by Wes Havoc
She was discovering things about herself she didn’t like. Wrong things. Lewd things.
Was something wrong with her?
She stalked up the street, her eyes searching, searching for either a tavern or a restaurant, or a clothing store… Anything that could distract her of such thoughts. Anything that could make her forget the throbbing between her legs.
A hanging sign indicated a restaurant steps ahead.
Cleo focused there, crossing the street and murmuring “excuse me” to the people she bumped into. She jolted inside the place, stopping by the entrance to catch her breath.
The restaurant was also crowded. With how busy that city was, and so close to noon, Cleo didn’t know why she was surprised.
“Welcome,” a girl called from some tables ahead. Cleo snapped her head to that direction, letting a breath escape her lips as she calmed herself. The girl was some years older than her, a pretty, round face and an apron around her waist as she smiled at Cleo. “We’re quite busy, but you can have a place on the counter and I’ll serve you in a moment!”
Cleo took a moment to look around herself. All the tables were occupied. She willed her heart to calm down as she walked to the end of the place, reaching for a high chair against the counter. She sat in the last place, her arm touching the wall. Two empty chairs separated her from the other people sitting there.
Adjusting herself on the hard sit, she let herself relax. She first wondered how wrong was she about liking to feel pleasure…
She moved on the sit. Her clit still throbbed, as if asking her why had it been abandoned like that. She sighed, pressing her hips down against the hardwood. A jolt shot up her body, her clit begging, begging for attention.
“Hello,” the attendant called from just behind her, making her jump. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did I surprise you?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she turned her head to watch another set of customers entering the place. “Welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!” She turned back to Cleo, smiling. “Our special of the day is pork, would you like to try it?”
Cleo did want to. The food came quickly and she was halfway through her plate when someone sat beside her. It was a moment before the grave voice called for her.
“Found you, doll.”
Snapping her head to the side, she widened her eyes at the man who had been touching her on the street. He smiled again and took a moment to ask the servant for the special. His eyes were pure hunger over Cleo as he leaned toward her.
“Do you have a name, doll?”
She turned back to her plate, taking another spoonful as she tried to ignore him.
Maybe that would do it. If she ignored it, he would eventually drop it. Or at least she had been told so.
“Come now,” he murmured, too close to her ear. A shiver trickled down her skin. “You were so fucking wet I couldn’t let you go. You’re too fucking hot.”
She took another spoonful and swallowed it without chewing. The man thanked the servant as she brought him his food. He took his own spoon and started to eat.
Perhaps now he’d give Cleo some peace of mind.
Peace he did give. For a total of three minutes, at the most.
Cleo hurried herself to finish her lunch when his hand came to rest on the back of her chair. She slid him a sidelong glance, his confident grin telling her it was not over. With his mouth full, he let his spoon rest beside the plate and his hand came to touch her arm.
“Really, doll,” he called, his fingers trailing up and down her skin. His voice lowered to a murmur, “You can drop the act. You’re not from here, are you? You have nothing to lose. No reputation or whatever.”
A part of Cleo’s brain told her it was true. She tried her best to bury that part down.
His hand hovered over her shoulder and down her ribcage, warming her skin through her thin blouse. Her breathing coming out in heaves, she searched blindly for money on her purse to pay for her food.
His fingers trailed to the side of her boob and under it, to come back up to her already-hard nipple. She shivered, unable to contain herself. With a rough laugh, he opened his hand to palm her breast. His thumb and forefinger joined here and there to pinch her nipple, sending warmth to pool on her underbelly.
Cleo’s mind grew fuzzy. She sighed, noticing the man’s grin stretching wider.
His thumb hooked on the hem of her shirt and he slowly pulled her top down. Her heartbeat picked up - not with fear. With anticipation.
The thought of being touched and exposed like this in public somehow… Somehow it turned her on.
She paused some coins on the counter.
His forefinger still circled her nipple deliciously.
She took a breath in.
His thumb reached her areola, and a moment longer she’d be bare.
She clutched his wrist.
Her eyes were ablaze as she frowned up at the man.
“I’ll break your arm if you don’t release me.” To make her point, she twisted his wrist to an extreme position.
He leaned forward, the grin disappearing from his face. “What the-” He frowned. “You’re really going to pretend you weren’t liking it? You little whore.”
“You’re disgusting,” Cleo roared back and she brought her other hand up to his head. The rage suddenly boiling inside of her (who did he think he was to insult her so?) gave her confidence as she brought his head down against the counter, face-first on his own plate of food. Hard enough to break a couple of teeth. A nose if she got lucky.
She dropped quickly from her chair as other customers turned to see what had happened. Adjusting her blouse once more, she turned to leave, thanking the servant after letting her know she left some coins on the counter.
Cleo was out of the restaurant and out in the street before she could hear the man creating some poor excuse about her behavior.
2
Out and away from the restaurant, Cleo hoped she wouldn’t get in trouble for that. She wondered what her parents would think after learning she had been arrested in Belisk after hitting a man.
Her adventure couldn’t end because of some pervert.
Even if she felt like one herself.
Blindingly walking up the street to the main square, she found a tavern soon enough. Pulling the door open, she strode to the notice board with a hand on her sword.
She swore no man would ever get the best of her again. She wouldn’t be caught off guard. Never again.
With her heart still pumping hard, with adrenaline, with hesitation, with some fear and some excitement, Cleo let her eyes wander through a number of notices. The board was covered in them - many, many more than the ones by the castle town.
The first layer of notices was comprised of new sheets of white paper, fairly recent. Cleo could see there were older ones under it, the yellow color of the paper betraying for how long those quests had been abandoned.
There was a gang of bandits robbing shops. Searching for a disappeared maiden who, it was written on the note, was believed to have been eloped. A search for a relic, with a minimum of five experienced people in the party. Bear attacks in the North. A werewolf seemed to be hunting some sheep out of the Eastern part of the wall.
Cleo shivered with the wet memory of the werewolf back in the woods.
She chided herself. Her adventure was supposed to prove a point. It was supposed to be about her taking care of herself and proving she could do whatever she wanted… But if it was to prove she owned her desires, then why was she being such a prude about her lust?
A part of her wondered if she wasn’t being a hypocrite.
She shut that part down promptly. This was not the moment, neither the place, to think about such things. She blinked to refocus on the notices, lifting the newer ones to read the yellowed papers under them.
Missing, she read in one of them, lady Beichelles. Around 18 years old, flaxen-haired. Last seen going up the river Leisles.
Mi
ssing, read another, lady Maddox. 25 years of age, blond. Last seen up the river Leisles. Her horse came back but she didn’t.
Missing. The youngest of the Cameron sisters. 15 years, blond, was in the forest by the river Leisles and never came home.
All those notices bore poor illustrations of the missing girls. Cleo noted the oldest was written in a parched, dark yellow, stained paper. It must have been there for a couple of months now, if not more.
She discovered she loved the idea of rescuing missing girls. Giving them a new chance. Helping them achieve dreams they thought they had lost forever.
She pulled the three sheets out of the board and folded them, carefully keeping the newest paper covering the others so they wouldn’t mess the inside of her pouch. With an empty look over her shoulder, she checked for any other perverts around but found none. Turning, she left the place with decided steps. She now had to buy herself new clothes and find where this river Leisles was.
* * *
Cleo had been walking for almost an hour when the road turned left, bordering the forest. A smaller trail left the road and curved between the trees, so Cleo followed it, adjusting her new garments.
For a big city, they had fewer options that she expected for clothes. She found no place that would sell her pants - they were males only, and the sellers wouldn’t budge even if she offered more for the pants. One of them, a lady some years older than her, pitied her and said she could have some done specially for her. This way she could sell her pants. But she’d take a week or so to be ready. Cleo accepted her offer and saw herself obligated to get something else.
She wouldn’t get inside a dress again. She had already spent her whole life dealing with layers of clothing and being careful not to step on the hems and tight sleeves that wouldn’t let her raise her arms. No, these wouldn’t do. If they had been uncomfortable in her gilded life in the castle, she couldn’t even imagine the peril she’d be in if she had to deal with tripping on her own dress while she ran from some monster.
No, she had to buy something else. She wanted a blouse that wouldn’t be that easy for attackers to pull down, so now she tugged at the bottom of a sleeveless shirt made of leather that would definitely protect her. It tied up in the front and her large breasts left quite a cleavage open, but she didn’t care. She felt way more protected than the off-shoulder one that a pervert was about to pull down in the middle of a restaurant.
Since she would have to wait a week for her pair of pants, she bought a skirt. Long, but with a slit to the side that let her move more freely. It was way more modest than her previous one, but still not quite what she desired. That’d have to wait.
Glad she managed to sell her old clothes to the tailor, she entered the trail in the forest with a small smile. She was living her life. Making her own choices. And about to save another group of girls.
Cleo followed the trail for some time, the chirping of birds overhead distracting her. The sound of steps made her halt and she waited by a side of the road. But the trees here were too sparse for her to hide, the branches too high for her to jump up. She waited, holding the hilt of her sword.
For the sound, it was a man only. He couldn’t be the one kidnapping these girls, could he? One man only?
But as the man approached, hunched with weight as he carried a basket full of fruits, Cleo relaxed. The man was too old. The missing girls were young and, even if they had no kind of training, Cleo knew they would have managed to fight him off.
His brows rose when his eyes met hers. “Oh, hello.” His voice rang exhausted as he stopped some steps from her and took a moment to leave his burden on the ground. Stretching his back, he smiled a toothless grin. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry, just an old man fetching some fruit to sell.”
Cleo let her hand drop from the sword. “It’s alright. I’m looking for the girls who went missing near the river.”
His smile dampened. His eyes looked around the two for a moment. “Are you… by yourself?”
“Yes. I’m an adventurer,” she completed even if he didn’t ask.
The man cocked a brow, as leery as the man back in the village who paid her for her services. “You better be careful, lady. Perhaps going back to Belisk, talking to some of the men there. I’m sure someone will agree to come with you, once you’ve set a price.”
Cleo frowned, clenching her jaw. “I don’t need that. I’ve just fought off a group of goblins. I’m sure I can manage whatever it is here.”
The man seemed to consider that for a moment, then as his eyes slid down her ample chest, tight stomach and white leg, he shook his head. “It’s just that… We believe it’s a river monster. Clearly targeting young ladies like yourself. You might not come back. Perhaps the presence of a man would…”
“No men seemed to have tried to save these girls up until now. I see no reason they would follow me.”
He lifted his hands in apology. “I’m just trying to help, I’m sorry, lady.”
Cleo crossed her arms. “It’s alright. Would you mind telling me the direction of the river?”
He pointed over her shoulder. “Keep following the road for another fifteen minutes. You’ll hear its gurgle to this side.”
“Thank you.” She answered, turning and following up the road, leaving the man behind. She didn’t turn to see him shaking his head in pity.
Soon enough, she did hear the gurgle of a river between the trees. Leaving the trail, she carefully watched her steps, looking for marks that would tell her if someone had been there recently.
She found none for a time, which was understandable for how long these disappearances had been happening. If the first girl went missing three months back, there’d be nothing left by now.
The river Leisles was wider than she expected. Its dark waters shimmering in the sun, the calm surface gave Cleo no clue of how deep it was. She wondered if perhaps these missing girls tried to cross the river for some reason and judged its depth wrongly… It was a hypothesis. Perhaps they had drowned.
The old man’s belief of it being a monster did not stick in her mind for a second. She dismissed it as nonsense. There were higher chances of them drowning or being kidnapped, for sure.
What she did believe was that these girls might have been taken by men. Perhaps a gang of bandits, people who would sell them as slaves… Cleo had heard such stories. There was no reason for her to believe differently. A bird sang as she walked up the river, studying the grass for any signs of fights, or forgotten objects that would tell her of someone having been there recently.
She walked along the margin for some time, without success. She heard the splash of fish on the river twice but found nothing. Following a curve, she saw, somewhat distant, the place where the river ran from. A cave, tucked in the heart of the forest.
But she had no reason to believe the bandits hid in there. If they indeed lived in such a place, she would’ve found steps in the grass. Maybe remnants of torches or a fire. So she kept looking for clues.
Closer to the cave, she halted. A clear trail on the grass caught her eye. Her heart thumping in relief, she breathed out, glad her ranger skills were not that bad.
But it was too small to be a person’s. Possibly a medium-sized animal’s, a small deer or a large possum. She knelt, her hand hovering over the crushed grass, broken blades indicating there had been resistance. She plucked a blade of grass, noticing something on its tip. With the pad of her forefinger, she brushed what seemed to be some kind of glue. No, not glue. Perhaps dried oil? It peeled off the leaf as she brushed it off.
Cleo twisted her mouth. That was an enigma. The trail of the resisting animal followed from the margin to the river and Cleo found a number of leaves to one side of the trail presented that same dried oil appearance.
She sat down, a hand on her chin. Some animal had been dragged from the margins of the forest to the river. That had to indicate there indeed was some kind of predator in the water. The trail wasn’t large
enough to indicate a crocodile though… What could it be?
Silence covered her and a shiver ran down her spine. Cleo suddenly noticed the birds had stopped singing. Above the gurgle of the river, another soft slap sounded behind her. What could the substance on the blades mean? Did any of the girls have that sort of fate? Did they get pulled inside the river, fighting for their lives against… A monster?
The old man’s words slowly grew on Cleo’s mind.
What kind of monster could drag people and animals inside the river, not leaving any trail behind but a kind of… slimy oil?
With a jolt, Cleo felt something sliding around her calf. What she thought had been grass brushing against her feet was, in fact, slimy and wet and cold.
She snapped her head to find a dark purple tentacle circling her ankle.
3
Her eyes widening to saucepans, Cleo planted her hands on the ground, pulling herself backward toward the forest.
It was a monster. A river monster. Cleo’s mind whirled between the possibilities - an octopus? A giant squid? But weren’t they ocean creatures? What kind of tentacled animal lived in rivers?
The long tentacle stretched for her leg lazily, all the way from inside the river. It circled around her ankle again but it didn’t press her. It didn’t hurt. It ran up her calf sluggishly.
A splash in the water made her look up - the sound wasn’t being produced by fishes after all. Another tentacle rose from the dark surface of the water, sliding up the grass to her other leg. The long limb glistened under the afternoon sun, the oil, or slime, making it glint. It did leave a trail in the grass as it reached for her other ankle, circling slowly.