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It was early evening when Dyce left The Ragged Flagon; he’d overslept. He’d just returned from yet another journey, his pack bulging with goods, both legitimately acquired and not, and he was in a hurry to turn some of them into coin. Prices were usually better above ground, and Dyce took his custom to the Riften market square.
The late hour meant that the stall holders were closing for the day, and torches were being lit by the city guards around the city. The Inn was doing good business. Dyce cursed under his breath as he hurried across. Madesi, he knew, would welcome his custom no matter how late it got, and so he visited Grelka’s stall first.
He dumped his satchel down on the counter. “Got some business for you.”
Grelka didn’t seem remotely happy about this, “We’re closing.”
“Yeah, I see that, but you’re not yet closed.” Dyce shook his head, “You might get more business if you stop treating your customers like you’re doing them a favour.”
“I am doing them a favour; they buy my armour, and they live. As for you, I don’t need anyone to tell me how to run my business.”
“I don’t really know what your problem is,” Dyce said. “And if I cared once, I care no longer. Just tell me what you’re offering for some of this gear and at least one of us can look forward to a pleasant evening. That one of us would be me, by the way.” He couldn’t imagine what Grelka would consider a pleasant evening. Or pleasant anything.
“No kidding,” she said, matching his unimpressed look with one of her own. She was more practiced at it than he was, and won. She started sorting through the various hides and bits of armour he’d laid out in front of her. “The way I hear it, you’re very easy to please.”
Dyce raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to wound me?” he asked. He rolled his eyes, “Let me guess, you’re too picky. No one in this town is good enough for you.”
She looked at him, reached over, hooked her fingers down the front of his collar and yanked him forward. “No one in this entire miserable province can take what I have to give,” she said.
Dyce raised his eyebrows in sheer surprise, and then he grinned, “Try me.”
She laughed and pushed him away again, “You? Ha! I don’t like making grown men cry; it’s embarrassing.”
Dyce’s jaw dropped, “Really? That bad huh?” He spread his hands and walked around the stall, “Come on. I’m game. What have you go that’s so scary?”
She folded her arms and leaned against the counter, “Only seven inches of black leather cock that I haven’t found a suitable hole for in nearly a year.” She smirked.
“A year?” Dyce looked more startled than worried. “That explains the sour expression. Well, I’m game. You want it? You can have it.”
“Wait, what?”
“Just name your time and place.”
“Huh, well you talk big. Right here, right now.”
Dyce looked around. The market square was mostly deserted, but it wasn’t remotely private. “Here?”
“What’s the matter, lost your nerve?” she asked in a mocking tone.
“No, not at all. Bring it on.” Dyce could rarely resist a challenge, especially when so attractively presented.
“This is going to be just how I like it,” Grelka said. “Quick and dirty. Drop ‘em, prettyboy, while I get the main attraction.”
She kept her toy under her market stall? Yes, yes she did. So that was why common knowledge around the thieves’ guild was to leave that stall alone; Grelka wasn’t above hiring thugs to track down anyone who interfered with it, and it was considered too much trouble as a target.
Dyce wasn’t about to argue with anyone who had a year’s worth of frustration to work off, and when Grelka bent him over her stall he complied without a murmur. She let him stand there for a while, bare arsed in the cool evening air, while she prepared for the fun and games.
Dyce glanced over his shoulder at the rigid leather member that jutted proudly from her crotch as Grelka stroked it thoughtfully, watching him with half-closed eyes.
“How long do you reckon we’ve got between patrols?” Dyce asked.
“I really don’t care,” she said. “Now be a good boy and spread them a bit wider, that’s right. You done this before then?”
“Not quite this exactly.” Dyce said. “First time for everything, isn’t there?”
“Oh, I’m going to enjoy breaking you in,” she said, and Dyce could feel the end of her toy nudge at his entrance.
She had, at least, applied lubrication but she was impatient and not gentle and Dyce gasped and hung on to the edge of the counter and forced himself to relax as she drove her hips forward, impaling him without mercy. He heard her breathy sigh of relief, and her hands lightly clawed and kneaded at his hips.
And then she pulled back and thrust forward again, slowly at first, more to savour it rather than out of kindness. Dyce got the distinct impression that she cared not in the slightest for his pleasure - which was in itself arousing; Dyce obediently let himself be fucked, and managed to mostly keep quiet.
Grelka was almost silent; Dyce had to strain to hear her breathing over the faint creak of leather and the sound of her hips meeting his arse. The toy gave him no cues; all he could do was stand there and take it as long as she cared to give it. Dyce thought he heard the guard wandering past, but he had his cheek pressed against the wood and couldn’t be bothered lifting his head to see. Who cared if someone watched? Let the guard finish their patrol and sneak off to the barracks to commemorate the occasion with a wank if they wanted; the idea held a certain appeal.
Dyce jerked as Grelka slapped his arse. “Look alive down there,” she ordered.
Dyce just nodded, content not to try and speak for now. He started rocking himself back against her, meeting her thrusts with his own as best he could. She was going faster, harder, and Dyce propped himself up on one arm to reach back with the other and stroke his cock. She didn’t object, if she even noticed.
He wasn’t going to last long like that. He choked back a cry of pleasure as he came, milking himself against the side of the stall. Grelka didn’t let up, although the way she grunted in approval suggested she’d noticed. Dyce propped himself up on his arms again, and Grelka fucked him until he started getting hard again. She groaned and nearly tipped the stall over, and then she slowed, and stopped, and stepped back.
Dyce’s knees buckled. It took him several tries to find his voice.
“That was...thorough,” he said finally. When he turned to look at her, she wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t scowling either; she looked a bit thoughtful, a bit tired, a bit relaxed.
“You want a discount?” she asked.
Dyce shook his head. “I don’t do this sort of thing to get discounts.”
Nevertheless, she gave him good prices for his gear. He went to the Bee and Barb to spend some of it leaning against the bar, because he really didn’t feel like sitting down just then.