Rodry took out Sylmi's letter and set it next to her own blank paper. It had felt weird going into that little shop to buy writing supplies, but no one had spared her a second look. She was used to trying to attract attention and it had never been particularly difficult. Getting to feel unassuming now and then was somehow comforting.

She knew it pretty much by heart but started reading to plot out her reply.

***

Dear Rodry,

I miss your cunt.

Gods, I hope they don’t police letters at this shithole you went to. Hey, post office guard or whatever, if you are reading this, try not to stain the paper with cum before it’s delivered to my friend. Thanks.

Anyway, back to you, love. I won’t pretend I wasn’t upset you left. I know, I know, I could have joined you, but you know I hate human cities. It’s the elvish side of me. And the gnomish. I like starlight, and the smell of jasmine and of fresh rain. And of your wet cunt, of course. And cum.

Human cities smell mostly of shit and smoke, at least to my sensitive nose. And cum. But it’s not quite as appealing when mixed with all the shit. And there is barely any starlight to be seen. I don’t know how they stand it, this empty sky. Maybe they’re like you and only care for their basest instincts.

Sorry, was that mean? It wasn’t meant to be. I find your brutal horniness fascinating.

Here in our little border brothel, Mistress Globb was, I dare say, a little depressed when she found out you were leaving. She misses your cunt too; the money it made her, specifically. But that’s unfair – you know the old bitch likes you.

She still replaced you of course. Found a young dwarven girl (dwarfess? I should ask her the proper term), by the name of Katrana. The boss gave her a surname too: “Hammerlicker” – GODS, what a stupid name. I told her it was fuckin’ moronic, but as usual, Mistress knows best. I haven’t seen a single client laugh at it when they’re introduced to her – what’s wrong with these people?

By the way, in case you are wondering, I am naked and horny as I’m writing this.

The place is much the same as you left it. Third and fourth class merchants passing through, always astonished when they find a first class whore like me to fuck, at a just about affordable price.

We had a storm last week – forced the caravans to stay here a few days. There was a young peddler, on his way to your people – well, your mother’s people – to sell a shipment of oranges. He was very passionate about how he was going to corner the market, having found out that orcs love oranges (you know I always listen, however boring the clients). Well, he was very impressed with me. The storm kept him here for four days and he paid me six visits. He really liked that low growl I make and how my tits bounced when I rode his cock. I remember you telling me something similar once. Long story short, even if he is right about the oranges, he is going to lose serious money on this trip.

It wasn’t the only storm. The merchants say the winter is going to be difficult, and the pass will probably close from the snow. That means we are probably going to close the shop for a couple of months – Globb will whine but gods know she’s made enough to last her through a year of snow. I might decide to come visit you then; I guess I can tolerate the capital’s stench for a little while.

Anyway, I don’t want to keep you. I am sure you have many clients waiting in line to enjoy you – I half expect tales of the capital’s up-and-coming half-orc whore to reach our little corner of nowhere soon.

Oh, one last thing. I did keep something from you. Remember Katrana? Of course you do, I just mentioned her. We’re fucking. I mean, right now, literally, she is eating my ass. Bet you didn’t know I could write in my flowery elvish script with a dwarven whore’s tongue in my asshole. She’s good – I think in a few days she will be able to take my fist in her cunt almost as deep as you. Almost.

Kisses,

Sylmi

P.S.: I…we are both signing this with a drop of our cum. This is elven paper so you should be able to smell it for months. If you’re into that sort of thing.

 ***

Rodry was not into that sort of thing, but still brought the paper to her nose for the thousandth time – it had been two weeks and the scent of wet pussy was still easily discernible, along with the paper’s vaguely forest smell.

She had no idea how her friend had found out her address and sent the letter so quickly. She had no idea about how Sylmi did a lot of what she did – like having access to this magic paper. She had shared a lot with Rodry, but still remained a mystery.

Fuck, she missed her.

She picked up her pencil and started writing.

Dear…no, no, that felt stupid when she wrote it.

***

Sylmi,

Sorry for taking so long to reply. I have never written a letter before and you sent one on magic paper, calligraphy and all, like it was written by a queen. I fear I cannot do it justice. If there really is a guard or censor or whatever reading these, they are going to think you can do so much better than this clumsy half-orc. Well, fuck you, mister. I'll have you know I am the best colleague-girlfriend she can have. She’s a whore too, you know.

I admit I have read your letter a lot of times. It’s probably the most reading I’ve ever done, though when I went to the shop to buy paper and stuff – "epistolary supplies," the little gnome shopkeeper called them – I also got the Legends of the Southern Seas. I remember you said I’d like it.

It has helped me professionally too (your letter, not the book). Just thinking about what you wrote made two clients assume it was their rather bland fucking that was the source of my orgasms. They tipped well.

***

Rodry paused. That was all true, but in fact she was making just enough to pay for the basics and the attic she rented. The Capital was huge, and it was only when she arrived and was advised to seek lodging in the Whore Quarter that she realised how much competition she was facing. Being a half-orc was not that exotic here – she had even seen a half-ogre prostitute.

But she hadn’t regretted coming here. She wanted to see the world, and for all the crowds, and the smell (Sylmi didn’t need to know how right she was about that) and the noise, there were many marvels to see in the city, and she really thought that she would find the opportunity to make a name for herself.      

She went back to her writing. She could be honest without sounding troubled.

****

I get a few regulars, though there are too many girls and boys competing for a few fucks. One of my loyal clients is a young orc – a full-bloodied one, but speaks and dresses like a human. Really weird. I think he’s adopted. Anyway, when he first came to me, he was really shy and stuttering and I was sure he was a virgin. I was just about ready to suggest he visits you instead before I remembered where I am. Turns out he was just excited to fuck a (half) orc for the first time – he has a human girlfriend.

I tell you, I do not need to think about your letter with this guy. I had forgotten how fun orc endurance is. I am trying to convince him to bring his girl too – if they make a habit of it I would make a decent profit – but I am not sure he’s willing to share his more brutish side with her. You would probably talk him into it if you were here.

By the way, I think dwarf is the term for both men and women. Or anything in between. But maybe not in their language.

Speaking of which, I think of you and Katrana a lot. I’m not jealous or anything. Well, maybe a little – of her or you, I am not sure. I just like to think about you guys when I finger myself. I am not doing it now. You can probably tell my hand is already trembling, if I touched myself this would look even more like orcish glyphs. You are going to have to send me a more detailed description of my replacement and what you do to each other next time. Maybe you can find some kind of magic paper that transfers images or something. Or just send me a drawing. You draw, right?

Seriously though, I am glad for the snows if they send you here. I don’t pity Mistress Globb, she and the girls can make it, and I have missed you. Not just your cunt. Your ass, your tongue, your fist in me.

Sorry. In case that’s not legible, it says ‘your fist in me’. It took me ten minutes to calm down a little. I didn’t want to choose the faster way, I want to write what I really feel.

I miss your body, and I miss your voice. And I just miss you. I see things here, wondrous things for an uncultured village whore, and I find myself wishing you were here to teach me. The other day I visited a gallery to see if I could find some rich client (didn’t work out) and I ended up actually interested in the artwork. I thought ‘oh, Sylmi would know what this scene depicts’ (it was some Elf knight murdered by an elf-child). Or ‘Sylmi would make a comment about the dick on that sculpture’.

And no, I don’t regret leaving. There’s so much to see in the world, and so many people to fuck. But I do hope we fuck some more of the way together.

Look at that. You bring out the poet in me.

Love,

Rodry.

P.S. There always needs to be one of those in a letter, right? The paper isn’t magic, but I still rubbed it on my pussy. I think the little gnome shopkeeper would not approve of my treatment. You’ll have to imagine the scent.

***

Rodry set down the pencil.  She felt better. Less alone in this vast city. She’d need to work hard. If Sylmi was to visit in the next few months, she’d need to start making enough money to show her this was the right choice. Maybe even to make her think about staying a little while longer. She had heard the Palace Guard would hold some feast on the occasion of…well, she didn’t know what the occasion was. But surely a feast could use whores. Maybe she could find out more about it.

She carefully put the letter in the envelope, wrote the address as best she knew (“to Sylmi, village at northern border crossing 5”) and went out to find the post office. It was cold today so the street smelled mostly of smoke from the chimneys, but Rodry’s nose could just about notice – or maybe only imagined it – cum in the air.