This Body Gets a Job
"Alright. They're starting to file in."
The boss clapped his hands and swept a look around the inner hall.
It was the hour when the sinking sun finally went down, and villagers and wanderers began pushing through the tavern door one by one. Night was nothing like day. The moment the sun dropped, the whole atmosphere of the place transformed.
Dance and drink, the sound of singing. Gazes that traced along the skin of the women who'd clocked in for their shift. And yet, among all of them, there was one presence people simply could not look away from.
Look long enough, and by now there was no one else in the room.
"Seira, this is your first night out, right? I can't believe it."
"I'm the one who can't believe you lot. What the hell are you staring at?"
The words came out with a scoff. But a drink sat in her hand, and the tips of her toes were carefully crossed—and that alone sent a subtle warmth rippling through the whole tavern. With every step her breasts swayed, and the customers' eyes poured over them as if sliding off a slope.
"Miss~ Fill us up over here!"
"Another round of snacks! Only if you're the one bringing them, of course~"
Hands went up at every table, calling for her. Seira hooked a tray over her slender wrist and walked slowly, her expression haughty. There was neither fatigue nor tension between her brows. Just one thing: a gaze that tallied everything like a ledger.
"Uh, Miss Seira… w-what are you wearing under that?"
"Wouldn't you rather imagine?"
"Oh, shit…! Hey—silver, gimme silver!"
A few customers scrambled over each other to throw coins. One-silver pieces, two-silver pieces went rolling across the tables. One of them even came close enough to her thighs to try putting a hand on her knee—but Seira frowned and stopped him cold.
"Pay up. Starting tomorrow you might not be eating with your right hand."
Getting worked up over a well-measured threat, and wanting her even more after being turned down—that was the psychology of the men in this tavern. Before long the atmosphere inside was halfway to madness. A few customers, already getting the hang of it, had set aside their own little bundles of coins on the tables.
At one table, a man clicked a few coins back and forth under his fingers and asked:
"Miss. How far does this get me a look?"
Seira approached, set down a bottle, and spoke as if the question were faintly ridiculous.
"What is it you want to see?"
"Those shameless tits of yours. Ten silver?"
"Fine. But if you stare more than three seconds, that's two silver extra."
A sharp tug. She hooked a finger into the cloth covering her chest and pulled it aside.
Her full, voluminous breasts spilled boldly into view, the elastic flesh of them exposed all the way to the outer swell. The customers nearest her swallowed as one at the raw tits right in front of their eyes, and ten silver clinked down onto the table.
"Alright. Three seconds."
Seira rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin slightly.
One.
Two.
Three.
"Done."
Her clothes settled back into place, and the view she'd revealed was hidden once more.
"This shit's addictive."
"Then throw more. There's plenty to look at on this body."
"What? How far does this go?!"
Even the boss had his mouth covered in astonishment at the scene. And so she poured drinks, sold glances, slapped a price tag even on the briefest brush of a hand, and raked in the money.
"Seira! Over here! Fill our glasses too!"
The later the night grew, the hotter the tavern burned. Among customers thoroughly soused on liquor, Seira—who had once been Leon—moved as if she'd always belonged there. Peak evening hours. A stretch of time hot enough to set the whole place ablaze.
Just as the boss had hoped, Seira was already the face of the establishment. The other girls were floundering so badly they'd be lucky to pick up the scraps—and of course she was outstripping them by a mile. Just calling her name made the neighboring tables stir, and every time she walked, gasps of admiration never left her ears.
Clink.
The coin pouch hanging as her share rang heavy again tonight. Weight was popularity, and the size of that popularity was directly proportional to how much she showed. The system was to transfer the money into each girl's personal sack once a pouch filled up. Seira was already on her third.
Glasses clinked, and the jokes of men growing drunker turned coarser—and that was when someone quietly raised a hand from near the central stage.
"Seira."
A voice that singled her out from another table. Every eye turned at once toward the name they were all after.
"Mind doing a dance for us?"
The man set a single gold piece on the table as if it were nothing. At that sound alone, Seira's expression changed.
A gold coin. High-value currency almost never seen in a little village like this.
"…Hah?"
Seira drew in a breath. This was nothing like the bastards who'd been tossing a few silvers around.
The boss immediately looked at her with a faint smile. He said nothing, but that one glance was a sign: go for it. At the end of his gaze was a small stage set in the center. And on it, a single gleaming pole.
"On the pole?"
"Yeah. Even just once is fine. Make our eyes roll back."
"Hmph. That's nothing."
Seira rose slowly.
In that instant the lights in the shop went out, and a spotlight slid down onto the pole at center stage. With every gaze drawn there, Seira walked slowly up onto the platform.
A deep blue uniform, straps barely hanging on her shoulders, and wide slits cut open on both sides. No panties. A long strip of cloth hung down the center, draped as if to wrap between her thighs—but what caught the light in the deep place within was a small heart-shaped red pussy cover, the kind the tavern girls favored. Just one piece, less stuck on than barely perched there.
Didn't think I'd end up grabbing a pole in a body like this.
She dragged her toes as she climbed up, quietly took the pole in one hand, and slowly rolled her shoulders as she swung her hips.
"Watch close."
Music flowed, and as that body remembered how to dance, the movements grew gradually smoother—and more lewd.
"Nnh…"
She took hold of the pole and slowly pressed her body against it, and the cloth below slid aside with a whisper. The heart-shaped cover gaped halfway open, the skin within trembling as if it might show or might not.
"Holy shit…"
"Is that thing even stuck on? No, wait—it's wobbling…"
"Dude, one tap and that thing's coming off…"
Clink. A single silver coin dropped to the floor. Then another. And another. She raised her hands above her head and leaned into the pole, and at the thigh line peeking through her clothes, coins poured down again with a clatter.
Seira felt it. What was pouring onto her now wasn't mere gazes. Desire. Fantasy. And money.
…Man, my personality's really taken a hit.
Probably a tip telling her to show more. Seira slid down the pole, slowly crossing her legs. She arched her arms back and turned her head, and the sound of men swallowing their spit seeped into her ears.
"Seira, I love you!"
"That's so fucking hot—what the hell is that hip work?!"
Before she knew it she had her back arched, her waist bent, slowly spinning on the pole. Beads of sweat sliding from the nape of her neck down to her shoulders. A rocking pelvis.
Seira hugged the pole, bent her upper body, and rolled her hips. Her breasts pressed against the pole and pushed up; every time her thighs slid apart and the cloth shifted, that little heart shattered dizzyingly in their field of view.
"Uh, uhh… I… I think I saw it."
In the audience, someone's waistband trembled.
Oh? For the balance on this body, the muscle strength isn't half bad.
Seira focused on her own body instead of the customers, slowly hooked a leg around the pole and spun—her lower half whirled entirely in midair, and in that instant the heart-shaped cover brushed the pole and wobbled. It was only when the first man, unable to hold his excitement, went tuk—white semen splashing at her feet—that she finally noticed what they were doing.
"Nn-ah?"
But that one drop was the trigger.
"Hey hey hey… I… I'm losing it too."
"Don't look… I said don't look!"
"Fuck, I gotta get off too…!"
Three men in the front row dropped their waistbands almost at once. Toward her—spinning on the pole with that heart-shaped cover on—they pulled out their cocks and started stroking roughly.
"Haa, haa… Seira…"
"This is art, I swear…"
Even as she considered bolting off the stage that instant, she pressed her ass to the pole and ground against it. Her body had felt that heat from the men, and there was no taking it back.
"Nnhh…"
Every time she rolled her hips, her pussy brushed the pole. Thanks to her juices, the cover's adhesion was weakening. The patch that had been stuck on slid, brushed, and lifted ever so slightly—and she clamped it with her thighs. Her body was already hugging the pole, slowly rubbing her thighs together.
One by one the men trembled where they sat and spilled their semen at the sight. It flowed toward the front of the stage, to her feet.
For one gold coin… let's not kill the mood over something like this.
On the stage, ass pressed tight to the pole, she neither laughed nor cried. She merely licked her lips, lightly. The short performance ended. Seira struck the pole with one hand and came down.
Coins were flowing so thick they bumped against her feet, and the look she gave the customers was anything but ashamed. It said, This body of mine is pretty useful, isn't it?
What remained on the stage in her place was a wet scrap of heart.
The boss slapped the bastards who'd dirtied the floor with a generous "menu" that was really a cleaning fee in disguise, soaking them for extra—and the men, even if it meant stepping in someone else's cum, eagerly rushed in and fought over the scrap. It looked like it even came to blows, but in the end the one who claimed it let out a roar of joy.
"Ugh, shit. That was some work."
Seira, who'd come down to the bar for a brief rest instead of the tables, grabbed whatever drink was at hand under the boss's lavish praise and knocked it back. Somehow, over the course of the shift, the gazes sliding over her voluptuous body had grown more familiar than the feel of coins in her hand. She grabbed an apron at random and roughly wiped the sweat pooled under her uniform—and down there.
"Aahh…"
As the burning liquor went down her throat, just a little—the transgressive thrill of flashing her tits and deliberately seducing men, of not knowing whether her role was tavern girl or whore, was strangely turning into pleasure.
Seira dwelt on that sensation for a moment, then—what a useless thing to dwell on. She decided not to think too deeply about it.