Very Good Wench

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Very Good Wench

Greetings everyone, my name is Charlene, and I work at the Eagle’s Nest Tavern. It’s a small but cozy establishment in a neighboring village that is fortunate enough to be located next to the Reinhaven River. Although it is an ordinary tavern, the village itself is at the crossroads of trade caravans and travelers, so people who stay with us have extra money.

The elders even say that if this continues, our village will soon grow to the size of a small provincial city. I am at the same time a cook, a cleaner, a server, and in general, I must make sure that the customers leave the inn satisfied, and despite my young age, I confess that rarely do I fail in my duties, and even more rarely it is my fault.

Most of the customers come here in the morning and evening. Most of them are locals who have breakfast and dinner here, but the main income of the inn comes from travelers who stay here for the night. It was already evening, so the people began to gather: some were sitting and having dinner, two men were engaged in arm wrestling under the general hooting to find out which of them was stronger, a bard was telling stories, uncomplicated but cheerful music was playing, making the visitors feel cozy.

Suddenly the front door opened and he walked in, and he smiled as he met my gaze, and I knew at once that I would have more work to do today, as well as more profit. Some of the men looked at me with appraising, some of the women with judgmental, some whispered “slut,” but it rarely came to anything but verbal abuse: Our formidable Brennar, a retired soldier who now served as a handyman and bouncer, was always ready to throw out anyone who became too rowdy and unpolite with me.

As I said, our settlement is small, so rumors spread quickly. The rumor that the main income of a young maid working in the tavern would be to satisfy the lust of men willing to pay for it spread like wildfire. I knew this when I came to work here, but I had little choice but to accept the fact that my seriously ill father would soon meet death, or to try to earn the amount of money the healer needed for his treatment. I think you understand now what I chose. And you know what the most frustrating part is? If you spread your legs in front of a miller, a blacksmith, or a stable boy, everything is fine, nobody will say any bad word, except for their wives, but if God forbids you to sleep with a rich merchant, lucky adventurer or the son of a nobleman, you automatically become a whore and a slut, especially if he ordered you for the whole night, which no one from the locals can afford. I don’t know whether it was jealousy or the fact that someone would be left without a juicy girl’s body tonight… Of course, there are enough pretty young girls in the village, and mature women are not bad, but I have to admit that for some reason it is much easier for many men to pay me, rather than try to seduce someone.

-What would you like, sir? – I ask the new visitor
-The usual for me, Charlene. – He replies, and I nod facing the judgmental looks from the other diners.

The usual means a hot roast with liquid cheese and seven-year-old Greenwald wine and the best room available for the night. On top of that, I’ll put on that fancy dress and lingerie he gave me on my first visit here and show up in his room. I felt a little nippy’d always been excited in Master Arvin’s company, and I’d never felt as dirty as I did under his gaze.
It took me a while to get everything ready, and I served it to Master, but I didn’t ask for payment and knew he’d pay for every last dime when the time came.

-Thank you, Charlene. I’ll come up when I’ve finished my meal. – He replied, and I went upstairs to prepare for the most mentally and physically demanding but most rewarding part of my job.
-If you don’t study, when you grow up you’ll be making a living like Charlene. – some dorky guy is telling his kids.
-“I wonder what her dead mother would have said about all this? – another older man’s voice.
-She’s a whore! I bet she wants to bear his bastard child! -I heard disgruntled voices, the last one, a woman’s, that made me wince briefly. This is not the sort of thing you can get used to. The words belonged to Annette, the local witch doctor’s wife, an obese woman who looked to be my mother’s age. The most frustrating thing about it was that she’d worked as an innkeeper’s wench in her day, doing the same that I do now until she’d found her future husband.

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