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Dawn of Dusk - Part 1: Tavern Wench - Chapter 1: Serenaded

© 2009 - 2018 Nameless

The last note faded slowly, the troubadour’s hand hoovered over the mandolin's fret-board. His head lifted and he looked at me and smiled, his handsome face lit by a smile warmed (or maybe heated) by more than just a hint of lust. Suddenly he brought the hand down, ending the song with a discordant jangle. Like all the others in the taproom I had been entranced by the hauntingly beautiful ballad. He leaned forward and, his blue eyes still on mine, smacked my rump playfully and declared, "Wench! An ale! My throat is parched!"

I squealed and giggled. Well, I chittered, I can't help it, I'm a squirrel, I chitter. Followed by laughter, hoots and a few catcalls I hurried back to the bar to fetch the desired beverage. While I waited for my father to fill a tankard from the barrel, weathering his stern look, the troubadour basked in his well deserved glory. Amid applause, cheers and requests for more songs a small hailstorm of coins showered him. His dexterous hands snatched more than a few of the flying coins out of the air. The few coins that had evaded him at first were quickly scooped up and disappeared into one of the many pockets sewn onto his jacket. He held up his hands, and, his voice suddenly rough, called, "Later, later! I need to wet my throat first."

I returned with the heavy tankard and held it out to him. He took the tankard and somehow managed to snag the sleeve of my dress and pulled me towards him. Something caught my foot (looking back I'm pretty certain it was one of his boots) and I stumbled and tumbled forward. Before I knew it, I was sitting on his lap and a moment later his arm encircled me and lifted the tankard to his mouth, drinking deeply. I have no idea how, but he managed the complicated maneuver without spilling a drop of ale. The tankard had barely left his lips before he planted a wet kiss on my nose.

"Hey! Um..." The rest of whatever it was that I wanted to say was lost when he kissed me full on the mouth and his tongue entered my mouth, filling it with the taste of ale. My heart skipped a few beats and my hands held onto him, trying to steady my somewhat precarious position, while trying to push him away at the same time as pulling me closer. After a while he broke the kiss, grinned down at me and from the mocking smile he enjoyed my helplessness against his advances. My cheeks burned, the red must have shown clearly through the light gray fur that covered my cheeks.

A few deep breaths steadied me enough to try to stand up. I had barely lifted my rump from his lap when his right hand, having in the meantime transferred the tankard to the left, found the base of my tail and rubbed the sensitive spot there, sending a shock up my spine. I fell right back into his lap and a strangled noise escaped my muzzle, half indignant protest, half lustful moan. After another lengthy kiss during which his hands (he must have had at least three to do all he did to me while juggling a mostly full tankard of ale) somehow managed to dip under my dress and caress the insides of my thighs. My right paw closed around his wrist, but couldn't make up its mind whether to remove his hand or to guide it further towards my center.

He broke the kiss and regarded me with a lusty grin while I collected myself. This time he let me stand up and then sent me on my way with a playful slap on my rear. Once more laughter, hoots and catcalls followed me to the bar. The fur on my face was fluffed and my tail raised high, displaying my arousal to all and sundry.

But I had no time to hide. During the enchanting ballad Myra and I had shirked our duties and now I had to scramble to make up for it, hurrying to placate our patrons with fresh mugs of ale, wine and other drinks. After the little unwitting show I had just put on the patrons (and a few matrons as well) were especially free with their hands, they 'accidentally' brushed the insides of my thighs, squeezed this part or that or slapped my rear. Through all this I felt the troubadours eyes on me; whenever I looked his way, he grinned at me and even licked his lips suggestively. My heart refused to slow down. Again and again I caught my tail rising as soon as I stopped concentrating on keeping it low enough to be decent.

Don't get me wrong, I'm used to the occasional 'accidental' hand on my rear, in this day and age you can't really be a tavern wench without feeling a hand on your rear regularly. I don't usually mind this all that much but today it was a little much. The lewd comments that invited me to put on more of a show didn't help either.

"Wench! My throat is dry like the desert!" That was a bald-faced lie, nothing but. I had seen him drain the tankard only moments before. Still, lie or not, his tankard was empty and he had asked for another. My father handed me a tankard filled only moments before. He looked somewhat less than pleased with my behavior, but didn't say anything.

My heart beat a little faster as I approached the small raised area that did duty as a stage when needed. As I climbed the three steps, the handsome troubadour stood up. Suddenly he had a feathered hat in his right hand and bowed in a courtly fashion and declared extravagantly, "My beautiful Lady! I thank thee from the bottom of my heart; thine timely arrival has spared me from the cruel ravages of thirst."

I chittered in delight and held out the mug. Instead of taking it, he bent forward a little further, took my free paw in his hands, raised it to his mouth and kissed it. My heart skipped a beat and I almost dropped the ale. He stepped closer, rescued the mug from my failing grip and somehow managed to catch both of my paws with his free hand. He stared me in the eyes, giving his best look of starstruck adoration. Insincere or not, suddenly my knees began to feel more than a little wobbly.

He took a deep drought, and before I could turn to leave he struck another ridiculous pose and declared, "Lady! I Lucien, am thy humble servant! Never have I seen such a delightful creature! The stars shine in thine eyes, thine fur shines like silver! I beseech thee, my Lady, speak! What is thine name!"

A chittering laugh bubbled up from my throat; I couldn't help it, he was so ridiculously over the top. Still, my heart beat faster and faster and my knees felt as if they might give any moment. Caught up in the act I curtsied, "I thank thee, my handsome... my Lord. I am called Daisy."

"Daisy! Oh, such a rare and beauteous flower!" He brought my paws to his mouth once more, kissed them and sniffed, "Oh, what a heavenly fragrance!." He went on and on like that, showering me with ever more outrageous compliments. Knowing them for the drivel they were didn't make me any more immune to them or to his smile and twinkling eyes. My heart best faster and faster and my breath was more than a little ragged by the time I finally managed to extricate my paws from his hand and beg my leave.

On the way down from the stage my knees buckled and I stumbled forward. I barely managed to check my fall by grabbing the nearest chair. Unfortunately that chair was occupied, so my muzzle ended up in the lap of the female caravan guard sitting there. I was in the process of getting my body back under control when from behind me the troubadours voice called, "What a beautiful moon!"

Blushing furiously I realized that my barely arrested fall had let at least half of the tavern see my underpants. Or they would have seen my underpants, had I worn any. Fur is hot and when you hustle around in a crowded tavern room all evening you quickly become desperate for every little cooling breeze. My cheeks felt hot enough to fry eggs on. Before I could stand all the way up, the female I had just barged into arrested my rise with a vice-like grip and said, "Don't start anything you don't plan on finishing." I stared down at her lap and the heat in my cheeks doubled. But then she had mercy on me and released me.

Once more I retreated towards the bar amid laughter, whistles and catcalls. Once more I didn't get to hide as orders for food and drink filled the air. My father gave me a pained look, but just pointed at a row of freshly filled tankards. I scurried to distribute them around the room. My rear seemed to attract more attention from stray hands than ever.

After a while the attraction of my legs and rear end to the patrons seemed to wane a little. Until the troubadour started a song he called, "My beautiful flower." A most improbably song about bees and flowers, it seemed to feature enough stanzas about daisies to cover a fair-sized meadow with. My cheeks (both on my face and rear), which had cooled a little heated up once more.

He played another song, this one a well-known and lively song. The lyrics were more than a little bawdy. Some of the patrons started dancing, which made my job a lot more difficult. It took all my concentration and dexterity to cross the taproom without spilling the drinks I was carrying. Predictably, the number of hands that fondled my body 'by accident' rose sharply as the song progressed.

When the song finally ended the troubadour set down his mandolin and sprawled in his chair, feigning utter exhaustion. He ignored the cheers and demands for more, but he revived just enough to snatch up the coins that flew his way. When he noticed that I was looking at him, he stage-whispered in a croaking voice, "Oh, my beauteous flower, rescue my parched throat from this cursed drought!" Then he slumped once more.

At first I pretended not to have heard him, but the other patrons began to urge me to assist in reviving the troubadour's spirits and I had to relent. Tankard in hand I climbed the stage and approached him warily. He didn't move until I practically held the mug under his nose. Suddenly the mug was snatched from my hand. Before I could react he had it at his lips while catching my paw with his other hand. I was still debating whether I should try to escape when, with one fluid motion he stood up and set the foaming mug down on the chair. With an exaggerated bow he lifted my paw to his lips and kissed it. It was a very wet kiss, the considerable amount of foam from his upper lip ended up on the back of my paw.

I snatched my paw back and glared at him.

"My beauteous Lady, I am tired to the bone, but if thou commandest for me to entertain thine subjects with song and dance I shall seek to overcome mine fatigue and endeavor to do so."

I was still considering my answer when the patrons began urging me on, shouting things like, "Lady Daisy make that rapscallion play!"

"Very well, play and entertain us, knave! Or face our wrath!"

"As thou wishest, my Lady. With thou grant me the boon of a small favor to lift my flagging spirits?"

"Name your boon."

"Oh wonderful flower! I ask thee for the honor of a kiss."

All through our little exchange, he had smiled at me warmly, and my heart had sped up with his every word. Even if I would have been able to make myself refuse, doing so would disappoint just about everybody present. "Well played, knave! You may have a kiss." I turned my face up at him.

But rather than bend down he straightened, suddenly towering over me, more than a head taller than I. He looked down at me and his smile turned into a grin that made my toes curl. By now it was much too late to bow out without loosing a lot of face, so I gave in to the inevitable and stepped forward.

Even standing on tiptoes was not enough, so I put my arms around his neck to pull myself up (or to pull him down a little). His hands cupped my bottom and helped lifting me up. By the time our lips finally met, I was barely touching the floor with the toes of my left foot. Our lips met, and then our tongues. The kiss went on and on, our eyes locked. I felt his hands squeeze my buttocks and then one of his fingers found the base of my tail. Barely heard (even though they were rather loud) whistles and hoots from the spectators fanned the heat of my desire rather than embarrassing me. Only when my lungs began to burn and stars filled my vision did I pull away.

I stumbled back and without his steadying hands my knees would have given way. Panting I stared up at him, my arms now around his waist. His grin grew wider and wider, like a cat's that's got the canary. The laughter, hoots and whistles from behind me diminished but didn't stop entirely. Suddenly I noticed a draft between my legs. I reached behind me to pull my dress back into position and realized that it didn't cover my rear end at all.

When you have a tail you don't want to wear pants. Even tailored pants are a headache to put on and take off. You need to thread your tail through the tailhole every time you want to put them on or take them off to use the loo. And that's a hassle even with a relatively modest tail, when you have a large bushy tail like I do... So I prefer skirts or dresses or robes. And when you wear those, revealing the bottom of your rear end when you lift your tail is the price you pay for doing business.

Showing a little of my rear had been inevitable, given the tendency of my tail to lift when I get aroused (and with a toe-curling kiss like this...), but not content with fondling my buttocks, that knave had lifted my skirt and pinned it up by pushing it under the belt. The fur on my cheeks flared with embarrassment as I tried to pull my skirt down. The laughter from behind me doubled. With my modesty somewhat restored, I stared at my tormentor and raised my paws, humiliation, anger and lust warring within me. I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to slap him, rake him with my claws or kiss him again.

But before I could make up my mind, he grasped my wrists and twirled me around. Suddenly I found myself enfolded by his arms, my arms pinned by his and entirely dependent on his support as I had lost my footing for the moment. I glared up at my tormentor's face.

His expression changed once again, evil grin one moment, artful innocence the next. "Fair Lady! It shall be as thou hast commanded. I shall sing and entertain thee and thine subjects." After a moment he added, "Provided thou dost not shred my lips with thine claws. I need them to sing."

The expression of wide eyed innocence on his face was so ridiculous that I couldn't help myself, a chittering giggle burst out of my throat and then I was laughing so hard I felt as if I might loose control of my bladder any moment. When I finally got myself under control, he released me, but not before whispering "Don't leave yet." in my ear.

A moment later I found out why. Still standing, he had retrieved his mandolin and slung it over his head and began to play. It only took me a moment to recognize the melody.

It was 'Springtime'. While not a religious song as such, it is a perennial favorite at the temple of Lillith, sung at least once at every special celebration. The song is a rather bawdy celebration of spring, the spring of life, mind and body. And it needs to be sung as a duet. I knew the words by heart. There was no way I could leave him to sing it alone now. I pulled the pendant of a Lilly (one of the symbols of Lillith) I wear out of my blouse and displayed it proudly. I usually keep the pendant concealed, not because I am ashamed of it or anything, but because wearing it openly is basically an announcement to all and sundry that you are looking for intimate company. I usually get more than enough proposals from customers as is, I rarely need to encourage them.

Listening as the music washed over me, I waited for the cue to start singing.

We finished the last line of the song together and I let myself fall into his arms. As I know he would, he caught me skillfully and our lips met in a passionate kiss. Watching the audience with one eye, I saw that most of them had joined us in this; it's considered bad luck if you don't kiss somebody at the end of the song. While there were quite a few females in the audience, the males outnumbered them handily. Still most of them made do, kissing whoever they were sitting next to. My mother had come from her usual place in the kitchen to join her husband for this song.

When we finally broke the kiss, thunderous applause almost swept me off the stage. We bowed several times and more than a few coins rained down on us. Lucien snatched them up and pressed a few into my paw. I don't perform for money, but of course I take every tip I can get. I finally climbed down from the stage when the first notes of the next song rang out.

I returned to the bar where my mother kissed my brow and thanked me for the wonderful performance. A male standing next to me at the bar, a pitcher of ale in his hand (and obviously not his first one), leered at me, "A truly wonderful performance. Both from the front and the rear." I blushed, suddenly remembering the earlier, almost forgotten, incident and blushed. My father looked at him sourly but didn't say anything. I rested for a bit and then returned to my duties.

A few more songs and then my – our – musician finally pleaded terminal exhaustion and left the stage. His voice had started sounding a little strained towards the end. I brought him another ale. The end of his performance had been a sign and slowly, little by little the patrons began to leave. As usual, a number of them ordered a last (usually small) mug of spirits to fortify them for the road home, keeping me busy until the taproom was almost empty.

Upon returning to the bar for to obtain another load of 'last' drinks for a group of patrons, I found my father talking with Lucien about a room for the night. "Sorry, my lord, all my rooms are full. For a copper you can sleep in the stable, the hay is soft and there are warm blankets should you need them."

He looked less than pleased, but then I caught his eye and gave him a little nod. "Of course, my gracious host, it would be my pleasure to spend the night with the" – he gave me a mocking grin at this point – "beasts of burden in your wonderful manor." I glared at him, but he blew me a kiss, wished us a good night and retrieved his bag and instrument.

On his way out he stopped at each table to chat (and if there was a female, flirt) with the remaining patrons. Having delivered my load of drinks, I sidled up to him and, trying – probably without much success – to be unobtrusive, whispered in his ear, "Wait a bell. First floor, third room on the right, there's a daisy on the door." He gave me a knowing grin and winked.

I returned to my duties, delivered drinks and collected owed pay from the departing customers. When I looked for the troubadour again, I found that he had left.

I returned to the bar and deposited a handful of small coins in the till. My father put his hand on my head and ruffled my headfur. Giving me a slightly strained smile, he said, "I think me and Myra can manage closing up. Why don't you get some sleep?"

"Thank you, daddy." I kissed his cheek.

My father ruffled my fur once more, then gave me a stern look and shook his finger at me. After a moment the look dissolved into a warm smile and he whispered in my ear, "Have fun with your boy-toy." He sent me off with a smack on the rump.

After a quick visit to the outhouse I approached the stables. Since the main gate was already closed and barred for the night, I opened the smaller side door wide. Standing off to one side, I swished my tail across the opening. With the partially full moon behind me, it must have been clearly visible to anybody inside. From inside I heard an intake of breath and the sounds of movement. I closed the door and hurried back to the inn. I heard the stable door creak open just before I closed the door to the yard behind me.

I hurried up the stairs to my room and entered, closing the door behind me. Even in the near darkness my paws found the hiding place of the small glow-stone without problem. I concentrated and whispered, "Lumiere!" and felt the familiar shiver as a little bit of my spirit empowered the stone. It began to glow with a warm red (I could choose the color at will) to make my den cozy and inviting. I hung the stone (it's on a cord so I can wear it around my neck) up on a nail and stripped off my clothes.

My room is the smallest room in the house (apart from the outhouse and the small pantry under the stairs), but it is mine alone. Three foot wide and maybe nine long, most of it is covered by a mattress I use as a bed. On the far end on a shelf just below the small window is the chest where I store my things. There's a couple of shelves with various knickknack items and a couple of hooks for clothes. I opened the shutters of the small window a little and laid down.

I laid mostly on my belly, propped up on one side just enough to show off my rear a little better, my tail arcing above me and turned my head towards the door. I don't have much in the way of breasts (I'm not completely flat, but like many furs, I just can't even begin to compete with a well endowed human female in that regard), but my butt and tail have not yet failed to life a man's 'spirits'.

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and then down the corridor (the stairs and floor are made of timbers; when you've lived here as long as I have you can tell a lot about anybody walking outside just by listening to the sounds). There was a knock on the door and after a short pause another one. The latch was lifted slowly and the door opened silently. An eye appeared in the crack, when it spied me, it widened and he whistled.

He entered quickly, closed the door behind him and barred it. He turned back towards me and set down his pack and mandolin. Then he hooked his thumbs under his belt he with a smile that made my heart beat faster. I held up my hand and commanded, "No clothes on the bed." Grinning at me he lifted a foot and made as if to step on the bed. "I'm serious. This is my den, here I make the rules. Touch my bed with your clothes on and you're out of that door."

He looked surprised – I wasn't quite sure if the surprise was feigned or not – but then he bowed extravagantly, hat in hand, "As my lady commands." He bowed once more, swirling his hat around before putting it back on his head at a jaunty angle.

He took off his jacket slowly, hung it on a hook and unbuttoned his shirt. Flexing his muscles he let it fall open. What I could see of his chest looked... tasty. He was on the skinny side, but well enough muscled. He crouched down and sat on one heel with the other foot extended forward. He unlaced the first boot, exchanged the position of his legs with a quick step and unlaced the second. Standing up again, he took off the shoes and placed them side by side at the foot of the bed. He unhooked the belt buckle, unlaced the flap of his pants and took them off slowly. His underpants bulged nicely and I licked my lips.

Suddenly pretending to a modesty I'm quite sure he didn't possess, he covered his front with his hands and turned away, though still looking at me over his shoulder. I wiggled my rear and tail invitingly. I could tell that he enjoyed watching my efforts. He pulled the underpants down a finger-with and then another. I spread my legs a little more, lifted my rump a little more and intensified the wiggling. Slowly, inch by inch his hands slid down his legs and the underpants with them. With his body turned away from me I couldn't see his sword, but his rear held some promise as well. Unfortunately I couldn't see all that much yet as the shirt hung down almost to his crotch,

When his underpants finally cleared his crotch, he shrugged his shoulders, lifting the shirt out of the way and revealing his buttocks. "Rrrawww!" A lustful growl bubbled up from the depths of my throat. My fingers suddenly itched to touch and squeeze. I'm perfectly happy with my body, but there are times I wished I was a cat. I love my claws (as sharp as any cat's and quite a bit longer), but sometimes I do wish I could retract them, at least for a moment, so I could squeeze to my heart's content without having to worry about causing injury.

I was so entranced by the sight, I didn't notice that he had dropped the panties until he stepped out of them. Shedding the feigned modesty, he turned back to me. Almost as if by accident his shirt covered his male parts just enough to give me tantalizing glimpses, but not a full view. He lifted his right foot and removed the sock slowly. The motion revealed his sword for a moment only to cover it moments later with the other side of his open shirt. After a moment he repeated this with his left foot, once more granting me a short glimpse. His flag was definitely at half mast, if not further. My sex whetted in anticipation.

He stood there for a moment, hips swaying. I redoubled my efforts and he smiled at my impatience. He let me hang a few moments more and then he shrugged his shoulders, flexed his arms and the shirt dropped to the floor behind him. Another growl bubbled up from my throat, full of lust and impatience. I turned on my side, one leg lifted to make room on the bed for him and to give him a little more incentive to fill that room. Patting the empty mattress in front of my belly I growled, "Come here!"

He made another of his exaggerated courtly bows, swirling the hat in front of his body and declared, "Lady, thy will is my command. I am but your humble servant." After another fancy swirl the hat ended up on one of the hooks. A moment later that tantalizing hunk of man-meat finally ended up in my bed.

"Well, my beauteous flower, what..." I was not in the mood for more silvered words, so I stopped him by the simple and time-honored means I had: by gluing my lips to his. And by squeezing his buttocks as hard as I could. I'm pretty sure my claws drew a little blood, but he gave no indication that he minded, except maybe by tightening his muscles. His surprise wore off quickly and he responded in kind, his hand found my rear end, he hooked a leg over mine and pulled me closer and our tongues commenced a nice little wrestling match.

After a while the danger of suffocation became an issue and we broke the kiss. We just found other targets, nuzzling, licking and kissing each others' face, neck and chest. Arms roaming up and down, we continued our friendly, very friendly, wrestling match. I felt his quickly hardening sword poke my belly and more than once it tried to enter my flower. I wanted him in me, oh how much I wanted him in me, but not yet. Skillfully my hips blocked or evaded him every time.

After a while I pushed him away a little; since I had to fight not only him but myself as well, it took some time. Eventually he let me pin him below me. I looked down at him, lying above him, but turned a little so his sword touched the outer side of my right thigh.

He blew me a kiss and asked, "What now, oh beauteous flower of mine?"

"Now we see if your silvered tongue is good for something besides spewing forth lies and drivel."

"Thy words wound me, my Lady. They pierce my heart most cruelly." While he protested, I had already begun moving and soon I knelt at the head of the bed with his head nestled between my thighs. He grinned up at me, obviously enjoying the view. I leaned forward slowly and then walked my paws down his torso to the thighs. I let him feel my claws clearly, but without breaking the skin. I arced my back until my muzzle was directly above his crotch. Since my knees stayed where they were, this lifted my invitingly spread sex directly above his head.

When I reached his fully (or pretty much so) erect sword, I slowly drew my tongue up from the base to the tip, tasting him and the first drips of his juices forming at the tip. I lifted my torso a little futher so I could look at him between our bodies, smiled at him and said, "Tell me a story without words. And make it a good one. Or face my wrath, knave!"

"My Lady! Please have mercy with your humble servant! My flesh quivers with fear!" His man-flesh did indeed quiver, but I doubted that it was from fear.

My smile turned into a wide grin that showed off my teeth, "You know what Mother Gaia made these teeth for? Cracking nuts! I feel a restless hunger deep in my belly, growing with every moment."

His face had turned apprehensive at the mention of nuts (and with my teeth so close to his male parts he certainly got my meaning), for a moment he looked as if he wanted to say something, but then he thought better of it. His hands grabbed my buttocks and he lifted his head into position.

His lips met mine (my nether lips, that is) at the top (closest to my bellybutton) and slid down first one side and then the other. He repeated this, only this time his tongue entered my flower a little; again and again, each time his questing tongue penetrated a little deeper. I arced my back and a growling moan escaped my lips. In turn I teased his hardening sword, licking lightly here and there, tasting the drops of his juices or blowing air at the shaft or tip. He didn't need to know it yet, but I had no plan to give him satisfaction just yet. If his wordless story pleased me, I would make it up to him later.

Deeper and deeper his tongue penetrated, telling an increasingly exciting if wordless story while his hands kneaded my thighs, buttocks and lower back, adding to my pleasure. I shifted my paws from his legs to the mattress; a shredded blanket is inconvenient, but shredded legs would likely bring an early end to the night's entertainment (and an unpleasant one at that).

The story had its highs and lows but but eventually it reached its climax. My lover certainly knew about furs; the base of our tails is sensitive and for most of us stimulation there is very pleasant. Just as I felt a scream of pleasure starting to build in my throat, one of his fingers found the sensitive spot and sent a veritable bolt of lightning up my spine. A chittering scream burst from my mouth and my claws dug into the mattress. His tongue lapped up my nectar vigorously. Whenever the deluge slowed the questing tongue found another sensitive spot, prolonging my pleasure further.

Finally I was exhausted and slumped forward, barely managing to avoid causing an injury by bending his sword out of shape. I lay panting, my body glowing with fatigue. After a minute or so I revived enough to move a little.

I lifted my body off his, dragged my legs forward a little and sat down on his face. He sputtered in protest and grabbed my hips to remove me. I hissed, leaned back and put one paw around his sack, letting him feel my claws. His protests died down very quickly. Moving my hips around I coated his face and much of his hair with my nectar.

My lover's erect man-meat had flagged a little in the meantime but a kiss and a few licks with my tongue revived it nicely. I scooted backward until my snatch was above him and then sank down, impaling myself on his sword. I was still a little too exhausted to ride him properly, but just flexing and relaxing the muscles deep inside me kept both of us entertained. His hands found my rear and began to massage my thighs, buttocks and back. I swished my tail around a bit, sometimes covering his face, sometimes brushing his chest.

As my strength returned slowly I increased the stimulation by leaning back and forward, sometimes with my muscles tightened, sometimes relaxed. The feeling of his flesh sliding around deep inside me was incredible. My breath became more and more ragged and low moans occasionally escaped from my throat. From behind me I could hear increasingly appreciative noises.

Eventually I felt rested enough. I lifted and lowered my hips, I varied the speed and tightness of my muscles; at times I grabbed him hard enough to almost lift his back from the bed, on the next stroke I barely touched him. I was in no hurry and I wanted to see how long he could hold it in. He did hold it quite long, but not quite enough; it had been hard and sweaty work, and I was close to release when he finally let go and his hot cream squirted up my womb. He grunted and his nails dug into my buttocks; the sudden pain together with his hot cream were enough to send me over the edge; I moaned loudly. My muscles began to spasm around his cock, milking him. Each new stream sent another wave of pleasure through me.

Finally he was spent and with some regret I felt his sword flag. I barely had enough strength to remain sitting on him and not fall over. I sat over him for what seemed a long time, feeling his diminishing man-meat inside me. His hands kneaded my rear gently, both of us were panting hard.

There was one more thing I wanted to do before I could rest languidly in his arms. When my strength returned enough that I could move, I lifted my rump, tightening the muscles in my flower so that as little of his cream as possible would escape. Once more I grinned at him from below my body. He looked vastly pleased with himself and the world in general. If he had been with a squirrel before he he might have looked a little more suspicious. As it was, the stream of our mixed juices I squirted at his face caught him by complete surprise and he sputtered indignantly as his chest, face and hair was drenched. "Ugh!"

Limbs trembling a little from fatigue, I turned around and lay down next to him. I kissed his neck and licked his cheek, enjoying the taste; a little salty, a little sweet, a little musky and all full of memories of ecstasy.

"That was not nice."

"So? Just marking my territory."

"So I'm your territory now?"

"This is my den; while you're here you're mine." I poked his chest possessively, letting him feel the sharp tips of my claws.

"Thy servant apologizes humbly." Sounding a little petulant, he added, "It was still not nice. My Lady."

"Well... if you don't like nectar and cream, I can use more traditional means to mark territory the next time..."

It took him a few moments to process that. From the suddenly disgusted expression on his face I could tell exactly when he did get my meaning. "Thy humble servant apologizes. He is always happy to taste the nectar of your flower." He watched my tongue lick his chest and finally asked, "How can you enjoy that?"

I grinned at him, rubbed my cheek against his chest and neck, quite deliberately soaking it with our juices. Then, with lips and tongue sticky, I kissed him. His eyes widened a little at the taste, but then he rallied and returned the kiss. His dislike for the taste seemed to dissolve quickly. The kiss had none of the urgent passion of before, but it was slow and gentle. Our lips drifted apart slowly, I licked the tip of his nose and then smiled down at him, "It must have been a very boring night if my fur isn't sticky in at least a few odd places come morning."

"Then let us pray our skins stick like glue tomorrow."

I grinned at him and rolled on my back. He followed with barely a moments' hesitation and began to kiss and nuzzle my fur lazily and languidly. If he disliked the taste of the stick spots on my cheeks and chest, I saw no sign of it.

I smiled, listening to the familiar sounds of the night.

"Well?" When I looked up at Lucien uncomprehendingly and he repeated the question, "Why the sudden smile, Daisy?"

"Why shouldn't I smile. A soft bed and a tasty hunk of a man-flesh to keep me warm." After listening a little more, I added, "I just love listening to the sounds of the night."

"Anything good?"

"Do you hear that rhythmic creaking?" He listened for a while and finally nodded, "That's the second room across the corridor. One of the floorboards under the bed is a little loose. It makes the creak a little uneven." He looked dubious, but he hadn't lived here for years. I whispered in his ear, "The couple, or it might even be three, in the room next to us are trying really hard to be quiet, but I can tell that they are not sleeping." We shared a smile and he rested his head on my chest once more.

A little later a girlish squeal followed by giggling could be heard. "That was a neighbor. Across the street, two houses down. And yes, that was the husband, his wife is real quiet. He looks like a bear but when he's excited his voice gets squeaky like a mouse's."

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but I don't remember seeing many of your kind around here."

"As far as I know I'm the only one. I've lived here all my life; I know that no other squirrel lives in this city. I can count the times I met any on one paw." To illustrate I held up a paw, all four fingers spread widely.

"Really?" He grinned, "Have you ever mated with one?"

"No."

"You prefer humans?"

"No, I mean I love humans. And dogs. And cats. I love variety. I would like to know what it's like with a male of my race, but so far I didn't get a chance." Seeing his querying look I explained, "I was still too young when I met the first two. The third was a wandering priest who wasn't interested. The was a drover for a caravan. He would have been interested, but his caravan spent the night on the other side of the city and he visited a tavern there. I met him in the marketplace while he was buying supplies the next morning. We only had time to chat for a few minutes before he had to leave. He did promise to look me up if he ever passed through again but he never returned."

"So, my pretty little flower, might I inquire how come you are here? I mean if your are the only one of your kind... "

"I don't mind telling, but its a bit of a story."

"I love stories. Listening to your beautiful voice might help revive my currently flagging spirits." He grinned at me and gestured towards his hips. It might not be his spirits, but flagging it was.

"Then listen."

As you might have guessed, I'm adopted (kind of obvious, I'm a squirrel and my both my parents are humans). I was born in Ranas, in the duchy of Tellaris. My birth-parents were both gray squirrels, but my father had a bit of red squirrel blood in him as well, I think from one of his grandfathers. My mother, Maris, was a novice of Marilith and my father, Jesho, was a guard in the service of a prominent merchant there. Well, they met, one thing led to another, and after a while I came along. I was not quite a year old when Irnqua lost a big battle in the war against Tukis. When the Tukan army invaded Tellaris, my parents decided to flee, as did many other devout followers of the infernals (Tukis is strictly celestial; their armies are always accompanied by inquisitors).

The mother of my heart, Primrose, was a novice of Lillith. She and my birth-mother had met during their novitiate and become friends. Gunthur, father of my heart, was her lover at the time. Eventually my mother decided to marry him rather than become a priestess.

All four of my parents joined a caravan to get out of Ranas. My birth parents planned to continue on to Gallycis, where my father had kin. This inn belonged to a distant uncle of Gunthur, so this is where he was headed.

While the caravan crossed the big forest in southern Tellaris, it was attacked by bandits. My birth-parents picked up their arms and joined the caravan guards. My father was cut down quickly. This sent my mother into Marilith's rage; by all accounts her rage was so great that she grew six arms (very unusual a novice). It is likely that she saved the entire caravan. She charged straight at the largest group of bandits. She took an arrow in the gut, but still killed more than a dozen, among them the leader, and wounded several more. The rest of the group scattered and after that the other bandits quickly lost heart and fled.

The arrow wound wasn't really deadly, at least not with some magical healing. Unfortunately the arrow had been poisoned with a particularly virulent venom that none of the healers knew how to treat. There were several healers in the caravan, but like the mother of my heart, they were all relatively inexperienced. They might have managed to keep my birth-mother alive until they reached the next city, but there were many other wounded, some critically so. If they had tried to save her, it would have meant that several others would have had to die.

They made her as comfortable as they could and she died the next day. The mother of the heart, promised my birth-bother to take care of me. Maybe it was for the best that I was still so young. I kind of wish I could have known my birth-mother and father, but on the other hand losing them would probably have hurt a lot more. I'm sad about it, but to me this is just a story, not something I really feel.

Primrose and Gunthur were all the parents I ever wanted or needed. Sure, we have our problems, but who doesn't; me being a different race added a few, there are things that are just different for me than for a human. But I never felt that they loved me less than their birth-children.

Well, that's basically it. I've been working in the tavern since I was old enough to carry a plate. I just love to spend time with travelers and listen to their tales. I've always felt close to Lillith and I have followed her since my first moon-blood.

Lucien grinned at me, "So you follow Lillith." I nodded. "Planning to pray to her some more today?"

"Definitely. As soon as you feel up for it."

"Not quite yet, but soon. Maybe with a little incentive..."

I reached between his legs and touched his shaft. Rubbing it gently, I felt it begin to stiffen, but slowly, very slowly. I looked up at him and our eyes met while the soft pads on my fingers continued to play with his sword. His smile widened and turned into such an utterly impish and satisfied grin I just had to teach him a small lesson.

Our eyes still locked, my fingers slid upwards to the tip of his shaft, peeled back his foreskin (he wasn't big enough yet for it to happen on its own). And then, holding the head gently but firmly with the other fingers and working entirely by feel I inserted the tip of my index finger's claw into the small hole. Carefully, oh so carefully, I slid my claw into the little sheath on his sword (after all I just wanted him to feel the needle-sharp tip but not to cause injury).

I could tell exactly when he felt it, suddenly his eyes doubled in size. A moment later the shit-eating smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of such an artfully contrived innocence I couldn't stop a chittering giggle from rising up in my throat. I barely managed to withdraw my claw before my fingers began to shake. He bent forward to kiss me and then one of his hands reached between my legs, gently touching the fur, my lips and the wet skin inside me. We continued like this for a few minutes, lips and fingers touching softly until I judged his sword stiff enough (far from completely hardened, just enough).

I removed my paw from his sword and licked the slightly sticky claw. I put the paw on his chest and pushed gently. When he refused to move, I let him feel my claws, which got him moving quickly. Once he lay on his back, I swished my tail up, covering his face with it. I turned around, got up on all four, facing the foot of the bed and with his body between my feet. Since I didn't want to remove my tail from his face the maneuver required quite a bit of dexterity, but I managed it. When I was in position, I lifted my tail high.

My lover grinned up at my spread legs. When he didn't move, I wiggled my rear and told him, "Get in or get out."

When he still showed no reaction, I glared at him and pointed first at his sword and then at my belly and told him, "In." Then I pointed at the door and added, "Or out. Now!"

"My Lady! Thy merest wish is my command! In it is." With that he got up. His right hand grabbed my hip and his left guided the still imperfectly hard member into my wet pussy. As soon as he was all the way inside, my muscles tightened around him. Slowly and lazily I loosened and tightened my muscles and moved my hips around a little. My lover's hands roamed over my body, from the thighs to the nipples and my neck, working their arousing magic.

Once I judged him hard enough, I stopped my movements but I did keep my muscles tightened. After a moment he picked up the cue and started thrusting into my tight hole, at first gently, then slowly increasing the speed and force of his thrusts. Low moans of pleasure began to bubble up from my throat.

My lover's thrusts built to a crescendo and my moan changed to a low scream, "Yesss!" We came within moments of each other. Afterward I couldn't tell if the hot cream squirting into my womb set me off first or if the sudden spasms from my muscles set him off. He trust into me mightily a few more times, adding a several smaller peaks to the mountains of my ecstasy. But eventually he flagged, his thrusts slowed and then he pulled out. He stood behind me, panting hard and then he sat down on the bed.

My limbs trembled with fatigue, but I kept my position and then slowly raised my head to look at him between my legs. I commanded, "Lie down, territory."

We shared a grin, he pretended to doff a hat at me, "Lady! Your merest whim is my command." and did as commanded. Once more I squirted our juices at him, covering him from the navel to the top of his head with the mixture of my nectar and his cream. Moving slowly, I turned around and lay down on top of him, wiggling around as I did so, distributing the sticky juices between our bodies. Exhaustion overcame me and I rested my head on his shoulder for a while.

I rolled off Lucien and lay on my side next to him, studying his face. I was deliciously exhausted, probably too much to start any more wrestling matches tonight, but still much to awake to go to sleep. He grinned at me, "So, how was I?"

Males always seem to want to know that and they rarely like the honest answer. I tried anyway, the pleasures of the bed are not a matter to lie about for a follower of Lillith. "Not bad. Pretty good actually."

He looked stricken, "Only pretty good? My Lady! Thy humble" – and predictably he proved that a lie with his next words – "servant's uttermost efforts deserve higher praise!"

I laughed and shook my head, then I reached for his head and ruffled his sticky hair. "You were good, better than most, no doubt about that. I enjoyed your efforts. Should we meet again, I'll have no reservations about inviting you in again. But the air is awfully thin at the very top. I do visit the temple of Lillith regularly you know. If you asked to follow her tail, they would accept you eagerly. But compared to someone who has chased her tail for years? Or a priestess?"

He considered me and then he nodded, "I understand. And compared to someone who doesn't spend most of his life at Her temple?"

I considered this for a bit, "Very good. Not the very best, but close."

He nodded. I looked at him questioningly and eventually he got what I wanted, "You were pretty good yourself. Quite unusual, even for a fur. If I should pass through this city in the future I'll certainly stop at this inn again." His lips contorted in a rather evil grin, "You were good, but not the best." At my crestfallen look (mostly pretended) he explained, "I don't follow Mother Lillith's tail religiously, but I don't turn away if she swishes it in my face. Should I happen to find myself close to one of Her temples during the new moon, I am always happy to lend my musical skills to a good cause..."

I inclined my head, conceding his point. Maybe I'm a little vain about my skills in the bed as well, but I'm certainly not going to offend Mother Lillith by claiming to best one of her priestesses. Not yet, at least. I was still debating the matter, but I was thinking seriously about joining her priesthood. If I did not, then I wanted to become an initiate.

After that we continued to enjoy each others' company for a while longer. He told me a few stories about his travels (some of them rather improbable). Eventually we got tired. I reached for the glow-stone, took it in my paw and extinguished it with a soft, "Nocis." I pulled him close, guided his none too hard sword into me and wrapped a leg around him. I covered us with my tail and a thin blanket, snuggled my head against his chest and then fell asleep quickly.

I woke up early as I usually do and I felt refreshed and full of energy. Strangely enough, the more exhausting the evening was, at least when it was a good kind of exhausting, the more energetic I feel the next morning. I listened to the sounds from outside and determined that it was a short time before dawn. I still had a little time before I had to get up. Or, more precisely, I had some time before I had to leave bed. I lay still for a bit, listening to the snoring of my lover and enjoying his, our, scents.

There were a few things I wanted to do before leaving my bed and since most of them required two people, or at least were a lot more interesting with two participants I decided to wake him up. First my hand found the glow-stone and I activated it and set it for a warm and bright yellow tone. Then I began the task of waking up my partner, using a time-honored and proven method: I licked his face, throat and ears.

It took him a while to wake up; apparently my lover was not a morning person. He started to stir, move around and tried to fend me off. Since his movements were hardly coordinated, they caused me little trouble. Eventually his eyes opened, blinked a few times and then his hands managed to grab my wrists and pushed me away. He muttered, "It's bloody early. Let me sleep." and tried to go back to sleep. As soon as his hands released me, I redoubled my assault and finally got him awake and coherent, "What do you want, you pesky rodent?"

I grinned at him, licked his nose and answered, "I have to get up soon to help get breakfast ready. We still have time to have a little fun before that."

"And if I refuse?" He did sound a little sleepy.

"Then I'll kick you out of my room anyway when I have to go downstairs. In the stable you can sleep as long as you like."

He considered this for a while and then he rubbed his eyes and stretched, "Alright, you pesky rodent, what do you have in mind?"

I looked at him demurely, "You know I have been wondering since yesterday. How does your mandolin feel when you play it with those dexterous fingers of yours?" He must have been rather sleepy, I had to take his hand and dragged his fingers across my belly as if strumming an instrument.

He finally got it and his lips formed a smile, "Well, I suppose I could give you a little musical lesson. I do find myself a little low on inspiration though."

"Well... I've been told I am not a bad player myself and that I can be quite an inspiration."

"Really? What instrument do you play?"

"I do prefer wood-winds myself. Morning wood to be precise." To make sure he got my meaning, my left paw reached down and gently squeezed the rather nice piece of morning wood he sported.

That did finally wake him up. Mind and body. He stood up, stretched a bit and then sat down cross-legged, leaning against the wall. He patted his lap and I sat down. He moved me around until he was satisfied with my position. I sat on his right leg, my legs spread a little and leaned across his body, my right arm around his neck. I leaned back and closed my eyes.

His hands moved slowly around, as it were 'tuning' me, making sure he had easy access to all the right places. Then he began to 'play' one hand on my chest, the other ranged from my belly to my thighs and back. His fingers barely brushed my skin and fur, but I felt my body respond; my breath slowed and deepened, my heart sped up and a glow began to form deep in my belly. I felt his morning wood grow slowly, poking my back.

He began to hum, at first without any melody I could recognize, but in time with the music his hands conjured from my body. Soon I was breathing and moaning in time with him.

And then his humming changed and then I recognized the melody, it was "Springtime". Within moments I could feel the melody flow through my body. When the time came, he began to sing softly and then I joined him. Stronger and stronger the music flowed as he plucked the notes from my body and made it vibrate like the string of a lute. As the song neared its crescendo, so did I.

He did play me like an instrument and his timing was perfect. I came just in time for him to contain my little scream by covering my mouth with his for the traditional kiss at the end of the song. His fingers plucked a few more ringing chords from deep within my belly and then they pulled out. For a time his 'playing' hand continued to caress my belly, flower and thighs.

Panting hard I waited for control to return to my limbs. My whole body seemed to tingle and glow from within. My eyes opened slowly.

Just before I could roll off his lap, his 'playing' hand found my face and rubbing the sticky nectar on them all over my nose and cheeks. He held the fingers in front of my lips and commanded, "Lick." I did; not because he commanded it, but after the performance he had just given on and to my body, I saw no reason to deny such a request. Besides, I certainly don't mind the taste of my nectar.

I rolled off his lap, knelt facing him, our knees touching. I realized that his fingers hadn't been idle after the performance, I hadn't noticed it right away, but he had spread my nectar over my belly and the inside of my thighs. We studied each other for a long moment. Then I bent forward and put my paws between his legs.

Looking up at his face I bent down further and further until my chin almost touched the mattress, my nose an inch from the base of his shaft. I wanted to see his face while I played my own music with his instrument. Since my eyes are set higher up in the skull than a human's and with my wide field of vision that was no problem for me. My tongue snaked out and began to lick softly at his sack. My lips almost touching him, I started at the bottom, right at the back and slowly moved upwards, careful not to miss any spot. His male scent filled me and with each breath I took I could smell his excitement rise. Right in front of my eyes I could see his shaft grow and harden.

The texture of his scent changed markedly when his head began to emerge from the foreskin. I reached the base of his shaft and then slowly worked my way upwards. Licking the front, one side, then the other and then snaking my tongue around to lick the rear. Then I moved my muzzle a fraction of an inch upwards and repeated the procedure. He was fully as hard as real wood well before my tongue reached the head.

I continued to work my way towards the tip, enjoying the taste of the first drops of his juices. When I reached the tip, I gave it one last lick and kissed it. I opened my mouth wide. Moving my head slowly downwards, I breathed hot air at him. When the head was fully inside my mouth I closed my lips just below it. Then I continued to lick the head with the tip of my tongue. I breathed in through the nose, to get as much of his delicious smell as possible, and exhaled through the mouth to tease and excite him.

As I started to move my lips down his shaft slowly, I began to hum the melody of "Springtime" as well as I could. I could tell from his eyes and his scent that he noticed and enjoyed it. The deeper his shaft entered my mouth, the more he liked it. My lips reached the base of his shaft and, perforce, stopped. He was a decent size, but I had little difficulty taking him all the way in; my muzzle is long enough for that. I kept up the humming while I began to use my tongue once more.

When I felt that he was getting close I changed tactics. I pressed my lips together as hard as I dared (I didn't want to bite him, after all) and then dragged them from the base up to the head while my tongue played counterpoint on the upper parts of his shaft and head. I could feel little tremors, but he held out. From the expression on his face he was concentrating hard to delay the inevitable as long as possible. I let my lips slide down to the base once more and then repeated the maneuver.

He burst on the third pull, squirting his cream down my throat. I couldn't contain all of it, but I managed to swallow most of it. When his squirts began to lessen, I used my lips (just like before) to milk him several more times before he was finally empty.

I nuzzled his wet shaft and sack, covering my cheeks with his juices and cleaned him with my tongue. Then I got up, put my arms around his neck and pulled him close. I kissed him, pushing my tongue into his mouth. I don't think he enjoyed the taste all that much, but he returned the kiss readily enough.

I stood up and told my lover, "Playtime is over. Get dressed." I opened the shutters, while I did, he entertained himself by smacking my rump. In retaliation I swished my tail in his face, causing him to sneeze explosively. I turned around and glared at him in mock anger. In sudden terror, surely no more genuine than my anger, he got up and retreated towards the door, watching me anxiously.

In a quavering voice he asked, "My Lady, dost thou really want your humble servant to leave thy chamber of wonders?"

"Knave! I don't want to leave, but I have to leave. And before I leave want to get dressed. And you will leave as well. I won't let a knave like you stay in my room without supervision." I stretched and the mock fear on his face dissolved. "Tell you what. I'll count till ten. If you put on something by then, fine; if not I'll put on something. Once I'm dressed, we leave. Well?"

"But surely..."

"One. Two, Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine."

Suddenly he snatched his hat from the wall and put it on his head, set at a jaunty angle. Grinning, he asked, "Dost my attire please thee, my Lady?"

I grinned back at him, "Nice. I won't complain if you eat your breakfast like this. But that's entirely up to you." I changed my position, lifted my left leg as far as it would go and snagged the claws on the wall just below the ceiling. Then I began counting once more. He began rummaging around in his bag and, just before the count hit ten, produced a scarf which he wound around his neck.

I changed my stance and began to count again. The time he put a sock on his right foot. We repeated the little game and piece by piece he got dressed. The second sock, his shirt, jacket (both of which remained unlaced), his underpants (which he only pulled up to his knees at first, and then, regrettably, his pants and finally his boots. And, to draw out the little game a little longer, his bag and mandolin as well.

When I started forward to get my own clothes, he snatched them up and stuffed them into his bag. I stopped, crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. He began counting and when I was still nude at the count of ten he said, "My pretty flower! I will clothe thee for a little price."

"Well?"

"Just one little kiss."

Since he was standing fully upright, I had to wrap my arms around his neck and consent to let him help me by lifting my rear end. When he finally let me down again I was a little short of breath.

He made a big show of producing my blouse. Somehow his, previously extraordinarily dexterous, fingers suddenly became utterly clumsy, fumbling helplessly and it took him an inordinate amount of time to get the blouse sorted out. It took even longer to get it properly settled on my body and laced up. His 'clumsy' fingers managed to get snagged in every little crevice of my body, often several times.

It took another kiss to convince him to let me have the skirt as well and it took even longer to get that simple item of clothing sorted out and properly arranged on my body. He unbarred the door, opened it and bowed extravagantly, "After thee, my beauteous flower."

I curtsied and answered, "I thank thee, my Lord." We left.

I entered the kitchen after a quick visit to the outhouse. My mother was already busy preparing breakfast. She turned to watch me approach and a smile formed on her lips. She could always tell my mood at a glance; I suppose it's a special mom-power. She put down the knife she had been holding and held out her arms. We embraced and I turned up my face (she's a little taller than me). Our lips met and then our tongues. I felt her smile widen when she tasted me and more than just me. I could smell father's familiar scent on her, but only faintly. They had had fun yesterday (I had heard them) but not this morning. As he usually did, father slept a little longer than she did.

"Mother's blessing on you."

"Good morning, mother."

"I take it Lillith blessed your sleep?"

I grinned up at her, "Yes." We shared a smile. She picked up the knife once more and pointed at a pot on the stove. I picked up a big spoon and began to stir the bubbling oatmeal. "Yesterday was pretty good. Not the best evening I've had, but close. He was rather tasty. I slept like a newborn in her Mother's arms. But the really wonderful thing happened just now. He played my body like an instrument. I could feel every note of 'Springtime'. Just amazing."

We chatted while we worked and then I went to serve breakfast to our guests.