The crowd thinning slowly as one then another either wander out of the Inn, or up the stairs to their room for the night. Feeling the damp clammy shift, clinging to my body, I stand by the fire, looking into it for a minute or so, then turning I lean forward, grasping the hem of my shift and pull it over my head. Next table a few sailors, and why they are at the Inn would be a great question as there are no sailing ships here in the depths of the forest. Slapping but not too hard, you don’t want to totally discourage trade, you want them to come back and try again, only this time with coin in hand. That and the bulge in his britches and a couple of times the wet spot where his lump at wet his pants. Fingers stroking and pulling at the shaft as my head bobs on the mushroom shaped head. Noting with satisfaction the widening wet spot on the crotch of his breeches.
