The Forest Queen: Isles & Tribulations

Chapter 7

Two figures were squished into a single bed. Shell, Orlaith's friend, was pressed against the wall, a rough woolen blanket draped over her curvaceous form. Her companion, however, had not been granted the honor of sharing Shell's blanket, much to Orlaith's horror. A pudgy gentleman, no doubt old enough to be Shell's father, lay next to her, stark naked, his saggy backside Orlaith's primary view. Suppressing her gag reflex, she cleared her throat.

Shell stirred first. Groaning and stretching, her eyes fluttered open, unable to focus on Orlaith straight away. She looked confused for a moment, as though she was wondering why on earth Orlaith was there, but then her eyes widened and her mouth formed an 'o'. She nodded in understanding and held up a finger.

"Excuse me, sir," Shell purred in her companion's ear, "I think it's time to wake up."

With a noisy yawn, the man awoke. He stretched and rolled onto his back, exposing everything to Orlaith, who covered her mouth with her hand and turned to face the wall, mumbling, "Oh, Lord."

"What time is it, dear?" he asked. He spoke well, with a refined accent, suggesting he was most certainly not from one of the less prevalent areas of the city. "Do we have time for another round?"

Orlaith squeezed her eyes shut, failing to keep that image out of her mind. Shell, the professional that she was, merely giggled and said, "I'm afraid not, sir. We actually have company."

She couldn't see him, but judging by the gasps and thuds, Orlaith came to the conclusion the man fell out of bed. She heard him scrambling about, desperately searching for his discarded clothes, jabbering on about how sorry he was, how he'd be gone in no time at all, if only he could find his blasted breeches. Orlaith pressed her lips together in a bid to control her laughter.

It took him long enough, but he was finally in a fit enough state to leave the room. "Erm, same time next week?" he asked hopefully. Shell didn't reply. "Um, yes, of course. I'll sort it out downstairs." He edged closer to the door. "Thank you for a, er, lovely evening!" Still no response. To Orlaith he muttered, "Ever so sorry, miss, I do hope you'll excuse my, ah, state this morning." He laid his hand on her elbow as he spoke and she tensed, nauseated. She squeaked and nodded, still facing the wall, but this seemed enough for Shell's client. He slipped from the room without another word.

As soon as the door had closed, Orlaith turned to face her friend, brow furrowed and mouth wide open in disgust. "Well, that was the most horrific, hilarious thing I've ever seen," she announced, moving from the wall and perching herself on the edge of the bed.

Shell let out a bark of a laugh. "Darlin', when you've fucked one, then come back to me and talk about horrific, hilarious sights." She pushed herself into an upright sitting position and rubbed her dark eyes. They were bloodshot. Orlaith assumed Shell hadn't been asleep for long.

"Shall we do this another time? You look exhausted," Orlaith suggested, guilty for depriving Shell of her rest.

But Shell shook her head all the same, her chaotic mass of brown curls swaying on her head. "No, no, we agreed on this morning, so it'll happen this morning." Orlaith opened her mouth to object, but Shell talked over her. "You're doing so well. I don't want you to slip behind just because I've had a bad night's sleep." She squeaked as she yawned. "Just grab the books out of the wardrobe, would you? I'm not getting out of bed."