The tavern was strewn with unfamiliar faces, mostly men—no, scratch that—all men, burly folk, worker types. The place was slowly losing the ruinous environmental factor surrounding it, and Rennia didn't know what to make of the sudden noise.
Ishmere had directed her to simply pass beer and collect empty mugs. Weaving through the clusters of sudden bodies made her thoughtful of every step she made. The constant friction of her would-be curse under the apron was making her mad. And it was twitching. The good thing was, whatever she was attracted to would not be found in here.
The heat of the room, however, was suddenly much more intense. Ishmere had that fire going for nonexistent cold. She shuddered at the thought of serving food, which was something they collectively decided to postpone.
As she passed through the small, sparse crowd, someone had brushed past her hip, ogling her. All the while, the contact sent her body into a lightning spark. She nearly dropped her tray but sneered at them. One such man did try and slap her ass without thinking twice. She slapped his hands away with a scowl, and he shrunk back into his chair.
For once, she wished Dontellin was present. Perhaps the rude insults she shot him finally drove him away. And to add to what she was feeling, the pressure didn't fade with the action of being a workaholic. No, in fact it was accelerating. She was going to have to flee. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.
After slamming the last of the bottles down in front of her clientele, she ducked quickly behind the counter to take a breath. Her palms were attached to wood. She stared at Ishmere from a distance, who was making small talk with the folk. The downside of being a tavern worker—she guessed that's what she was at the moment—was the sheer amount of fools who strolled in.
The sensation was getting too hard to ignore now, almost like it was in a rhythmic sense, and Rennia knew it was time to retreat into a room or hide it out in the basement.
Ishmere had come over again, glancing briefly. Rennia didn't match her eyes at all. The noise in the tavern dulled—so many unfamiliar voices and small prickling objects being moved. She felt tense.
Hex. Who the hell would hex her? It couldn't have been her goddess, could it? Or worse, Ishmere. No position or stance would help her here. Only Ishmere could. A strange feeling or energy was now humming along, and not just lust, but something that was compelling her nerves.
She felt heat pool in her belly, in her breasts, in her body, like it was edging her to undress. But of course, she couldn't risk such a thing happening in the moment. It would only be a few more minutes. Ishmere looked like she was getting a hand at the managing thing. Rennia forced herself upright. She had to pretend, at least, that everything was fine even if it wasn't. This was twice as irritable as it had been in the apple orchard.
The tavern door opened, and Rennia frowned as a newcomer stepped in, bringing a sweep of cold air along with them. And for a moment, Rennia thought that cooling wind would calm her down. Instead, shivers tickled her spine like tindered wood. There, at the front of the entrance, stood a familiar face, an acquaintance she had barely gotten to know. The smell of perfume hit her like a colliding spear. Maeve stepped inside—dark gothic face deliberate and elegant, breasts cupped together, not a single sign of skin except her face.
Rennia's body had reacted a thousand times faster than her mind could fathom. Her cock jerked upward, straining hard against the tight apron, and she felt something leak at the tip. Whatever urge she felt earlier, if Ishmere was a vague target, then Maeve was not. Heat was spiking up her spine. She stared at her body from afar, especially at her bare legs, her thighs. They were so thick. Strange, she couldn't remember Maeve being built like that.
But oh… Maeve was here, in the tavern. Rennia's throat tightened. She was approaching, and she was heading straight for Rennia. This was a horrible time for whatever she wanted. What if in the next few moments she couldn't control herself? She could barely breathe, and now suddenly, as she stared at Maeve with her gothic dark lips, she could barely move because everything was screaming at her to flee at once.
Maeve approached her, frowning, arms crossed. "So… this is where you live. I admit I have been looking for you all morning. Can we speak, in private?"
Rennia gulped.
"Huh," Rennia mumbled. "What did you say?"
Maeve rolled her eyes. "I asked if this was where you were staying, in a very large tavern with old decrepit structures around it. But I know you're Osterrian, so your environment doesn't bother me. Totally doesn't." She stared at the occupants that fitted themselves inside the tavern, eyes flicking all over. "This is the wrong type of crowd though, not a single adventurer in sight."
"Not yet, i guess." Rennia feigned a giggle.
Rennia, anxious and suddenly very soft-spoken, stood still behind the counter, refusing to move with the morning sunlight coincidentally blasting its sunrays at her at the right angle. She was super rock hard now as Maeve spoke to her in those short leggings.
[-1 libido hex)]
Rennia choked. It was draining, but why did it take so long? Her breath became slowly ragged, and she coughed and cleared her throat as if to pull a ruse so that Maeve wouldn't notice. Maeve had come in with her grimoire and all, and that brought attention on herself. When an adventurer frequented a tavern, it was a clear message to stay away.
"Well, are you gonna say something, Ms. Perillion?" Maeve asked, all quaint.
Rennia froze up. What was she supposed to say? Hey, I got a massive boner, and I wanna fuck you, so don't talk to me? No, she couldn't say that. There wasn't much to go off here, so what—they were forced together like a game of rope tag, and now Maeve was going to be looking for her every time she wanted something?
"I… I'm a bit unwell, if I have to admit."
Maeve started complaining, almost performatively slow. "You mean I walked all this way just to walk into a dead end in this dump? That's disappointing. Expected a little more from you, even a peasant such as yourself." Maeve's tone didn't match her behavior.
A voice in the back shouted into the front. "If you don't like that dump, then you can fuck off. I'll even give you my personal courtesy."
Maeve bit her teeth. She didn't know she was speaking that loud. "Who was that?" she whispered.
Rennia, in her "particular predicament," had loosened the apron and the sash that fitted it around her waist in order to free her cock from choking. It felt as though it was growing again, and she couldn't help but stare at Maeve's boobs. Her chest was much larger than ishmere's , the comparison was offensive, but how couldn't she the thirst in her body sated.
"My boss. Sort of?"
Maeve looked a bit surprised. "So you work two jobs? Do you have a barmaid subclass or something?"
Rennia shook her head. "No, it's more like three jobs, but only, um, one class fits it all… ahem." She faked a cough.
"That doesn't sound like a pathfinder at all."
It wasn't.
Her tip was touching the counter, and the pleasure was mounting at her tip.
"I'm sorry, Maeve. It's probably a bad idea to come here. Whatever you wanna speak about, it's a bad idea." Rennia stated with a matter-of-fact tone. Her heart was still beating. When her tip extruded past the apron's bulge, she shifted slightly, angling her body so Maeve doesn't suspect what lay behind the counter.
But Maeve was studying her. "I heard rumors of a brunette with a sword and minor temper working here. After searching all day, I knew it had to be you—"
"So?"
"So, wouldn't all that spoils and money money we got from the mines have negated any need to work here? I hate to be rude, but it's not exactly stellar." She whispered again.
"It's a long story, but I think all you need to know is the place used to be huge. Sadly, got burned down a few years ago."
"Burned down, hmmm," she mumbled. "And now it's functioning again?"
Rennia, sighed, a bad time for small talk.
"So you want a drink then? I'm not exactly in a mood to speak."
"That's particularly odd. I remember that you had better manners." Maeve stomped her hand on the counter. "And how long exactly has this tavern been in operation?"
Rennia sighed. Between managing Maeve's demanding tone and dealing with her problem, she was getting fed up. The only thing holding her back was the counter, or indeed she would jump. And crawl all over her, starting with the tits she hid well.
She wiggled her thighs a bit and could feel it shifting between her legs again. Whatever the hex did, she could no longer look at Maeve as a friend. If only lazy Ishmere had fixed her earlier.
"Well look, I need a moment to myself, so do you need that drink or not?"
Maeve threw her hair back and scoffed. "Alright, give me whatever you have. Just don't poison me."
Oh, I will do more than poison you.
Rennia's mind was becoming possessive again, not possessed possessive. She needed that edge. Somewhere while talking to Maeve, she had slipped. She smiled at her companion. It was getting worse.
As Rennia poured the glass of alcohol into the glass, her hands trembled slightly as she poured, making her spill slightly, drawing rude gestures from Maeve.
"Clumsy dolt."
"Yes, yes." She tried to play it off, her slip up. But the passivity of Maeve staring at the drink with contempt, didn't ease the beast that was raging inside of her.
If only she knew how bad it was