The walk from the square to the Lusty Cauldron took only five minutes, but it felt like an hour.
Elara kept her hand in Liam's the entire time, fingers laced so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Every few steps she glanced up at him, searching his face for reassurance he wasn't sure he could give.
Her auburn hair bounced softly with each stride, catching the late-afternoon light that filtered through overhanging awnings.
The white t-shirt moved with her — the fabric shifting over the full curve of her breasts, the faint shadow of lace bra visible whenever she turned slightly. Her jeans rode low on her hips, accentuating the gentle sway as she walked, the denim hugging the roundness of her ass and the thickness of her thighs in a way that drew eyes from every direction.
She felt it.
She knew they were looking.
Liam knew too.
He walked on her right side — between her and the street — trying to block as many gazes as possible with his body. It didn't help much.
The futas were taller; the women more direct. Heads turned. Whispers followed. A young futa leaning against a lamppost let out a low whistle as they passed. Another merchant paused mid-haggle to watch Elara's hips move.
Liam's jaw clenched so hard it ached.
They reached the tavern at the corner of a narrow side street. A hanging sign swung gently above the door — carved wood depicting a overflowing tankard shaped suspiciously like a pair of breasts. The words "Lusty Cauldron" were burned in elegant script beneath.
Lirael pushed the heavy door open.
Warm air rushed out — carrying the scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, spilled ale, woodsmoke, and something muskier, more primal.
Inside, the place was dimly lit by hanging lanterns and a large hearth at the far end.
Long wooden tables, benches, a bar that ran the length of one wall. About twenty patrons scattered around — mostly futas and women, a handful of collared betas serving or sitting quietly.
Heads turned as they entered.
Lirael didn't pause. She led them straight behind the bar.
"First things first," she said, voice smooth as honey. "Aprons."
She reached under the counter and tossed two simple canvas aprons their way — off-white, knee-length, with a single large pocket in front. Elara caught hers; Liam fumbled his.
"Put them on. You'll need pockets for rags and coin."
Elara tied hers around her waist.
The strings pulled the apron tight across her midriff, emphasizing the dip of her waist and making the t-shirt beneath ride up just a fraction, showing a sliver of soft skin above her jeans.
The apron's bib covered her chest modestly — but the fabric was thin, and the way it draped only highlighted the natural bounce of her breasts when she moved.
Liam tied his quickly. The apron hung loose on his slimmer frame, doing nothing to hide how average — how small — he looked next to the towering staff behind the bar.
Lirael leaned one hip against the counter, arms crossed under her own impressive chest.
"Rules are simple," she said. "Serve drinks. Clear plates. Smile at customers. If they touch — and they will — don't slap. Don't scream. Just smile and say 'thank you for the compliment' or 'can I get you anything else?'. The Ledger likes politeness."
She glanced at the rose-gold text hovering in their vision.
[Devotion active: Assist at the Lusty Cauldron for one evening shift.]
[Current progress: 0/1 shift completed.]
[Light interaction permitted. Escalation encouraged for bonus rewards.]
Elara swallowed visibly.
Liam stepped closer to her.
"We're new," he said quietly. "We don't know—"
"You'll learn fast," Lirael cut in, not unkindly. "Everyone does. Now — Elara, you take the floor. Start with table three. They're regulars, easy tippers. Liam, behind the bar with me. Dishes first, then pours when you're ready."
She didn't wait for protest.
Elara looked at Liam — eyes wide, pleading for one last reassurance.
He squeezed her hand once, hard.
"You've got this," he whispered. "I'm right here. I can see you the whole time."
She nodded — small, shaky — and turned toward the tables.
Liam watched her walk away.
The apron swayed with her hips. The jeans clung to every curve. Her auburn hair swung against her back. Heads turned as she passed.
A futa at table five leaned back in her chair to get a better view of her ass. A woman at table two smiled slow and predatory.
Liam's stomach twisted — jealousy, protectiveness, and something darker he didn't want to name.
Lirael's hand landed on his shoulder — firm, warm.
"Eyes on the sink, little one," she said softly. "She'll be fine. And you'll have your own fun soon enough."
She guided him to a large basin behind the bar. Steaming water, stacks of wooden tankards, greasy plates from the lunch rush.
He started scrubbing — mechanically, furiously — trying not to look at the floor.
But he couldn't help it.
Elara reached table three — four futas and one woman, all laughing over half-empty mugs.
She curtsied slightly — awkward, but polite.
"Good evening," she said, voice steadier than Liam expected. "Can I get you anything?"
The largest futa — broad shoulders, dark braid — looked up slowly. Her eyes roamed Elara from head to toe, lingering on the breasts under the apron, the hips, the thighs.
"Well hello," she drawled. "New girl. Aren't you a sight."
She reached out — casual, like reaching for a napkin — and brushed the back of her knuckles along the side of Elara's breast. Just once. Light enough to be deniable, firm enough to make the cotton shift and the soft flesh give under the touch.
Elara froze.
Her breath caught audibly.
The futa's thumb grazed the underside.
"Soft," she murmured. "Real soft."
Elara's cheeks flamed crimson. Her nipples — already faintly visible through the t-shirt — tightened into hard points, pressing against the fabric like they were begging for more attention.
The other futas at the table chuckled.
The woman among them leaned forward.
"Don't mind Mara," she said sweetly. "She's harmless. Mostly." She patted the bench beside her. "Why don't you sit for a minute? Tell us where you're from."
Elara glanced back toward the bar — eyes finding Liam's.
He was gripping a tankard so hard the wood creaked.
She shook her head — tiny, almost imperceptible — and turned back to the table.
"I… I should get your orders first," she said softly.
Mara laughed — low, warm.
"Feisty. I like it."
She gave Elara's breast one last gentle squeeze before letting go.
"Four more ales. And whatever the special is tonight."
Elara nodded — too quickly — and turned away.
As she walked back toward the bar, Liam saw the flush spreading down her neck, disappearing under the collar of her t-shirt. Saw the way her thighs pressed together just a little tighter than usual. Saw how her breathing had quickened, making her chest rise and fall in shallow rhythm.
She reached the bar.
Set the order slip down with trembling fingers.
Liam leaned across the counter.
"You okay?" he whispered.
She met his eyes.
Her pupils were dilated.
Her lips parted slightly.
"I… don't know," she admitted. "It felt… wrong. But my body—"
She cut herself off, cheeks burning hotter.
Liam reached over the bar and took her hand.
"We can stop," he said. "We can run. Find somewhere else."
But even as he said it, the Ledger chimed softly.
[Progress update: Light interaction logged. Bonus reward possible for continued politeness and engagement.]
Elara looked at the floating text.
Then back at him.
"We need the meal," she whispered. "We need the coin. We need… to understand this place."
Liam's jaw worked.
He hated it.
But he nodded.
"Okay. But the second it gets too much—"
"I tell you," she finished. "I promise."
She squeezed his hand once.
Then turned back to the floor — apron swaying, hips moving, breasts shifting under the thin cotton with every step.
Liam watched her go.
And something inside him twisted tighter.
Not just jealousy.
Not just fear.
A dark, shameful heat he couldn't name yet.
Behind him, Lirael chuckled softly.
"First night's always the hardest," she murmured. "But look at her. She's already learning."
Liam didn't answer.
He just kept scrubbing.
And watched.