fuller than a nursing cow’s, she thought. And where did that get you?
The Color Animal Inn was supposed to be a temporary job, something that would bring a bit of coin in while Roisin waited for her real life to start. A life that didn’t belong to a mere tavern wench. The trickle of gold entering her pockets never was able to keep up with the day-to-day expenses that took it all away. It was a long swim to shore, and Roisin could just barely keep her red curls above the water.
Suddenly, a heavy rap at the inn door heralded the arrival of a late-night visitor. These were Roisin’s least favorite. They were usually too shadowy for her tastes. Who else but criminals and half-crazy adventurers were out at this hour? The main hall of the inn was empty save for the snoring figure of a dwarf mumbling in his sleep. At least Roisin thought it was a ‘he.’ She had heard the rumors. Dwarven women had beards, they would say. Of course, some of them also said that dwarven women didn’t exist. They little men would only make love to their forges.
I would know if I left this place, Roisin thought as she wiped her hands on her smock.
She flung open the door and was about to launch into the we’ve-got-no-more-rooms tirade she reserved for nights like this, but she stopped short. Before her stood (on four legs, mind you) a beast that was a man from the waist up and a horse from the waist down. The equine half was covered in lustrous dark auburn hair, which covered its burly legs. Roisin’s eyes trailed up to admire its muscular chest and its powerful arms. A boiled leather quiver was strapped to his naked upper body.
“Centaur,” she managed to whisper. When she met its eyes, she became aware that she had been gawking and cleared her throat. She still stammered through her words. “I’m sorry. Can I help you? This is the Color Animal Inn. We’re still open. Oh dear.”
The centaur began to speak in a language Roisin had never heard before. She waved her hands as if to wave away the rush of strange syllables.
“I don’t understand,” she said. The centaur responded with a blank stare, and Roisin was mesmerized by his otherworldly beauty. His face was framed by thick braids of hair, tied together by bronze threads. She wondered if he let riders grab onto those braids, like you would with a regular horse.
She snapped back into focus. Roisin pointed to her mouth and shook her head, speaking and moving slowly. “I don’t know how to speak Centaur. Also, you’re pretty for a man but you’re just confusing me.”
The centaur looked down at the ground, furrowing its brows. A private, inner struggle later, it looked back up at Roisin and said, “Room. Sleep, need.”
The tavern wench whipped her head to clear the strands of hair from her face. She blew out a puff of air.
“I guess I could have figured that out by myself. Well, I’m not sure we have any rooms that can accommodate someone with your unique figure, but we could try to house you in the stables. You’ll have to share it with the other horses, of course, but…” Roisin trailed off, and walked out of the inn, starting towards the stables. She beckoned the centaur to follow. “I don’t know why I’m still talking to you. We’ve already established we can’t understand each other. Force of habit. A guest is a guest, after all.”
The stables housed a pitiful number of steeds, and an equally lacking inventory of horse feed. What do centaurs eat, I wonder? She opened the door to a stable at the far end of the building, and watched the centaur step inside. I suppose I could get him the rest of the stew.
The centaur took a moment to survey its room for the night. Small as it was, it didn’t take long. Hay covered the floor in patches. A bucket of water sat in the far corner. It wasn’t exactly the Crownmont Inn’s stables, but at least it wasn’t the Seven Slimes’.
“Good? Yes?” The uncertainty in Roisin’s voice could have dulled a sword. She shuffled her feet and eyed the exit. She wondered how she was going to discuss payment with the fine gentleman.
He turned to face her and raised his fist. Roisin’s first instinct was to flinch, but when she saw his hand go to his chest, she realized it was some sort of salute.
“Clesek,” the centaur said, in its rumbling voice.
Roisin repeated the gesture. Now we’re getting somewhere. “Roisin. Pleasure to meet you. Hope you enjoy the stay and all that.”
The centaur repeated her name, and nodded. He started to remove his quiver, when Roisin took it upon herself. She was in the business of hospitality, after all, meeting her first centaur or not. She decided to place it next to the bucket.
“I’ll just place it down here,” she said for the sake of filling the silence. “Are you going to be needing a meal?”
She turned, and that’s when she saw it. The centaur’s cock must have rivaled the length of her arm. Not to mention the girth. The mere sight of it, flaccid as it was, intrigued her down in her loins. She really must have been heading back to the main building, but…
The centaur turned in surprise when he felt a rough scratching on his flank. He turned his torso and found the girl giving him a vigorous brushing with an old horse brush. Clesek couldn’t understand most of the words this Roisin was saying, but he didn’t know how to tell her that treating him like some sort of mount was incredibly disrespectful. He decided to face away from her, as was custom in the khanate when you couldn’t stop the other party from embarrassing themselves, and just wait for it to be over.
Meanwhile, Roisin’s brushing inched closer and closer down to the centaur’s underside. “…and Old Lovell’ll have my head if I don’t give you the same service we do the rest of the horses.” She was at his belly now, her face mere inches from his cock. She couldn’t help but smell it, and his masculine scent was as overpowering as she expected. “Least I can do, really.”
Roisin placed a tentative hand on the centaur’s cock. He shuffled his hooves, but he didn’t kick her or anything (which was what she was afraid of), so she kept it there. As she brushed the centaur’s belly, she stroked the centaur in tandem with the brushing motions. It wasn’t long until the beast was at his full length. Roisin would need both hands to cover the tip alone.
Oh, Gods. Definitely too big for me. I’d be a harpy’s mother to leave you like this, though. She stopped the pretense with the brush and devoted both of her hands to rubbing the centaur’s tremendous girth. She used both hands, massaging the shaft from the base to just below the bulging head. She could feel every engorged pump of blood in the organ as her hands worked their magic.
Clesek deigned to groan, reluctant to admit to the human how good her hands felt. It was an experienced touch, and the females of the khanate would never stoop so low to dirty the hands that wielded their bows with such an act. As pleasure warmed the length of his hardness, he let his mind wander. How would it feel to fuck a human? What would it be like to mount this woman, this Roisin? His arms braced on the door in front of him.
Roisin felt the centaur getting close. It throbbed with the desire to cum, and she was only too happy to grant its wish. She kissed the side of Clesek’s shaft, and her grip tightened. She stroked faster, and faster. The centaur’s legs splayed out, and a torrent of cum streamed onto the stable floor.
Roisin sprang forward to catch some of it in her mouth, partly out of horniness, and partly because she was curious. She found Clesek’s cum to have a savory, musky taste, and she lapped it up as she licked the tip of his cock. She encouraged the cum to continue drizzling out of his organ, until the well finally ran dry.
Clesek’s breathing eventually slowed down, and when he opened his eyes he found the audacious woman standing before him. She licked her lips and kissed his chest, the highest point she could reach on his body. She whispered something in his ears that he couldn’t understand, but he didn’t need the language to know what she said.
Roisin slipped out of the stables and back into the night air. She was looking forward to slipping her hand down her skirts in bed tonight. It was big, but she wondered if she could have still fit Clesek inside her. Maybe she’ll play the tavern wench for a few more months. Who knew what she could find out?
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