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Fantasy Trade: The Bawdy Tavern


Gavin Rockhard

Copyright 2017


All characters depicted in sexual situations in this publication are eighteen years of age or older.


These stories are about fictional consenting adults engaging in taboo and controversial sexual acts. Nobody involved in the creation of this ebook, including authors, editors and models, support immoral or illegal acts in real life. Cover models are not intended to illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models' actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior. No characters depicted in this ebook are intended to represent real people.

The game was to have the warrior Jerrenthal drop his trousers so his uncut cock popped out. Then Kyle was allowed to put Jerrenthal's dick in his mouth, but not suck on it. If Jerrenthal got an erection, he was required to let Kyle suck him off (and would almost certainly get punched and kicked, semi-goodnaturedly, while that happened). If he did not, he "won" and therefore got a free beer from the man who had challenged him.

This bar had some strange party games, but Kyle didn't mind.

Jerrenthal was a mercenary here in the city of Marrendale, a rough-and-tumble town that was almost entirely lawless. He wore a tattered old scrap of shirt that had been sewn so many times it looked like it was assembled from rags. His crotch smelled like sweat and forest dew and a little like blood, presumably from his last job as a warrior in the service of Duke Alfonse IX.

"Ah, by Lambert's lance, he's doing it!"

His dick tasted so good Kyle struggled not to suck. His tongue did tease the piss-slit, but he didn't think that counted. Jerrenthal's thick, limp dick did twitch, but when Kyle got excited, he saw that Jerrenthal was just about finished his beer, that was what had made his dick twitch. Jerrenthal just stood there, ignoring his cock in Kyle's mouth, while he drank his beer.

He was done. He smacked his lips and tucked his dick away, luckily just seconds before he got hard. He let go of the flagon of beer, which would have shattered on the ground ,but the serving wench caught it.

"Be a good dear and grab me another one, babe," Jerrenthal said. He smacked her ass so hard it made conversation stop throughout the bar. His soft dick throbbed in Kyle's mouth. The serving wench squealed and blushed. Jerrenthal grinned. "And it's on that guy."

That guy was Krendor. He was the man who had challenged Jerrenthal to the game of Fairy-Mouth. It was the most enjoyable thing Kyle had done in a very long time. He had Jerrenthal's now-hardening dick in his mouth.

"Okay, no more of that fairy shit!" shouted the bartender and owner, Otis. He tossed an empty bottle at Jerrenthal. It smacked him on the shoulder and cut him, but Jerrenthal just beamed -- he was too drunk to feel any pain.

"Oh, you squeamish old coot!" Jerrenthal said right back to him. He left Kyle there on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, and waddled, with his breeches still down, to the bar. "You act all holier than thou because you're too old to get any fairyboys interested in your dick. Me? I got everyone, they all love my meat-"

He wagged his dick in the bartender's direction, but then they both erupted in shouting. Kyle was disappointed to have been forgotten. Jerrenthal seemed glad to hang around with his hard dick out. Presumably, Kyle thought, he knew he'd always be able to blow his wad when he was ready.

In a bar like this, that was assumed. The waitresses were all prostitutes, and most of the other women here were too. The only females in the bar who weren't prostitutes, Kyle had gathered, were just plain sluts here to fuck for free.

That made it tough for Kyle to get any dick. He was only in the mercenary town of Marrendale to suck off some straight warriors like Jerrenthal. With so many women of loose repute, Kyle was running out of options. Aside from teasing them with "fairy games", as they called them locally, Kyle might as well have been invisible. He sighed and stood.

The one nice thing about this place, he thought, was that nobody really cared about consent. It wasn't like the real world, where Kyle was from -- the same real world as you and I, dear reader. Kyle had invented a machine to teleport himself between the worlds of fiction. He used this machine, as we all would, to explore all the sexy men who had graced the cover of the fantasy novels he long loved.

He went to Baxil, a seven-foot tall half-ogre who was built like a statue carved with a chainsaw, all rough lines and muscles that looked too big for him. He came here to the Dripping Slit because ogres, even half-ogres, were not allowed in most taverns. The Dripping Slit was just rough enough to allow it, but not so rough as to be populated entirely by fat drunks who stank and pissed themselves.

"Hey," Kyle said to Baxil. He pointed to Jerrenthal, the handsomely muscled mage still arguing with the barman, Jerrenthal's breeches still around his ankles. He had a nice ass, Kyle noticed, which was presumably why he was always trying to take his pants off -- he wanted the girls to beg for his meat. It looked like it was working, with one of the sluttier women caressing his ass while a crowd gathered to watch the argument. The barman just sighed and rolled his eyes. Kyle said to Baxil, "Hey, I'll buy you some ale if you stick your middle finger all the way in his ass."

Baxil just shrugged and stepped forward. His seven-foot tall body had an incredible stride, so he crossed the tavern in seconds. He jammed his middle finger into Jerrenthal's ass in one motion, ignoring all of Jerrenthal's sudden struggle.

"Oh, nasty!"

"Jerrenthal's a finger-bitch now!"

The entire tavern erupted in laughter. Jerrenthal howled and clawed at the bar in agony. Baxil was a half-ogre with thick ogreish fingers, and he didn't care how much he hurt Jerrenthal. His finger was thicker than many human dicks, so he stretched Jerrenthal's virgin asshole.

Then he pulled his finger out and held it up for the whole crowd in the tavern to see. Baxil was so tall he couldn't raise it up much above his head without hitting the ceiling. His finger gleamed with the ass-stink of Jerrenthal's rectum.


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