Drinking Games; An Orc Erotica

Part 3

Alone, again. Bur-uke was back to work after gracing me with this quick time together during his break. It'd been hours and I'd done enough to entertain myself. All the chores my room required and all the hobbies and projects that fit in my luggage had distracted me as long they could. Still I could hardly get my mind off of him. Every spare second was filled wishing he was filling me. I sigh, hoping a drink for the early evening could clear my mind.

I sip away at my drink, in the lively tavern reading a book I'd brought from my room. A booth tucked toward the end of the room have a couple uproars, though nothing that elicited more than a glance across my shoulder every now and then. A few tables and booths had filled since I sat down, with passerby coming and going filling the bar stools at any given moment.

I hear the booth mention a girl, with one gesturing toward the front of the room. I look around, finding there to be no other women about, even the servers must have been busy elsewhere. I shrug it off, until I hear it again followed by snickering.

I get up and they fall silent, only solidifying that it was me they'd been discussing. "Can I help you boys?" I sneer, looming over their booth. I slam a hand onto the tabletop, their beer bottles and tankards clinking as everything shifts.

"Figures he'd like 'em feisty," A drunken man mutters with a giggle, sinking into the booth.

"Excuse me?" I raise my voice.

"Ah, ignore him. Absolutely sloshed. We just noticed you chattin' with one of our lads is all," One man says waving a hand, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Good to see him back in the saddle after so long," Another chimes in.

"Settle a bet and tell us if he paid you, would ya?" the drunken man snickers.

"Like he needs to pay me," I smirk.

One of the fellows elbows another, each of them chuckling amongst themselves. My face reddens, realizing what I'd said.

"He'll be ready for you soon, showerin' now," the man sunken in the booth mutters, gradually becoming more incoherent.

So he's in the shower, huh?

"Sorry about him," one of the more sober men apologizes. "Hope to see ya around again," he smiles and waves, attempting to silence his friend making a fool of himself. The drunken lad makes a remark about watching me go, though improperly recited and articulated worse. I roll my eyes, heading straight out the tavern doors after the embarrassing encounter.

I set my book on the porch fence, running my hand down the wood post. My eyes lock with the ground, watching the wooden porch steps turn to loose, powdery earth. I trace a footpath woven in the sand for a few moments, happy to find shade soon in the heat. I look up to find what is providing the shadow I retreated in. I'd led myself to the bathouse. My breath hitches. I am a few feet from the men's entrance.

My heart pounds, and I look around. My hand trails down the door on instinct, shaking as soon as it makes contact with the handle. I slink my way into the bathhouse, shoving the hefty door open and carefully shutting it behind me. My fingers run down the door handle, twisting the lock to ensure my privacy. I do my best not to make a sound, though the water running should muffle any minor noise. My heart was racing; maybe this was a mistake.

"I've made it this far," I remind myself, deciding to push onward. I could see steam billowing out above only one stall that is tucked away in the very back corner. After fetching a folded towel from a stack, I begin stripping off my clothes. Forcing the fabric into a small balled-up clump, it makes its new home for the time being on a bench near the entryway. I fasten my towel around my body and carefully make my way over to the stall in use.