How My Wife Became the inn's Prostitute-Chapter 11 - : Childhood Friend

I'm wiping down the polished surface of our bar with a rag that's seen better days. The soft, circular motions are mindless work, letting my thoughts wander as I clean away invisible smudges.

It's been two weeks since that night with Asaf, two weeks since Mira showed up and cast her shadow over what had been an awakening experience for Sirre and me. The memory of my wife's passionate cries still echoes in my mind, sending a familiar warmth through my body before the cold recollection of Mira's intrusion extinguishes it.

I haven't suggested sharing Sirre again since then. Not because I don't want to. Gods know the thought of it has kept me awake more nights than I'd care to admit, but something about Mira's appearance poisoned the well. Left a bitter taste that's taken time to fade.

But today... today feels different. Maybe it's the way the afternoon sun slants through our windows, casting golden rectangles across the worn floorboards. Maybe it's how Sirre smiled at me this morning, that knowing look in her emerald eyes that seems to peer straight into my deepest desires. Whatever it is, the itch is back, crawling under my skin.

Kal sits in his usual corner, nursing an ale that's probably gone warm. His nose is buried in some thick tome about ancient magical theory, the kind of reading that would put most men to sleep but seems to fascinate our scholarly regular.

The bell above our door jingles, and my stomach immediately sinks as I look up.

Agof Khimur. Of course, it would be him today of all days.

He clomps into my inn with all the grace of a drunk donkey, his knight's armor clanking and scraping with every movement. It doesn't fit him properly, never has, hanging loose at the shoulders while pinching at the waist. His boyish face is flushed red, whether from the heat or some perceived slight, I can't tell.

I sigh quietly to myself. Agof grew up in the same village as Sirre, and he's never let anyone forget it. Childhood friend, he calls himself, though Sirre has made it abundantly clear she barely remembers him. In his mind, they share some special bond that transcends my marriage to her, a delusion I might find amusing if it weren't so persistently annoying.

He stomps over to the bar, his armor announcing his approach like a one-man parade. Kal briefly glances up from his book, eyes registering Agof with mild interest before returning to his studies.

"Well, look who it is," I say, forcing a smile as Agof parks himself on one of the barstools.

Agof fixes me with that look I've come to know all too well, equal parts contempt and unearned superiority. His eyes, brown and unremarkable, narrow slightly as he glances around the common room.

"Where's Sirre today?" he asks, not bothering with pleasantries. His voice cracks slightly on my wife's name, betraying the boyish infatuation he's never outgrown.

I continue wiping the already spotless section of bar in front of me, taking my time before answering. "In the backroom, cleaning up."

The disappointment that flashes across his face is almost comical. His shoulders slump, causing his oversized pauldrons to shift awkwardly. The metal scrapes against itself, adding yet another scratch to the collection that marks his ill-fitting armor.

Agof sighs dramatically, the sound whistling through his nostrils. "One ale, please," he says, tossing three copper coins onto the bar with more force than necessary. They spin and clatter across the polished wood, one nearly rolling off the edge before I catch it.

"No milk today?" I ask innocently, remembering the time he'd ordered milk instead of ale and had been mercilessly teased by a group of actual knights passing through.

Agof stares at me, his face flushing a deeper shade of red. His eyes harden, and I can practically see him biting back a retort.

I turn to the taps, hiding my smirk as I pull the lever. Amber liquid flows into the mug, foaming slightly at the top.

"You better be treating her right, Orth," Agof says behind me, his voice lowered to what he probably thinks is a threatening rumble. "Or else I'll have to finally steal her from you."

I set the ale down in front of him.

"Is that so?" I ask, leaning forward on the bar.

Agof, clearly not expecting my amusement, blinks in confusion. He recovers quickly, puffing out his chest until his ill-fitting breastplate creaks.

"She deserves a real man," he declares, jutting his chin out. "A knight, not some..." his eyes sweep over me leg, "...crippled innkeeper."

The words are meant to sting, but instead, a wild idea begins to form in my mind. The familiar heat of my peculiar desire floods through me, making my breath come a little faster. Two weeks since Asaf. Two weeks of only role play. Two weeks of dreaming about her with another man.

But Agof? The thought is almost laughable. Almost.

"You know what, Agof?" I say, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're right."

His eyes widen in genuine surprise, the mug of ale frozen halfway to his lips. "I'm... what?"

I lean in closer, my voice barely audible over the ambient sounds of the inn. "Sirre deserves a real man," I continue, watching his face carefully. "Someone who can... satisfy her properly."

Agof's expression shifts from confusion to understanding, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What are you playing at, Willow?" he asks, setting his mug down with a dull thud.

I straighten up, feigning nonchalance as I resume wiping the bar. The rag moves in slow, deliberate circles over the polished wood as I choose my next words carefully.

"Nothing at all," I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "Just acknowledging the truth. Sirre is... well, she's a lot of woman. Sometimes more than I can handle."

Agof's eyes widen slightly, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, his imagination running wild with the implications of my words.

"What are you saying?" he says, his voice hoarse.

I set the rag down and lean in close again, my heart pounding in my chest. The familiar thrill of my unusual desire courses through my veins, making my palms sweat, and my mouth go dry.

"I'm saying that for three silver coins, I can let you borrow her for the night."

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and charged. I watch as Agof's face cycles through a series of emotions: confusion, disbelief, outrage, and finally, fury.

His face flushes a deep crimson, the color spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath his ill-fitting armor. His nostrils flare, and his chest heaves with each breath as rage builds within him like a gathering storm.

"How DARE you!" he roars, leaping to his feet with such force that the barstool topples backward, clattering loudly against the floorboards.

The common room falls silent, all eyes turning toward the commotion. Kal looks up from his book, one eyebrow cocked with interest as he observes the unfolding drama.

Agof's hand moves to the hilt of his sword, the metal screeching as he draws it from its scabbard.

"How DARE you offer up that goddess's body for a measly three silvers!" he bellows, his voice cracking with emotion. "She's your WIFE, and you wish to pimp her out like she's some common whore?!"

Agof's sword flies upward, the blade glinting in the afternoon sunlight that streams through the windows. His face contorts with righteous fury, spittle flying from his lips as he bellows, "I'll kill you for dishonoring her!"

The patrons scramble away, chairs scraping across the wooden floor as they seek safety from the impending violence. Kal merely shifts his book to a safer position, his eyes now fully engaged with the scene unfolding before him.

Time seems to slow as Agof brings the sword down in a wild, untrained arc. The blade whistles through the air, aimed squarely at my head. The attack is telegraphed, clumsy, fueled by emotion rather than skill.

With a practiced calmness that, I step slightly to the side and raise my hand. My thumb and index finger snap together with perfect timing, catching the descending blade between them just inches from my face. The metal vibrates with a dull hum, trapped in my unflinching grip.

Agof's eyes widen in shock, his momentum suddenly halted by what should have been impossible. His sword, a weapon designed to cleave through flesh and bone, hangs suspended and impotent between my fingers. The metal groans as if in protest, his arm trembling with the effort to free it from my grasp.

"You're a D-rank, Agof," I say, my voice eerily quiet in contrast to his previous shouting. "Did you forget your place?"

I don't raise my voice. I don't need to. The common room is so silent you could hear a pin drop. The only sounds are Agof's labored breathing and the faint creak of his ill-fitting armor as he struggles.

"I was an A-rank adventurer," I continue, a hint of weariness creeping into my tone. "Before this leg," I tap my bad leg with my free hand, "I killed things that would make you wet your armor."

Agof's face contorts with rage and humiliation, his cheeks flushing an even deeper crimson. He yanks at the sword, trying to free it from my grip, but it might as well be set in stone.

"You... you can't..." he sputters, his voice cracking with emotion. "She deserves better than to be sold like cattle!"

I open my mouth to respond when the air suddenly grows heavy, charged with an energy that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. The temperature in the room plummets, my breath fogging in front of my face despite the warm spring day outside. The candles and oil lamps flicker wildly, their flames stretching into unnatural shapes before shrinking to mere pinpricks of light.

A low, distant rumble vibrates through the floorboards beneath our feet. The glasses behind the bar begin to tremble, clinking against each other in an eerie, discordant melody. Dust motes swirl in frantic patterns, caught in invisible currents of power that seem to coalesce around a single point, the doorway to the back room.

The door explodes outward, the solid oak splintering as if it were made of matchsticks. Through the cloud of debris and swirling dust emerges Sirre, but not as the warm, playful woman I know and love.

This Sirre is wreathed in crackling purple energy that dances across her skin like lightning. Her auburn hair whips around her face as if caught in a violent storm, each strand seeming to defy gravity. The floor beneath her bare feet blackens and smokes with each step she takes, leaving charred footprints in her wake.

But it's her eyes that freeze the blood in my veins. Those beautiful emerald orbs now burn with an unnatural violet fire, pupils constricted to pinpoints of pure rage. Her face, usually so expressive and full of life, is twisted into a mask of primal fury that transcends mere anger.

"YOU DARE SWING A SWORD AT MY HUSBAND?" Sirre's voice booms through the common room, each word reverberating with such power that the windows rattle in their frames. The voice isn't entirely hers. It seems layered as if multiple Sirres are speaking at once, some deep and guttural, others high and keening.

Agof's face drains of all color, the righteous anger from moments before replaced by naked terror. His sword, still caught between my fingers, begins to vibrate violently, the metal heating up until it glows a dull red.

"YOU BOOT-LICKING, SNIVELING ANT!" Sirre howls, the purple energy surrounding her intensifying until it's almost painful to look at directly.

Sirre takes another step forward, and the floorboards beneath her feet split with a sickening crack. The purple energy surrounding her forms tendrils that writhe and snap like living things, reaching toward Agof with predatory intent.

"I WILL TEAR YOUR ESSENCE FROM YOUR PATHETIC FORM," she roars, her voice so distorted and powerful it seems to come from everywhere at once. "I WILL SCATTER YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS ACROSS THE VOID BETWEEN REALMS!"

Agof stumbles backward, his armor clanking awkwardly as he trips over his own feet. His face is a portrait of absolute terror, his eyes wide and unblinking as he beholds the eldritch fury before him.

"P-please," he whimpers, his voice barely audible above the supernatural wind that now howls through the common room. "I didn't mean..."

"YOUR INTENTIONS ARE IRRELEVANT," Sirre snarls, cutting him off. The violet fire in her eyes intensifies, and the wooden floor beneath Agof begins to bubble and warp. "YOUR LIFE IS FORFEIT!"

"Honey, it's okay, I've got it covered," I interrupt her, my voice calm despite the chaos unfolding around us.

Sirre's head snaps toward me, her movement unnaturally quick. The look she gives me is that of a rabid dog, wild, feral, beyond reason. Her lips pull back in a snarl, revealing teeth that seem sharper than they should be.

"NO!" she howls, the force of her voice making the remaining glasses explode. "YOU'RE ALWAYS TOO SOFT! FOR SOMEONE TO RAISE THEIR SWORD AT MY HUSBAND IS SOMEONE READY TO DIE!"

I set Agof's sword down, the metal still glowing red-hot from Sirre's power. It clatters to the floor with a dull thud, the blade warping and curling like heated wax as it cools.

With slow, deliberate steps, I move toward Sirre. Each footfall seems to echo in the supernatural silence that has fallen over the common room. My bad leg drags slightly, the familiar pain a distant concern compared to the supernatural horror my wife has become.

Despite the danger, I wrap my arms around her from behind, pressing my chest against her back. The contact sends a jolt of pain through my body, like embracing a lightning storm.

"Honey," I whisper, my lips brushing against her ear. "I offered him you for the night so I could watch."

The effect is immediate and astonishing. The violent energy doesn't dissipate so much as it collapses inward, drawn back into Sirre's body like water down a drain. The supernatural wind dies down, the temperature in the room returning to normal so quickly it leaves everyone gasping. The violet fire in her eyes flickers and fades, revealing her familiar emerald gaze, wide with surprise.

"What?" she says, her voice once again her own, though still tinged with confusion and lingering rage. She turns in my embrace, her movements fluid and human once more. "And he wanted to kill you for it?"

I nod, relieved to see my wife returning to herself. "He thought I was treating you poorly."

Sirre's eyes narrow dangerously, the last embers of that otherworldly power glowing briefly in their depths. She turns her attention back to Agof, who remains frozen in terror, his face ashen and slick with cold sweat.

"My husband offered you a diamond," she screams, her voice still carrying an echo of that supernatural power, "and instead of being grateful, you decided to try to kill him? DISGUSTING!"

I look around at the scene, the cowering patrons pressed against the walls, Kal watching with scholarly fascination from his corner, the destruction that will take days to repair, and something inside me shifts. The familiar heat of my unusual desire suddenly cools, replaced by a weariness that settles deep in my bones.

"Let's just call it." I sigh, running a hand through my hair, "I'm not sure this is a good day to explore my fetish after all."

Sirre turns to me immediately, the last traces of her eldritch fury vanishing completely. Her movements are gentle, almost reverent, as she cups my face between her palms. Her emerald eyes, now fully returned to their natural state, search mine with such tenderness it makes my heart ache.

"If my husband wants me to fuck that coward so he can get off," she says, her voice soft yet resolute, "I would in a heartbeat." Her thumbs stroke my cheeks as she leans closer, her breath warm against my lips. "I would fuck a million cowards for you."

I can't help but chuckle at her wording, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. "I love you," I murmur, closing the distance between us to capture her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

The kiss is sweet and familiar, grounding me in the moment. Sirre's lips move against mine with practiced ease. When we finally part, I rest my forehead against hers for a moment, drawing strength from her presence.

"I love you too," she whispers, her words meant for me alone.

With a deep breath, I turn to face Agof once more. He's regained some of his color, though his eyes still dart nervously between Sirre and me as if expecting another supernatural outburst at any moment.

"So," I say, my voice steady and clear in the quiet room, "what will it be?"

Agof's face contorts into a mask of rage, his features sharpening with newfound determination. The terror that had paralyzed him moments ago transforms into something darker, more primal.

"How dare you!" he roars, his voice cracking with emotion. "Is this some kind of sick game to you?"

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He takes a step forward, his boots thudding heavily against the charred floorboards.

"You think I won't do it?" Agof continues, his voice rising with each word. "You think I'm not man enough to satisfy her? I've dreamed of Sirre since we were children! I know her in ways you never could!"

His hands clench into fists at his sides, knuckles white with strain. A vein pulses visibly at his temple, throbbing beneath his flushed skin.

"I will take your challenge!" he declares, spittle flying from his lips. "I will fuck her so good she will never look at you again!"

The crude words echo through the common room, hanging in the air like a gauntlet thrown down. Several patrons gasp audibly while others shift uncomfortably in their seats, unsure whether to flee or stay for the unfolding drama.

Sirre scoffs mockingly. She gives Agof a taunting smile. "You can certainly try," she purrs, her voice low and laced with challenge.

Agof's eyes widen at Sirre's taunt, his face flushing an even deeper shade of crimson. He puffs out his chest, his ill-fitting armor creaking in protest.

"Tonight," he declares, fumbling at his belt pouch. His fingers, clumsy with nervousness and lingering fear, scatter several coins across the floor. The silver pieces roll in lazy circles before coming to rest, glinting in the afternoon light. "I'll... I'll pay double! Six silvers!"

I sweep the coins into my palm with a practiced movement, the cool metal a familiar weight against my skin. Dropping them into my pocket, I nod once, sealing our bizarre transaction.

"Room four," I tell him. "After dinner service. Come prepared."

Agof offers a clumsy bow, his armor clanking awkwardly, before practically sprinting for the door. The bell jingles violently as he departs, the sound strangely cheerful amidst the tension still hanging in the air. The remaining patrons begin to murmur among themselves, the volume of conversation slowly rising as normalcy attempts to reassert itself.

I turn to Sirre, who stands amid the destruction her power has wrought, looking somehow both triumphant and sheepish.

"Well," I say, gesturing at the splintered door and charred floorboards, "this is going to be expensive to fix."

Sirre winces slightly, her gaze following mine as she takes in the damage. "Sorry about that," she murmurs, her voice tinged with genuine regret. "I just... when I heard him threatening you, something inside me snapped."

I can't help but chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. "Remind me never to make you truly angry," I tease, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Sirre leans into my embrace, her body fitting perfectly against mine. "You could never make me that angry," she assures me, her voice soft and sincere. "Not my Orth."

As we stand there amid the chaos, surveying the damage, I become aware of footsteps approaching. The heavy tread is familiar, and I don't need to turn to know it's Kal.

"Orth," he says in his slow, deliberate way. "Maybe some other time I could have a go?"

I nod at Kal, keeping my tone light and friendly.

"Yeah," I say. "We can talk later, alright?"

Kal gives a small, grateful smile, tipping his chin in acknowledgment. "Thanks."