Hog and Birdy Pt.4: Playful Intermission

Hog and Birdy Pt.4: Playful Intermission
Tags: Fantasy, Kissing, Incest (kissing), no smut

Sylva sat in front of the mirror, trying as hard as she could to make her hair do anything. She ran a comb through her locks, but it felt like trying to strain pasta instead of accomplishing anything.

She felt a little jealous. She was using Betsy’s comb, sitting on Betsy’s stool, in Betsy’s room, sharing Betsy’s job. All of that, and she didn’t feel nearly as beautiful. Sure, Betsy was The Hog, she was known for her uncouth appearance. Still, Sylva saw how men looked at Betsy, and all she could manage was to pick up her leftovers.

The Hog was her mother, why did she feel so different? She came back in time (mind you, to find her father), but the woman she found in her mother’s place wasn’t Betsy she expected.

The door to the room flung open, and there stood the curvaceous woman known as The Hog.

“Fan letters,” She said as she held out several envelopes.

Sylva lifted an eyebrow, “You get letters?”

Betsy sifted through them, her face shifting between emotions as she read the names on them. It was as if she was reliving every sordid encounter with the writers, in brief bursts.

“Oh,” Betsy said as she walked up behind Sylva, “We get letters, little bird.”

A note was passed down, the envelope made of a rough paper, and the handwriting a mess of scratches. She didn’t see her name anywhere on it.

“This is for me?” Sylva said as she started to open it.

Betsy put a hand on Sylva’s head and mussed what little she had accomplished with her hair, “One of the little bonuses. You know, to go with the big bonuses.”

She winked at Sylva, and then tossed her other letters in front of the mirror, unopened.

Sylva pulled the letter out. It was, astounding. Pictographs displaying little beings, two of them fighting, a family of larger and smaller ones, beautiful flowers, tall mountains. It was all… gibberish.

Still, she knew it was from Grolf; the little Kobold from her first days at the inn. Even holding it made her stomach feel fuzzy, as if his fur was rubbing against her stomach, his heat sliding against her, pressing inside her.

She shivered.

“Oh my,” Betsy said from across the room, “I know that look, that’s a juicy one. Does he bring back that tingle up your spine? Tickles your lady bits just thinking about it, doesn’t it?”

“No!” Sylva jumped as she folded the letter and held it close to her chest, as if Betsy was reading it over her shoulder. She blushed, but now she made the mistake of reacting.

“Come on,” Betsy whined, “What does it say, don’t hold out on me little bird.”

“Well,” Sylva said as she pulled the note out, “I don’t actually know how to read Kobold.”

Betsy sat up straight, “What? Let me see that.”

Sylva held the letter up in defiance, “I mean, it is effectively gibberish. No one has really studied the Kobold writing system for over a decade.”

Betsy took the note, opened it, and cleared her throat, “Our beautiful face hitter.”

She looked Betsy in the eyes, was her mother reading Kobold? Wait, this was more than a decade ago… she struck herself in the forehead for her stupidity.

Still, the idea that Betsy, The Hog, could read at all was rather impressive. She silently cursed herself for insulting her future mother.

“Us and our wives are doing well,” Betsy continued, her eyes scanning back and forth over the pictures, “They like us, and we like them. We like our new home, it is beautiful.”

“Wait,” Sylva said, “Did he forget my name?”

Betsy shrugged, “I think it is a term of endearment, like honey, or sloppy cheeks.”

Sylva opened her mouth to comment, but felt it was best to leave it alone.

“Still, face hitter’s gift means we cannot forget. We smell it daily, and remember when ours was close to yours,” Betsy paused, and smiled at Sylva as she continues, “It was soft, smooth, beautiful, kind. We will never forget yours, and we wish you could be ours too. Then he signs it, rear-biter.”

By the end, Sylva couldn’t help but smile.

“You’ve got a little dimple,” Betsy teased as she handed the letter over.

She tried to calm down, but she couldn’t stop the blood going to her face. She felt like a little girl in the schoolyard.

“No I don’t,” She said as she stood up and took the letter.

“Yeah you do,” Betsy said as she moved closer, her eyes leveling with Sylva’s, “Right, about, here.”

Betsy reached around and pinched her on the ass, making Sylva squeal before they both broke out into laughter. Betsy tried to tickle her, her mother’s fingers running over every bit of exposed flesh she could find. Which, considering their scanty uniforms, was a lot. Betsy let out a loud snorting laugh, and that only made Sylva laugh harder.

“Stop,” Sylva said, “Stop already.”

“Okay,” Betsy said, “Besides, we can’t focus on old flings. I hear your new quarry has been spotted in the area, muttering about catching birds.”

Sylva gasped. Did she mean Hemi?

“No.” She replied.

“Oh yes,” Betsy said, “Causing quite a stir even.”

Sylva sat back in front of the mirror, and looked up at her hair, looked at her goofy glasses, her thin figure. She tried to take the comb to her hair again, but it immediately snagged, and yanked her head to one side.

“Whoa there little one,” Betsy said as she put her hands on each side of Sylva’s head, “Calm down. He liked you enough the first time. I’m sure he isn’t looking for a whole new woman to show up down there.”

“What do you mean? I’m just trying to look nice for work.” She said with a shallow sigh.

Betsy shook her head.

“Besides,” Sylva said, the words sinking into her mind before she could even say them, “You had him first. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

She felt a hard blow across her shoulder, and was toppled off of the stool.

“Girly,” Betsy said, “You and I are friends, if you want him all to yourself, I won’t stop you.”

Betsy helped Sylva back up, then gripped Sylva’s hand in hers, “He was delicious though, so thick, and so ferocious there at the end. I haven’t felt sore like that in a long time.”

Sylva blushed, but she remembered that moment there when her and Betsy touched with just Hemi between them.

“Sorry,” Betsy said as she let go,” We better get downstairs, huh?”

She had to wonder, could Betsy really help herself?

Sylva didn’t have time to think about it. They made their way down to the bar, and the boisterous laughter filled her ears like any other day the last couple of weeks. The usual faces were there, with a few new ones here and there. They cheered when she entered the room, and despite the fact that many of them were likely just glad to see her short skirt and low cut shirt, it still made her smile.

She went up to the bar, and Mr. Tuttle stood behind it like any other day. He was cleaning mugs, and his expression didn’t change at all as she walked up.

“Ready for duty, Mr. Tuttle.”

He pointed with his thumb toward the door, “Take care of him first.”

Sylva looked over, and saw a looming figure taking up half of the doorway. Despite his size, he looked like he was trying to avoid the sunlight pouring in from outside. The coiled lower body of a snake, and the a cloak draped over upper body. It was Hemi, no doubt about it.

She nodded to Mr. Tuttle, then moved as fast as she could across the floor.

When she got close, Hemi turned to face her. His yellow snake eyes behind those circle lens glasses of his.

“Birdy,” He said, his upper body rising a head above her.

“Hey there,” She said as she slowed to a stop. She smiled, then thought better of it, “Hey Hemi. I think your booth from last time is open, if you want it.”

His eyes darted across the room, as if there was some secret to her question, “Oh, uhm, okay.”

Sylva cupped her hands in front of her, bowed to him, and then pointed toward the booth, “Right this way then.”

She didn’t know why she was being so formal. It just didn’t feel right to act so familiar after what happened last time. Did she deserve to just talk to him like he was anyone? Besides, it isn’t like they were an item, her future mother tricked him into a backroom.

Her mind was so far gone she nearly tripped over the men at another table. She teetered forward, then felt a pair of arms wrap around her, and her feet lift off the ground. There was a hiss, and she knew whose arms were pressed into her.

She looked over her shoulder to see Hemi’s hair, pressed into her shoulderblades.

Then her stomach rose as she found herself abruptly dropped back to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, as he shrunk so far down that he was shorter than her.

She turned on him, and tried to mask her flushed cheeks with a smile, “No, it was my fault. I should have been watching where I was going. The booth is all yours.”

He was avoiding eye contact again. With those glasses, and the way the light caught them, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He looked toward her, then away, then over at the booth. With a motion that swooshed her skirt and hair to one side, he pulled his whole body behind the corner table.

Again, if she didn’t know better, he looked like some guy taking a whole corner booth for himself. She could see his lower abs beneath the half-shirt he wore on his shoulders, and he shrunk down enough that his hair tried to fall in his face.

“Anything you want?” Sylva asked as she walked to the edge of the table, careful not to step on his tail.

He looked at the table, “Whatever I had last time? Two of them.”

It was almost a whisper, but she nodded, and walked off. She thought she heard him say something else as she moved away, but it was drowned out.

“Two of the same fruit drink as before,” Sylva said to Mr. Tuttle.

“He likes the fruity stuff huh?” Betsy said as she appeared behind Sylva.

Sylva smiled, “I guess. He asked for it last time. Seems he liked it.”

A wide smile spread across Betsy’s face, “I think I know what fruit he likes most.”

Sylva shrugged, but she could tell Betsy had lewd thoughts in mind. “It doesn’t matter.”

Betsy moved right beside Sylva, and they turned face to face. Why was Betsy staring at her like that?

“You can’t be blind to it little one, can you?” Betsy said with a weighty breath, “Every man wants it, unless they’re as off as a Green fields pixie.”

Sylva leaned back to avoid the bedroom eyes from Betsy.

“Peaches,” Betsy whispered.

“Peaches?” Sylva repeated with a raised brow, “Why peaches?”

Betsy stood tall and laughed so hard that her bosom bounced along with her. She grabbed Sylva by the shoulder and turned her to the room.

“Attention boys!” Betsy shouted.

Sylva felt a sudden weight in her stomach.

The room went quiet immediately, and again Sylva saw a power that only The Hog had over men. When she spoke, they listened. With which head, she wasn’t so sure.

“Give me a cheer if you would suck this fuzzy peach until it was dry.”

The room burst into an uproar, men looking on Sylva with hungry eyes. Some looked to be salivating. Her face went red, she was mortified. Still, something about the realization of what she meant gripped her stomach like a claw.

“Too bad!” Betsy shouted back, “She is mine to give, you can all wait in line.”

Sylva turned to Betsy, and saw that The Hog was closing in on her, mouth agape, ready to attack. Her eyes went wide. She couldn’t kiss her mother, not again, especially not in front of a crowd.

She tried to pull back, but Betsy’s hands had her at the wrist, twisted until Sylva’s arms had no range. She was stronger than she seemed, and soon Sylva had nowhere to run. A wet kiss touched her neck, warm and soft. It travelled up, to her cheek, then Betsy locked eyes with her. There was something hungry there, ravenous, that couldn’t be stopped. It would consume and consume until there was nothing under the sun that it hadn’t tasted.

The worst part was what Sylva’s gut told her. She was hungry too.

Her resistance weakened, and Betsy’s lips found hers. The kiss wasn’t as deep as she expected, but her tongue slid past Sylva’s lips, pulled at hers, dominated it. Sylva’s wrists went limp.

She realized a sound was coming from the room. Cheers and applause.

Betsy let her go, then placed another kiss in the center of Sylva’s forehead.

Sylva’s knees felt wobbly.

“Okay boys,” Betsy said, “Show’s over. Back to your glasses.”

Sylva grabbed the two mugs, and headed back to Hemi. She found him watching her as she approached. She could only hope he didn’t see what she had done. She put the drinks down, and made a slight bow.

“W-wait,” He said.

The lump in her stomach returned, “Yes?”

He looked off to the side, “That one is for you.”

She started to say something, but the words sunk in. Her whole body felt warm from the encounter with Betsy, but the look on his face, and even the gesture, washed it away like a barrel poured over her head.

“Oh,” She said, “Okay.”

Sylva sat down in the booth. She realized right away that Hemi’s body kept a gap between them. His tail was coiled next to her, then went down to the floor where more of it spiraled there.

He didn’t say anything after she sat down. His fingers dug into the wooden table, and she realized just how sharp his nails were. Naga had claws.

Sylva brushed the hair out of her eyes, and adjusted her glasses. She sniffed the drink, and took a sip. It was smooth, instead of the burning liquid that made up most of the rest of Tuttle’s stock.

“This tastes good,” She said.

“Yeah,” He said.

He hadn’t touched his yet. All he was capable of doing was digging a deeper hole in the table.

This was a disaster. She realized exactly how bad she was at talking to people. Maybe that was why her mother impressed her so much. She could take charge of a conversation, make a difference with a few choice words.

“Hemi,” Sylva said, “Why did you come here that first day?”

Hemi looked over at her with wide eyes, and a hissing gasp left his lips.

“That first…” He looked away again, “Well, I was hoping to…”

It was The Hog, she remembered, “I mean, why would a Naga want to meet my- I mean, meet Betsy?”

A shiver went through him, and the memory of sitting on top of him came flooding back. He was embarrassed, was he also aroused? Was just thinking about Betsy enough to do that to him?

He shook his head slowly, “I, well, I needed a triumph.”

“A triumph?” Sylva said.

He took a deep breath, and as if beyond his control, his tongue flickered out and back in, “Naga children must perform a great feat. Most just find a strong warrior to best, or kill a dangerous creature. Some solve old riddles, or create great works. I just thought she, well.”

Sylva didn’t know where he could be going. Was The Hog that important that she could make a man out of him?

He shrugged, and for a moment he looked at her. His eyes seemed full of vigor. A slight smile was at the corner of his mouth.

“I was always interested in your settlements, and your cities, and your folklore,” He said.

“Humans?” Sylva added.

“Yes,” He said, “In my clutch, I’m small. I can’t fight well, and I can’t fight over the best supplies or tutors. So I studied what I could, which was humans, and your kingdoms, and your myths.”

His body on the bench began to move, but Sylva was more intrigued by his sudden excitement. The topic of humanity seemed to possess him. He became vocal, almost too loud, and animated.

Then she felt it, the touch of scales to skin. She looked down in time to see his tail wrapping around her legs. At first she tried to ignore it.

“No matter what they said,” He continued, “I knew that I could find something among humans that was worth conquering, for the sake of the Naga, and the gods, to make them proud. I could speak well, I even know different clothing types, and your currencies, and still they laughed at me. They said I would die a child and a virgin. I told them no!”

To punctuate his words, his tail constricted. By that point it had found its way up her thighs, and her legs were squeezed in place, trapping her.

“Ah,” Sylva gasped, “Hemi, Hemi.”

He snapped from his spell and looked over, his yellow eyes turning onto her dilemma. The tail released immediately, going slack and coiling away from her. His whole upper body moved further down the booth from her.

“Oh no,” He whispered, “My mistake, I didn’t mean to. So sorry.”

He turned to look at the wall. Sylva saw his shame in his body.

She put a hand on the nearest part of him, “It’s okay,” She said, “I kind of like it.”

He turned to her just enough that he could see her out of one eye, “You do?”

“Well,” She said, “Don’t tighten so hard, but I like the feel of your scales. Their soft, and smooth.”

She felt that quiver under her fingertips, and something shivered inside her as well.

His tail moved to her again, like an arm reaching out. It wrapped around her legs, tightening until her legs had nowhere to go.

Hemi looked her in the eyes, moving his body close enough for her to reach out and touch, “Like that?”

Sylva nodded. “Just like that.”

Their eyes stayed locked, and then she felt his whole body shiver, before he looked away.

“Where was I?” He asked, “Oh right. The Hog.”

“Oh yeah,” Sylva said, a blush coming to her cheeks as she also looked away. Her hand rested on his side, just between his human half, and snake.

“Well, to tell the truth,” He said, “I thought she was going to be an actual, you know.”

“You thought Betsy was going to be a hog?” Sylva said with a smile.

He teetered his head back and forth, “Well, maybe like an orcess. But her reputation was so, savage.”

“Then you came in and saw her,” Sylva said. Just the memory of their first meeting brought back the whole evening. Her hand ventured down to that little loin cloth he kept, to cover the larger scales at his groin.

“I was embarrassed,” He said, looking at her with a small smile, “Especially when I had to talk to you about my quest.”

“But you did it,” Sylva whispered as she pushed her fingers under the cloth, “You conquered The Hog, you’re a man now.”

Her fingers reached the tougher scales, seeking them by memory as if it was her hand that probed at them before instead of Betsy’s. She ran a finger along the edge of them, and felt the first instinctive resistance from Hemi’s body. Her breathing felt a little labored, even her chest felt warm.

“Well actually,” He said, grimacing in the middle of his sentence, “I need to… stop!”

She felt the scales start to slide away, but then Hemi’s hand clasped down on hers. Sylva sat up, realizing that his tail was unwrapping from her, his upper body moving his loin cloth out of her reach.

“Please,” Hemi said, his eyes pleading with her, “Don’t do that, not here.”

Her body burned with shame, and she nodded. Her legs felt cold and lonely, and Hemi was suddenly so far away. She felt like an idiot, and cursed whatever drove her to do that.

“Right,” She said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

She looked down, and tried to pull her hand away from his. But he held strong.

“We can just do this,” He whispered, “For now.”

Sylva looked up, and Hemi placed a soft kiss on her lips. Her eyes went wide, and then she slid back in her seat. When he let her loose, they both went to their own sides of the booth, and sipped their light drink.

Later that night, Sylva and Betsy collapsed into their room. Betsy fell back onto the bed, and Sylva landed on the stool with a heavy thud.

“Today was exhausting,” Betsy said with a sigh, “And boring.”

Sylva could agree with the first half, but as she looked at herself in the mirror, she imagined her lips pressed to Hemi’s. She couldn’t help smiling.

Then a letter on Betsy’s stack caught her eye. It looked official, extravagant even. On top of that, it was addressed to, ‘That nasty fucking cunt, The Hog’.

“Betsy,” Sylva asked as she picked up the letter, “Who is Alex? And what did you ever do to him?”