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Elishka’s fingers are pleasantly rough against Henry’s scalp. She is by far the most meticulous out of all the Kingfisher girls when it comes to freeing Henry from the dust and dirt and blood he collects on the road. She missed her calling as a dedicated washerwoman, really; Henry can easily picture her manhandling filthy clothes with the same businesslike firmness she handles his head with.
“You like this, eh, Henry?” Elishka asks, and her fingers grow just a little meaner for a moment. Henry groans in pleasure. She laughs. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Her tits, covered only by her soaked-through chemise, press against Henry’s bare shoulders. “Offering me a headrest, are you?” he jokes, and Elishka lightly slaps the side of his head.
“Nay, sir,” she says. “But if you wanted to play with them, you know that I wouldn’t say no.”
And he does know – Elishka had declared that she would like to have him all the way back when he had first fetched the girls from Grund. He had recognised it for the sales pitch it was, back then, and had declined. But now, after somehow weathering the storm that had preceded the Kingfisher becoming the municipal bathhouse together with the girls, and Betty consequently thanking him with free service, there wasn’t much left to sell to him.
Besides, he simply likes the girls, friendly lot that they are.
“Would you want that?” he asks Elishka, who has moved her soapy hands to glide along his shoulders, now. “I mean, we’re friends, aren’t we? I wouldn’t want you to let me… err… have you like that, like a chore or a service.”
And Elishka snorts – a gust of tepid air across the wet back of Henry’s neck. “Henry,” she says, teasingly chiding, digging her thumbs into the meat of his trapezius muscle, “do you think a nice, handsome boy like you can’t drive a girl a little mad? I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted you.”
“Really.”
“Really,” says Elishka, sliding her slippery hands to Henry’s chest, playfully groping at the soft, lax muscle there. “And if you don’t want to play with my tits, I’d be happy to play with yours instead.”
Henry flushes but does his best to act as though he doesn’t. Instead, he bats at Elishka’s hands with equal light-heartedness. “Ah, come off it,” he laughs, only to receive an almost mean squeeze to his left breast. But Elishka lets off, after that; Henry is almost entirely sure that she must be smirking behind his back.
“So, what then, Henry?” she asks, lowering her mouth to hover just above his shoulder, breath hot. “Do you want to, or not?”
Henry twists in the tub to finally face Elishka. She looks surprisingly affected by her own little seduction, red-cheeked and dark-eyed and smirking like she knows she’ll get her way. And Henry doesn’t exactly know what counts as going willingly, for loose women like Elishka – but to him, it does seem as though she simply, earnestly wants him.
And it’s not as though accepting a friendly, pretty girl’s advances is much of a chore for him.
“Alright, then,” he agrees, and Elishka throws her head back to laugh in triumph.
“There, see!” she exclaims, and jumps up from her stool to peel her soaked chemise off. It lands on the floor with a squelch, and Elishka cheerfully steps into Henry’s tub, sinking to her knees to join him in the warm water without much fanfare at all. “You won’t believe how much I’ve been thinking about this, ever since we first met. It’s nice to get a strapping young lad between my legs.”
As if to demonstrate her point, she lifts her bent knees to straddle Henry’s lap. “Is Kuttenberg not living up to what you’d hoped for? I’d imagine there’s plenty of good-looking men coming through here,” he says, idly settling his hands on Elishka’s somewhat meaty thighs.
“Oh, aye, there’s plenty of those,” she says dismissively, taking hold of Henry’s wrists to encourage him to knead and fondle her legs. “But there’s not many that are really my type, yes?”
Henry hums in vague agreement, thumbs running along the prickly insides of Elishka’s thighs where the hair begins to grow denser. He intends to eventually make it to her cunt like this, teasing and slow, but then Elishka throws her arms around his neck, sighs and—
“Well, maybe you’re less picky with men than I am.”
Henry freezes.
His hands still. He’s not even sure he’s still breathing.
It might as well be a confession.
And his sudden stillness doesn’t go ignored, either. Elishka looks down at him from where she’s seated in his lap, brows furrowed. Her arms remain steady around him.
“Henry,” she says, sounding almost like she is reprimanding him, “when you came to fetch us from Grund, I asked you if the men in Kuttenberg were bigger than elsewhere. What did you think I meant?” She doesn’t even mention how tongue-tied Henry had gotten when she teased him about preferring boys; he had felt like he’d been caught, even then.
But Elishka’s fingers just scratch gently, indulgently, at his nape now. Henry forces himself to breathe again.
“And you just didn’t care?” he asks, his voice coming out a little faint.
Elishka smiles, sweet and genuine. “Being discreet is part of the trade. We get all sorts of tastes here, and I much prefer you liking boys over asking me to do weird things to you,” she says, sliding forward so that her tits press up against Henry’s chest. “Besides, do you think us girls don’t look out for each other whenever we’re left unsatisfied by our customers?”
For a moment, the image of two buxom, naked bathwenches pressed up to each other in an intimate embrace flashes before Henry’s eyes. Oh, Jesus.
He feels his pulse jump between his legs, and Elishka clearly feels it, giggling before she reaches below the waterline to take his half-interested cock in hand. She gives it a few nice, firm pumps and kisses Henry’s cheek. “Like that idea, do you? Maybe you can sit by and watch sometime. I have a feeling you don’t much mind a bit of sodomy.”
He isn’t sure if he’s more mortified or aroused by her words, at this point. The hand on his prick isn’t helping. “Fuck.”
“Zlata won’t do it, you know. Says only the fellas do it for her,” Elishka says, terribly casual, kissing down the side of Henry’s neck. Henry’s fingers dig into her thighs, holding on for dear life as she goes on, “Klara’s different, though. Knows her way around a cunny better than any man. Makes me wonder if she even likes boys at all.”
Henry, shuddering, gives up the fight. He slips his arms around Elishka’s waist to grab handfuls of her ample arse cheeks, a thumb dipping between them. “I’ve met a few fellas who were the type,” he says. “Just couldn’t bring themselves to – fuck – like girls.”
Elishka grins, her thumb pressing just below the head of Henry’s cock before she lets go of it. Were it not submerged in the water, Henry knows he would be embarrassingly wet by now. But Elishka seems to enjoy his eagerness, if anything; she kisses his cheek and rocks forward, so that the mound above her cunt presses up against Henry’s hard prick.
“Well, don’t leave me hanging,” she says, leaning further into Henry until her tits squish against his chest; God, but they’re soft. “Did you tumble some of them? I bet you did.”
And, fuck, it might be an admission of guilt, but Elishka’s pupils are huge, and Henry feels the phantom of broad, calloused hands ghosting over his body, and the drag of a cock inside him, and there’s a lovely cunt waiting for him to slip into—
“Aye,” he sighs. “Even took a proper knight to bed, the once.”
Elishka lets out a little noise, breath audibly catching. Her chest heaves against Henry’s. “What a sight that must have been,” she says, rocking her hips a little. “Two strapping fellas, fucking like animals in heat…”
Well. For all the good their stay in Trosky has done them, the night Henry had spent in Bartosch’s bed has not soured in his memory. He’s never been worked over so attentively, so thoroughly before or since, and—fuck. Henry digs his hands a little harder into Elishka’s buttocks, drawing her forward in encouragement. She sighs as she lets herself slide forward and up, her folds dragging along Henry’s length. He wishes she’d let him slip inside already.
“And which way was it?”
“Huh?”
Elishka gives the hair at the top of Henry’s head a little pull. “Did you bugger him? Or the other way around?”
For a long, confused moment, Henry lets go of Elishka. He fails to understand how that would be important – until he remembers how arousing the mere thought of two naked women wound together had been. Perhaps it is the same for womenfolk?
“I, uh… let him do it.”
“So you know what it’s like,” Elishka sighs and rocks her hips once more, the head of Henry’s cock catching on the opening of her cunt. “Would you like to have me like that? I don’t really let anyone stick it up my bum, but since we’re friends and you get what it’s like, what’d be the harm?”
The proposal leaves Henry speechless, and the grin she throws him is positively sinful. He feels his cock twitch in the water. “Christ,” he exhales, and Elishka laughs.
“We’d have to get out of the tub for it, though, so how about we save that for another time?” she says with a wink. Her arms lift so her hands can settle on Henry’s shoulders. She pushes herself up to her knees, water running along the curves of her waist and hips. “Let’s have you the natural way, then, eh?”
Henry’s bad shoulder twinges briefly as Elishka uses him to steady herself. She’s a right sight, dripping wet like that; he can’t even be mad about how she keeps teasing him, taking his arousal from one place to the next. “Want me to help you out?” he asks, extending a hand palm-upwards between her legs.
“How generous,” she says, light and cheerful, and all but thrusts her cunt up against Henry’s fingers. Elishka’s breath hitches as he slips two of his fingers between her folds, just gently rubbing back and forth for a start. It takes a moment for her to pick up on Henry’s pace before she is rolling her hips into the movement, taking what she needs without a hint of shame.
Outside the water like this, Henry can actually feel her slit growing slicker; when Elishka spreads her knees a little further apart, he takes the invitation and pushes his fingers against her opening. “Is that alright?” he asks, craning his neck to look Elishka in the eye. She nods, then gasps as Henry breaches her, her brows drawing together. And then, because Henry’s mouth is faster than his brain, he asks, “Is this also how girls do it with each other?”
Elishka puffs out a laugh and begins to fuck herself down on Henry’s fingers. The movement has her tits bouncing in his face, which is not the worst view to be stuck with. “Aye, of course,” she says, a little breathlessly. “But it’s also nice to – hah – rub two cunnies together.”
The logistics of how to get that to work elude Henry in the moment. But, God, just the idea of two cunts pressed up against each other, producing the same obscene sounds as Elishka’s is right now—
Henry groans at the thought, and Elishka giggles. “Perhaps you really ought to watch sometime,” she says, then shudders on the next downstroke as she grinds her most sensitive part into the heel of Henry’s hand. “Klara and me will make it – oh – worth your while. You should – yes, right there – see how she can work that mouth of hers.”
She throws her head back, the movements of her hips growing faster and more frantic, taking what she needs, tits still bouncing, her hands on Henry’s shoulders tightening, and then she’s clenching down around Henry’s fingers, moaning and whimpering without restraint. Her stomach flexes, hips jerking as she rides out her pleasure for another few seconds. It’s a lovely sight, and Henry finds himself staring at the flush that spreads down her chest in sweet pink blotches.
He gently pulls his fingers out of her as she winds down, and Elishka sighs. “Thanks,” she says, presses a kiss to Henry’s forehead, and sinks back into his lap. Her slick ditch is angled towards his cock, and she grins when Henry groans. “Want me, now?”
“If you want it,” he says, almost diplomatic if not for his cock throbbing at the thought. Perhaps Elishka doesn’t even feel it, because all she does is kiss his nose and slide forward, foregoing her teasing for once. She takes him in hand with a boldness borne of experience, rises to her knees once more, and unceremoniously guides him into herself.
She parts easily for him, her walls hot and wet and soft. A few weak, lingering flutters of her climax still ripple around him; he can’t help but groan as he bottoms out, Elishka smiling proudly as she straddles his lap. “Good?” she asks, as if she doesn’t know that it very much is.
“Aye,” Henry says, a little winded, taking hold of her arse once more. The supple flesh spills past his fingers, and—Christ, to think she’d consider it too big—
Elishka lifts off his lap, her cunt dragging deliciously around Henry’s prick. The soft skin of her tits brushes against his chest. “You know,” she says, lowly, and drops her hips back down in the same breath, “Klara also has this fake cock.” Another lift and drop. “With leather straps and all.”
Lift, drop; Henry stares up at her, the roaring of the blood in his ears making hearing difficult. “What?”
She grins, the movement of her hips picking up speed. Sakra. “Aye, she can tie it ‘round her hips, like a proper cock.”
Henry’s fingers dig harder into her arse. He doesn’t feel like he’s guiding her so much as holding on for dear life. “And what’s she do with it?” he pants, feeling Elishka’s rhythm falter for a moment. Her face scrunches up briefly – perhaps in pleasant memory – before she resumes her bouncing a little more vigorously.
“Lets me fuck her, just like this,” she says, and, oh, God.
Henry pitches forward to stifle his groan in Elishka’s shoulder, and she laughs before a moan chokes her off. Suddenly, there’s fingers in his hair, gently holding his head in place. Elishka’s bouncing turns into little grinding motions of her hips. “Oh, keep like this,” she pants, fucking herself in short strokes that barely jostle Henry’s head and he feels helpless to do anything but let it happen.
The water sloshes, Elishka is warm and slick around him, her little noises of pleasure driving him closer to the edge all by themselves, and combined with the mental image of ever-chatty Klara with Elishka in her lap just like this, their soft bellies pressing together, tits bouncing against each other, slender fingers digging into arsecheeks—
Vaguely, Henry registers Elishka’s hand sneaking between their stomachs. She moans, the fingers of her other hand twisting into his hair and pulling, dragging him back to look at her, all flushed and debauched, lips bitten and eyes on the verge of slipping shut, and then she says, “Maybe she’ll bend you over, too, if you ask real nicely,” and Henry is gone.
His hips rut up to meet hers desperately, looking for just a tiny bit more depth, and Elishka allows herself to be jostled, giggling and groaning, rubbing herself urgently enough for her wrist to repeatedly knock into Henry’s abdomen. With a high keen, she clenches around him, slamming her hips down as her walls flutter with her climax, and Henry spills, vision whiting out.
For a few long moments, they simply stay as they are, still joined, panting as the aftershocks of their pleasure slowly subside. The bathwater around them has grown tepid, not terribly pleasant to sit in.
With a splash, Elishka peels herself off Henry, his softening cock slipping free, her thighs trembling from strain. He reaches out to steady her, and she laughs, leaning forward to kiss his nose. “Thank God for you, Henry,” she says, dismounting his lap to wash his spend out of her cunt without an ounce of shame. “My faith in the menfolk I can find in Kuttenberg has been restored.”
It’s clearly an exaggeration – possibly meant to stroke his ego – and Henry finds himself laughing. He feels abuzz with pleasure and terribly loose. “Well, the womenfolk don’t seem lacking, at least.”
Another splash, and Elishka gets to her feet, water sluicing down her body in little rivulets; Henry’s cock gives a valiant little twitch at the sight, but still lies defeated. She remains standing before him in the tub, grinning, giving his leg a little nudge with her toe. “Aye, they’re good,” she agrees. “But I’d be happy if you wanted me again sometime, too. Friendly-like.”
And what’d be the harm? “Friendly-like,” he echoes, using the edge of the tub to pull himself up. He can’t feel his feet, he realises.
Elishka seems to catch on to his predicament, now moving to steady him. “Wrung you out, have I?” she asks, cheerful. Then, clearly just pretending to ponder before she speaks, she adds, “Maybe I really ought to ask Klara to let you watch, if a girl can’t even sit on you for a few minutes without it being too much.”
“Oh, fuck,” Henry says, and this time, the twitch of his cock has it stiffening again. Elishka, with her arm around Henry’s forearm, looks down with a laugh.
“I’ll ask her.”