Hog and Birdy pt.5: Alex the Powerful

Hog and Birdy pt5: Alex the Powerful
Tags: Fantasy, FF, Lesbian, Phantom Limb, Humiliation

It was a hard day for Sylva. It was a busy afternoon in Dundly, which meant that the oddly popular little inn was bursting with customers who wanted nothing more than to drink, talk loudly, and get their hands on a barmaid.

Sylva still didn’t understand why the Dundly Inn was such a local focal point. Before she came, she never heard of it. It would have been one more shop that was replaced when the town exploded into a central hub for the expeditions out of the kingdom.

That wouldn’t be for another 5 years, give or take.

“The gentleman at the third table wants a round of celebratory cider,” Sylva said to Mr. Tuttle as she grabbed a new tray of mugs.

The large man looked down at her, then looked across the tables to the men she was pointing out. It was a rowdy table, with men covered in soot, blood, and sweat soaked leathers.

“You mean Smelly Jon and the boys?” Tuttle said as he reached down for a small barrel behind him.

Sylva looked over her shoulder, he matched his nickname. “I guess I do.”

She lifted the tray, and set out to fill as many tables as she could manage. It wasn’t just that she had to pass the drinks out, but hands came out from every direction to give her a grope as she passed. She was used to a certain degree of it. It was almost expected.

As Betsy told her, “They just want to holler hi, and that’s the best way to be heard, little bird.”

Betsy, affectionately known as The Hog to the chronological and regional locals, was also Sylva’s mother. Sylva studied some time to figure out exactly how to get to the past, all so she could find out who her father was. Instead, she was finding out a lot about her mother. Still, she had her mission, she had to find out who her father was.

A hand blocked her path as she swayed between the path left by the bar patrons. Sylva stopped, and looked into the eyes of a man who looked like a knife had been a mere scooch from leaving him blind in both eyes.

“Birdy,” The grizzled man said, “Is the hog gonna be here today, or not?”

She could hear a roar from the crowd of men in agreement with the question. Her mother’s popularity was always a little surprising. She wasn’t an expert drinker, so she didn’t know if Tuttle’s barkeeping had any influence on his customer base at all. It was possible every man who stepped through the door was hoping, with all his might, to lay her mother.

The thought made Sylva shiver. There was something about the hog that men couldn’t resist. Maybe, it was that she couldn’t resist them. The woman seemed insatiable.

“She was making a delivery,” Sylva repeated, “She should be back by this evening.”

The men grumbled among themselves, and Sylva knew her excuse was wearing thin. She wished there was a familiar face in the crowd. Not like Smelly Jon, but like the kind eyes of Hemi. Since their last encounter, it had been days since he stopped in Dundly. She missed the feel of his scales against her skin, and that way he tries to hide his excitement.

More than that, she missed that odd heat from his belly. The memory of her nude body, pinning him to the ground, his excitement pressed against her stomach. It blurred her thoughts, sucked her back toward that wonderful day.

She tripped on a man near the bar on her way back to Tuttle. She only managed to catch herself with the bar, a few empty glasses sliding to the ground and clinking against the hard floor.

“I’m sorry,” Sylva said, leaning down to pick up the scattering mugs before looking up at the patron.

She stopped, it was a hooded figure, covered from head to toe by a thick blue cape. A darkness covered all but the figure’s mouth, and as Sylva looked up, he said something inaudible. She accepted it as forgiveness, and stood to leave. But something held her there for a moment, until the figure turned back to the bar.

Tuttle came down the bar, and spoke to the hooded man, “She should be back any moment now.”

Sylva could see the man tense up at the answer. Was he also looking for Betsy? A man wearing a cloak like that? Compared to the cutthroats, miners, farmers, and mercenaries, a cloak like that seemed out of place. She felt like it was a familiar make, but she couldn’t quite place it. Instead, she went to drop her tray and pick up the tray of cider she ordered earlier.

She felt strange. Though it seemed like every day she was bumping into a man here that made her feel off, this wasn’t the same. It was a sensation that was hard to ignore, like a connection between her and the hooded figure.

She pushed her first thought to the back of her head. If she was logical about it, there was no reason that she would feel an unnatural link to her father. Just because she tripped on a strange man has nothing to do with paternity.

It hurt her to think it, but there was just a great a chance that any of the dingy thieves that slapped her bottom day to day were going to be her father. Keeping track of who the Hog took to bed was becoming a task in itself, one that Sylva took as seriously as she could. A growing ledger was kept among her few belongings upstairs. There was Herodotus the Satyr, Clingy the Miner two nights ago, Clingy’s friend Musk, Herodotus again, and the return of the mountainman yesterday.

It wasn’t difficult, Betsy was quite vocal about what she was going to do to who. For Sylva, it flabbergasted her when the mood would strike her mother. They would be working, and then Betsy would look twice at a man who entered the bar. There was a certain look in her eyes as she swayed toward a man she wanted, the hog appraising its meal. She stuck her face in close, snorted at whatever they said, and the deal was struck just that easy.

Sylva remembered when she tried to… touch, Hemi. She was lucky she didn’t scare him away. It was like an itch at her thighs, that crept up until it touched her. It made her legs tighten, anticipating a contact that hadn’t come yet.

She put a cider on the table of rowdy men, ignoring the odor as best she could. Then she froze in place.

“Come on little lady,” One of the men laughed, “We ain’t that bad, keep’em coming!”

It wasn’t the men before her that had her alarmed. Sylva looked down at her side, then the other. No one was there. Which meant that the sensation of someone touching her inner thigh was planted squarely in her imagination. She brought her legs together, smiled as best she could manage, and continued passing out her drinks.

“Sorry about that,” She said with a grin, “Odd draft.”

“With a skirt like that,” Said Smelly Jon through shattered teeth, “Surprised you can’t tell us tomorrow’s weather.”

The men burst into laughter, and Sylva smiled and nodded.

The hand, distinct fingers, slid up her leg. She gasped, and the men looked at her with raised brows. It was moving, even as they looked at her, sliding toward her hidden places. It was past the hem of her skirt, and despite her legs held together, she could feel them being pried apart.

“You okay girly?” Said one man.

She wasn’t okay. She didn’t know how to explain this, and she didn’t know if it was safe to try. Blurting out to a dirty old pervert that an impossible hand was moments from touching your womanhood had a high chance of being taken the wrong way.

“Just fine,” She blurted before dropping the last mug and heading back to the front to speak with Tuttle. The feeling became distant as she walked, and a theory was building in her head.

She got to the counter and dropped the tray harder than she intended.

Tuttle turned and looked at her with no special attention.

“Mr. Tuttle,” Sylva said, her eyes sweeping over each of her shoulders, “Sir. Have you ever had any trouble with, say, an invisible man?”

The hand returned to her thighs, a thumb sliding up to her buttocks. She squeezed her eyes shut, and waited for Tuttle’s answer.

“Invisible like can’t see at all, or just hard to spot?”

She opened her eyes and gave Tuttle an incredulous stare. The man seemed serious. At the least, it gave her an idea of what was happening.

“You okay?” He asked.

She stamped her foot, twisted her hips, but that didn’t seem to shake the warm touch that was travelling up her leg.

“Not yet,” She replied.

Tuttle dragged over a tray of full beers, and then turned back toward the glasses that needed washing.

Sylva looked at the swishing liquid, and tried not to think about the hand. Even if he was invisible, he wouldn’t do anything crazy, would he? Betsy gave her warning, no man yet had tried to assault her more than a firm squeeze to the rear.

The hand touched the gusset of her panties, and Sylva shrieked. The men there at the bar looked at her, and Tuttle turned to watch her.

“Sorry,” She said, her face growing hot, “So sorry, just thought I saw something.”

She grabbed the tray and went to make another round. The hand didn’t leave her this time. That was one theory out the window. No matter how fast she walked, she could feel it there. It was touching her outside of her undergarments. A finger slid along the outside, running along the length of her womanly lips, teasing her senses into action.

Her heart was racing. A heat was flowing through her, from her chest down to the pit of her stomach. She was at the hand’s mercy. The only hope she had was if she left the room, and that was Betsy’s one warning. You never left when the bar was this busy, it left Tuttle all alone, and that was dangerous. As long as her mother was vouching for her, she didn’t want to betray her. What if Tuttle sacked her? Would she be able to figure out who her father was? Worse, she wouldn’t be able to figure out who Betsy was. She was growing so close to her mother, some invisible pervert wasn’t going to destroy that.

Besides, it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.

No, it wasn’t pleasant. She had to remind herself, this was an invasion, disgusting, and inappropriate. She was in public, and someone had the nerve to touch her, sexually.

As she stopped at a table, the hand slid her panties aside. She wasn’t sure it was more than an illusion, but as she moved again, she could feel her panties slide against her thigh. A finger slid against her entrance, touched her skin directly, a foreign warmth that made her stutter step. She stopped there between tables, and took a deep breath. There was nothing to be afraid of, she would be fine, it was okay.

The finger was wet, she was wet. The moisture pressed into her lips, touched to her thighs. She couldn’t deny the plain evidence. She blushed, standing rigid in the middle of a room of horny men.

“What’s wrong darling,” Shouted one man, “You daydreaming about me?”

They laughed, and all she could do was grimace. There was no return she could think of that would stop the growing waves of pleasure coming from between her legs.

She started walking, and passed that man his drink. Another drink was passed, and she moved to the next table with as much agility as she could muster while a finger threatened her with carnal pleasure.

Another table, and she passed down a drink to men who smiled at her as she did her work.

“Thanks much dear,” Said one man she knew as ‘The Captain’.

She opened her mouth to reply, and instead emitted a groan of excitement. As she moved to speak, a finger plunged into her. It sank in, as if searching for something deep within her.

The men’s smiles turned to lecherous grins as Sylva pressed the tray down on their table. She was sweating now, just slightly. She felt unkempt, dirty.

The finger didn’t leave her, it kept pressing, pushing further. It resisted her as she tried to squeeze and bare down. It only found more leverage, taking on an impossible shape as it pressed further.

Sylva hummed, “I’m sorry,” she said.

“No worries,” Said The Captain, and the men around agreed with heavy nods.

She looked between them, and the heat in her chest only increased. This hand, this creature, it wouldn’t stop until she was a slobbering pile on the floor of the inn, with every man watching her as these men did now. That was her fear.

“I’m going to go,” Sylva said.

“You do that, Birdy,” said one of the men.

A second finger entered her, and her eyes widened as she tried to stand still there at the table’s edge. It was like trying to deny a blade beating against a broken shield. She couldn’t stop the fingers, but their touch sent shivers up her spine. They were so lifelike, she could feel the texture as they rubbed against her lips, she could sense their heat against her inner walls. Her legs felt weak, and her fingers were too slick to hold the tray as well as she knew she needed to.

She turned and walked away without the tray. She needed to talk to Mr. Tuttle, she had to explain the situation. Hopefully he would understand. No matter the consequence, she couldn’t go on like this.

As she passed the patrons at the bar, a hand shot out and gripped her. It came from the hooded man. She turned to see a soft featured face peeking from beneath the hood. He was clean, his eyes a brilliant blue.

“Sir,” Sylva stuttered, “I’ll be right with you.”

“You’re with me now,” He said in a light voice. Her first guess was right, this wasn’t a man of the mountains, it was a scholar. Whoever he was, he spent his life around knowledge, not unlike her.

“I know,” Sylva said, trying to ignore the fingers sliding into her long enough to hold a simple conversation. Her words felt slurred, her mouth curling every which way as she spoke.

“No,” The man said, “I don’t think you do.”

He lifted a well crafted brow, and Sylva’s lifted to match it. She looked at his opposite hand, and saw the fingers motioning, two protruding fingers, slipping up, sliding back down. She trembled as those fingers moved down, and a soft moan escaped her lips when they rose again.

The hand was his. He smiled, and Sylva felt horror was over her. It wasn’t invisible, it was magical. Some bastard was assaulting her from afar? What was she supposed to do about that?

“Why?” She whispered, “Why are you…”

The hooded man chuckled, “Because you deserve it,” He said, “You bitch.”

Whatever Sylva did to be called that, she didn’t know. All she could do was resist. Her mind was awash with the pleasure, and even now men at the bar, at nearby tables, were watching her as she teetered on her feet. She was flush, she knew that, and every word she spoke was more moan than language. She wasn’t far from her nightmare, she had to speak to Tuttle, she had to get away from this madman!

The door burst open, and a breeze blew in. Standing in the doorway, in a large coat, was her curvaceous mother.

“Now that was quite the trip,” Betsy shouted into the bar.

The men rose all together, forgetting Sylva completely. The grip on her vanished. The men cheered. Some stood to crowd and greet the returning Hog.

The hand had vanished for a moment, and Sylva tried to regain her footing. It wasn’t easy, but she took deep breaths to help calm herself. She looked around, and the cloaked man was gone, vanished into the crowd, or maybe vanished altogether.

She didn’t know now if she wanted to talk to Tuttle, or Betsy. Betsy was occupied though, so she turned to catch up with the barkeep.

Then there was a new sensation. A new penetration, a manhood, large and strange, pushed into her. There was no denying the shape, the girth, the pressure as it pressed into her. Sylva grabbed the edge of the bar, frozen as it tried to fill her. She was slick already, and it slipped between her lips with ease, in and then out, no longer afraid of her thighs interrupting it. It seemed to vanish as soon as it left her panties. Her hands squeezed into fists with each thrust.

It was impossible to stop her sounds now, small mewls with every step she took down the bar. Pleasure washed up and down her body, thrashing her weakened body against the shore. She was sure she would break at any moment, give in to the crashing waves of excitement.

“Birdy!” Shouted Betsy behind her.

Sylva stopped and turned, her face pleading.

Betsy’s face went from childish excitement to maternal concern. She shoved the men between them aside as she ran to Sylva’s side.

“What’s wrong?” Betsy whispered into her ear, “Is it a lady thing?”

Sylva opened her mouth as the invisible phallus within her swelled, and instead she gripped Betsy’s hand in hers and squeezed tight.

Betsy smirked, “I know that look.” Then it was replaced with confusion.

“Blue cloak,” Sylva whispered, “Touching me, invisible.’

Sylva was ready to give in, her whole body felt warm, and all she could imagine was that fuzzy feeling in her stomach, growing, expanding.

“Don’t worry, little bird,” Betsy said, “I’ll deal with this.”

Betsy stood beside her and looked around the crowd. Sylva didn’t know what she was looking for, and didn’t think it mattered. Then Betsy stepped away from Sylva’s grip for just a moment.

“There you are!” She heard, and then there was a crash. For a moment, the phantom touch slowed. Sylva looked up to see Betsy pulling the cloaked figure into the center of the room.

“Let me go,” He shouted as he was thrown to the ground, trapped in the folds of his own cloak.

“You stop this, this instant,” Betsy said, “Leave her alone.”

The cloaked man stood up, and then cackled.

“You can’t stop it now,” He said with a hysterical crack in his voice, “It is too late.”

Sylva knew what he meant. It started up full force again, pressing deeper into her. She gasped, and Betsy turned at the sound.

Betsy came and hugged her tight. Sylva was past bursting, the magical heat filling her to the top, her breath heavy panting. Her muscles squeezed tight, one last preparation for what she knew was coming.

“Go ahead,” the Hog whispered to her, “Let it out.”

She didn’t want to, not there, not in front of everyone. So many men were watching her, waiting for that moment. She saw them, then Betsy came between her and them. Their eyes locked, and Betsy pressed her nose against Sylva’s. She could feel that hot breath on her, feel Betsy’s fingers squeeze into her.

Her mouth opened, and she let out a cry like she never had before. It shook her body, as an explosion of joy shot through her body, then cascaded back down. Her legs tightened against the Hog, her toes curling in her shoes, then she went slack. She felt herself being let down into a stool.

“I recognize you now,” Betsy said to the man in blue.

Sylva looked up, and saw the cloaked man try to back away from Betsy, only to run into a wall of bar men.

“You just now…” The man’s voice cracked again, and he didn’t seem so impressive.

Betsy moved forward, and grabbed at the hood. The figure was wrangled until the cloak came off, revealing a lithe figure in a tunic.

“I’m not done with you,” Betsy said as she shoved the man into the bar. Everyone cheered the fight on.

Sylva looked over, and saw a glass of water at the bar, with Mr. Tuttle watching her. She took the drink, and thanked him wordlessly.

“No!” Shouted the man, “You can’t do this, I am Alex the powerful, you disgusting whale of a woman!”

Alex, Sylva knew that name, and that language. There was a letter from days before. Betsy had shrugged the letter off. She said she didn’t recognize the name, and didn’t care. Now, this Alex was before them.

Shoved to the ground, now stripped of his tunic, Alex landed with a grunt of pain.

Sylva’s eyes went wide. There were bandages strapped around Alex’s thin chest. He wasn’t a scrappy little man, he was a tiny boyish woman.

“I told you before, whatever your name is,” Betsy said, “leave me and my friends alone.”

Alex, now exposed, turned over and faced the crowd. Despite her wraps, she covered herself.

“You told me ‘no girls’,” Alex said with shrill outrage, “Then I come to see this stringy little bitch? Do you hate me so much?”

Betsy stood over Alex, and flared her nostrils. The look of utter outrage on Betsy’s face was a first for Sylva. She was red with rage, and Sylva couldn’t imagine being on the opposite side of that anger. So far she knew of her mother’s unnatural compassion, and amazing strength under pressure, she didn’t need to see what the Hog did when protecting its young.

“You come here and attack one of mine cause you couldn’t get your taint tickled?” Betsy said as she leaned down over the woman, “for that, Alex the pitiful, I’m going to make you pay.”

She was jealous? All of this, everything that happened to her, was because some woman was jealous of Sylva? Did she hear about the kiss, or was it something else? For a moment, Sylva’s shame at what happened was shed as she thought about the odd woman in front of her.

“What do you think you can do to me?” Alex said with wavering braver, “I’m more powerful than you could ever imagine.”

Betsy swooped in without hesitation, and gripped Alex’s pants. The powerful magic user struggled, but didn’t come away with what she would have wanted to save most, her dignity. Betsy stood again when she had the pants firmly in her hands, and Alex crawled away, stripped to just the wraps covering her small chest. Her hand covered her own mound, and the crowd erupted in laughter and applause.

Sylva struggled to her feet, and jumped in front of Alex.

“Wait,” She shouted.

The crowd didn’t hear her.

“Please, stop.”

Betsy put a hand up, and they all went quiet.

“I know she did something idiotic,” Sylva said, looking over her shoulder at the cowering Alex, “But please, stop. She was just jealous.”

She looked to Betsy, and saw a strange smile cross her mother’s face. Betsy held out Alex’s pants, and Sylva took them, turning around and handing them over.

“Go to the storage room, right there,” Sylva said.

Alex took one glance at the crowd against her, and ran, with Sylva right behind her.

“Why are you helping me?” Alex said as she got dressed behind a box.

Sylva couldn’t really answer that question. This woman had tortured her, because she was spurned. She deserved whatever she got, right?

“I guess,” Sylva began, “I know what effect she can have on people.”

Alex came out, a little more decent than when she went into hiding. Her face looked uptight, as if she just won a debate, not lost a bar fight.

“Well,” Alex said, her nose upturned, “I’m done with her now, for sure.”

Sylva didn’t know if she believed that. But it didn’t matter now.

“At least, between you getting beat up by a bar maid, and your bare ass, everyone might forget what you did to me,” Sylva said.

Alex looked down, “So you really aren’t together with her?”

“No,” Sylva stated.

“My apologies then.”

They stood there, opposite each other.

“It is just,” Alex began, “You’re quite becoming for a young lady, if you don’t mind me saying. So I just imagined…”

“Okay,” Sylva said with a hand up.

“I mean, if you wanted.”

“Alex,” Sylva said with the best smile she could manage, “Just get out.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Alex moved to the door, and opened it.

“Oh,” Sylva said just before the door opened. Alex turned, and Sylva added, “And, you owe me.”