4: Going Beyond the Horizon

The tavern is bathed in the warm, flickering glow of oil lamps, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. The air is thick with the lingering scents of the day, roasted meats, fresh bread, and the ever-present undercurrent of ale. Outside, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl.

I'm wiping down the bar, the familiar motion soothing after a long day of serving patrons. The rag in my hand is damp and cool, a stark contrast to the warm, humid air of the tavern. Most of our guests have retreated to their rooms, leaving the common area quiet and almost peaceful.

Babin sits at the bar, his large frame hunched over a mug of our strongest ale. The amber liquid gleams in the lamplight as he takes a long, appreciative swig.

From the kitchen, I can hear the soft clattering of dishes and the gentle humming of Sirre as she cleans up. The sound of her voice, even muffled by distance and walls, sends a warm feeling through my chest.

"So," Babin says, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. His deep voice seems to rumble through the empty tavern. "How did you end up as an innkeeper?"

I chuckle, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet room. "Oh, well," I begin, leaning against the bar. "Sirre and I used to be A-ranked adventurers. We made our money killing monsters in the dungeons across Esward."

Babin chokes on his drink, ale splattering across the bar. I quickly grab a clean rag to mop up the spill, the sharp scent of alcohol cutting through the air.

"A-rank?" Babin sputters, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. "What happened?"

I lean back against the bar, a wry smile playing on my lips as memories of our adventuring days flood back.

"My ankle got busted by a magic trap that I still can't believe I missed," I say, shrugging as if it were a trivial matter. The phantom pain in my left ankle throbs dully, a constant reminder of that fateful day. "It's too dangerous to go into a dungeon without full use of your feet, you know?"

Babin nods solemnly, his blue eyes fixed on me with rapt attention. The gentle clink of his mug against the worn wood of the bar punctuates the silence that falls between us.

"And then what?" he prompts, his deep voice barely above a whisper, as if we're sharing some great secret.

"Well, that was five years ago," I explain, my voice tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and acceptance. "So we took our money and bought the inn."

"You couldn't get your ankle healed?" he asks, incredulity coloring his tone.

I shake my head, a rueful chuckle escaping my lips. "No one has ever been able to heal it because of the nature of the trap, It seems to be some kind of dark magic." I explain.

As I finish my explanation, I hear the soft creak of the kitchen door opening. Sirre emerges, her auburn hair gleaming in the warm lamplight. She's changed out of her work dress into something more comfortable, a loose linen shirt that clings to her curves in all the right places and a flowing skirt that swishes gently as she walks.

Our eyes meet across the room, and a silent communication passes between us. She gives me a subtle nod, her lips curving into a small, secretive smile that sends a jolt of electricity through my body.

I watch as Sirre makes her way to the stairs, her movements graceful and purposeful. She pauses at the bottom step, turning to look back at me. The lamplight catches the curve of her cheek, the soft swell of her breast beneath her shirt. She raises an eyebrow, a silent question in her gaze.

My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through my veins. I give her a slight nod, my mouth suddenly dry. Sirre's smile widens, a flash of heat in her eyes before she turns and ascends the stairs. The soft sound of her footsteps fades as she disappears from view.

I turn back to Babin, my palms suddenly sweaty. He's watching me curiously, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to say.

"Hey, Babin," I begin, my voice wavering slightly. I clear my throat and try again. "Your offer from yesterday... is it still good?"

Babin's eyebrows shoot up, surprise etched across his features. He sets down his mug with a soft thunk, leaning forward on his stool. "Uh, yeah," he says, his deep voice tinged with uncertainty. "It is."

I nod, my heart racing. The tavern suddenly feels too warm, the air thick and heavy. "Would you care if I watched?" I ask, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Babin studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. "No," he rumbles.

I swallow hard, a mixture of relief and anticipation washing over me. "Alright then," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

Babin takes a long swig of his ale, draining the last of it. He sets the empty mug down with a decisive thunk, then stands.

"Lead the way," he says, gesturing towards the stairs.

—

In my quarters, I sit on the side of my bed, my heart pounding so loudly I'm sure the others can hear it. The familiar surroundings of our room, usually a source of comfort, now feel charged with an electric anticipation that makes my skin tingle.

I watch as Sirre guides Babin to a chair in the corner, her movements graceful yet purposeful.

Sirre turns to me, her green eyes filled with genuine concern. "Do you have a good view, honey?" she asks, her voice soft and caring even in this moment of heightened tension.

I scooch over a little, the bed creaking softly beneath me. "Yes," I reply, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears.

She looks at me intently, her gaze seeming to pierce right through me. There's a slight furrow in her brow, a tightness around her eyes that speaks volumes. It's a look that seems to say, "Are you sure about this?"

I nod, feeling a confusing mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through my veins. My palms are sweaty, and I resist the urge to wipe them on my trousers. The room feels too warm, too small, yet I'm rooted to the spot, unable and unwilling to look away from the scene unfolding before me.

Babin settles into the chair, the wood groaning slightly under his considerable bulk. His blue eyes flick between Sirre and me, a mix of desire and curiosity in his gaze.

Sirre takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that draws my eye to the swell of her breasts beneath her linen shirt. She turns to Babin, a sultry smile playing on her lips that I've only ever seen directed at me before. The sight sends a jolt of jealousy and excitement straight to my core.

"Well," Sirre purrs, her voice low and husky, "shall we begin?"

Sirre steps closer to Babin, her fingers trailing down his broad chest. With deliberate slowness, she grasps the waistband of his trousers, her green eyes locked on his. In one fluid motion, she pulls them down, along with his undergarments.

Babin's hardened member springs free, thick, and imposing. As if drawn by some magnetic force, it flops heavily onto Sirre's face, resting across her cheek and nose. The contrast of his dark, veined shaft against her pale skin makes Sirre seem absolutely irresistible.

"Oh my," Sirre breathes, her eyes widening. Her warm breath ghosts over Babin's length, causing it to twitch slightly.

From my vantage point on the bed, I can't help but compare. Babin is... considerable. At least two inches longer than me and noticeably thicker. The realization sends a confusing mix of jealousy and arousal coursing through me. My own cock hardens instantly, straining against my trousers at the sight of babins member on Sirre's face.

Sirre's nostrils flare as she inhales deeply, her eyes fluttering closed. "Hmm," she murmurs, her voice low and husky, "quite a manly stench." Her tongue darts out, leaving a glistening trail along the underside of Babin's shaft.

Her eyes are half-lidded, focused intently on her task. The room is filled with the soft, wet sounds of her ministrations and Babin's deep, rumbling groans.

Suddenly, Sirre pauses. Her head turns towards me, her green eyes locking onto mine. There's a flicker of concern in her gaze, a silent question hanging in the air between us. Her gaze drops pointedly to my lap, where my own arousal is painfully evident, straining against the confines of my trousers.

I feel a flush creep up my neck, a mixture of embarrassment and excitement coursing through me. Sirre's eyebrow raises slightly, a subtle motion towards my pants. I understand her unspoken request immediately.

With trembling fingers, I fumble with the laces of my trousers. The rough fabric scrapes against my sensitive skin as I push them down, along with my undergarments. My member springs free, already hard and aching. I wrap my hand around it, the familiar touch sending a jolt of pleasure through my body.

Sirre's eyes widen slightly at the sight, her lips curving into a sultry smile. There's a heat in her gaze that makes my breath catch in my throat. For a moment, it's like we're the only two people in the room, sharing this intimate connection despite the circumstances.

Then, with a final, smoldering look in my direction, Sirre turns her attention back to Babin. Her tongue darts out once more, this time swirling around the swollen head of his cock. Babin lets out a deep, guttural moan, his hips jerking involuntarily.

I watch, mesmerized, as Sirre takes Babin into her mouth. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm. The sight is both terrifying and arousing, sending conflicting waves of jealousy and desire coursing through me.

My hand moves almost of its own accord, stroking my length in time with Sirre's movements. The room fills with a symphony of sounds, Sirre's muffled moans, Babin's deep groans, and the slick, wet noises of their coupling. The air grows thick and heavy, charged with an electric tension that makes my skin tingle.

As Sirre works, her free hand moves to the buttons of her shirt. With deft fingers, she undoes them one by one, revealing more and more of her creamy skin. Finally, she shrugs the garment off entirely, her full breasts spilling free.

Babin's large hand reaches out, cupping Sirre's breast. His fingers knead the soft flesh, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple. Sirre moans around his length, the vibrations causing Babin to throw his head back with a guttural groan.

Suddenly, Babin's body tenses. His hand moves from Sirre's breast to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her auburn hair. With a deep, primal growl, he starts to cum, his hips jerking erratically.

Sirre's eyes widen in surprise as the first burst hits the back of her throat. Babin's grip tightens, pushing her head down further onto his pulsing member. I watch, transfixed, as Sirre's throat works to swallow, her body trembling with the effort.

Despite Babin's firm hold, Sirre struggles slightly, gagging sounds escaping her as she tries to accommodate his considerable length. Yet she doesn't pull away, her hands gripping Babin's thighs as she takes everything he gives her.

The sight of my wife, my beautiful Sirre, being used so thoroughly sends a jolt of electricity through my body. My hand moves faster on my own length, pleasure coiling tighter in my core.

As Babin's climax subsides, he releases his grip on Sirre's hair. She pulls back slowly, gasping for air. A thin trail of saliva and cum connects her lips to the tip of Babin's softening member.

The room spins around me, my senses overwhelmed by the scene before me. The musky scent of sweat hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the familiar scent of Sirre's perfume. The contrast is intoxicating.

With a strangled cry, I reach my own peak. My release spatters onto the wooden floor, each pulse accompanied by a wave of intense pleasure that leaves me trembling.

As the haze of my orgasm settles, Babin and I are both left breathing heavily. Babin pushes his pants back on and reaches into his pocket, the soft jingle of coins breaking the heavy silence. He pulls out a silver coin, its surface gleaming dully in the low light.

With a slightly shaky hand, he holds it out to Sirre. She accepts it gracefully. The coin disappears into her skirt pocket with a soft clink.

Babin stands, his impressive frame casting a long shadow across the room. "That was incredible," he says, his deep voice still slightly breathless.

He turns to me, a wry smile playing on his lips. "You're a lucky man," he says, nodding slightly.

"Thanks," I manage to croak out.

With one last glance at Sirre, Babin makes his way to the door. It creaks open and then closes behind him with a soft thud, leaving Sirre and me alone in the suddenly quiet room.

I start to move, reaching down to pull up my pants. The fabric feels rough against my sensitive skin, a stark reminder of what just transpired. But before I can finish, I feel a warm hand on mine, stopping my movement.

I look up to see Sirre standing before me, her green eyes dark with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat. Her auburn hair is tousled, her lips slightly swollen from her recent activities. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on her skin, catching the lamplight and making her seem to glow.

"Oh no," she purrs, her voice low and husky. "You're not done by a long shot."

Her fingers intertwine with mine, pulling my hand away from my pants. With her other hand, she pushes gently on my chest, urging me to lie back on the bed. I comply without resistance, my body feeling both exhausted and strangely energized.

Sirre climbs onto the bed, straddling my hips. Her skirt rides up, revealing the creamy expanse of her thighs. I can feel the heat of her core through the thin fabric of my undergarments, the sensation sending a jolt of renewed arousal through me.

"Did you enjoy the show?" Sirre asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands trail up my chest, fingernails scraping lightly against my skin.

I swallow hard, nodding. "I loved it."