And Who Is in My Bed
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Bounder Ch. 07 free porn video
********************** CHAPTER SEVEN
At most roadsides there can be found a shrine to Tywusa, Goddess of Travel, Roads, Fate, the future and (indirectly) Luck. Gamblers tend to view her in a masculine aspect, Tywern, Lord of the Dice, but in either identity she, he or it has never paid much attention to me. I try to make my own luck and never depend upon it, which is probably why mine has been rather horrid as a whole for the last year or so. I’ve never stolen anything from any of her temples or one of her high priests (that I’m aware of) but her beady eyes have been squinting at me lately with apparent disfavor!
At these major roadside shrines, travelers tend to leave small gifts, usually food or flowers, or a small coin along with a very fervent and devout prayer. I try rather hard not to believe in the gods, largely so that they’ll choose in return not to believe in me, and more or less leave me entirely alone. It doesn’t seem to work that way however. I appear to amuse them for some reason.
That early afternoon as I was making my final preparations for our night of community improvement via the aid of a jolly good fire, I had the sudden notion that I ought to be offering my own prayers to the nearby shrine, located right at the south end of the Ormsbridge. Refusing to bullied or intimidated, I acted with my usual contrariness and willfully instead pilfered a ripe apple that had been placed into the offertory bowl. Now it was accepted for tramps of the roads without a coin in their purse to freely take such divinely blessed gifts, but my act was pure puerile rebellion, and punished accordingly.
From the start, nothing seemed to go right, beginning with the problem that I soon received a report that Mumford’s wagon loaded with the small pony kegs of oil suffered the improbable misfortune of breaking a wheel and then the rear axle, right in the center of the marketplace. This caused all of the barrels to roll off and shatter onto the stone, spilling the fuel into the roadway and several vendor stalls. If that was not enough of a disaster, nearly at once there was the further unlikely calamity of a suddenly dropped lantern (lit during the middle of the afternoon for no apparent reason or cause) which landed upon the stream of flowing oil, creating an instant conflagration in the marketplace that shut down the market entirely and blocked city traffic for hours! Mumford (and his borrowed cart horse sans the broken burning wagon) escaped unharmed, but he sent a messenger reporting that he was trying to get to another market before they all closed for the evening but more bad luck had ensued. Once the market road was cleared he had obtained a second wagon but at the worst possible time and place it also suffered a broken wheel. Ruefully, he reported that his successful return (and without oil) before the city gates closed for the night was exceedingly unlikely.
This was going to be a problem. Still, I decided that even without our planned pagan bonfire sacrifice, the attack was still on for midnight! I was furious and once again filled with rancor, at both the Weir’s and the Fates. The Goddess must have been laughing herself silly.
Josephina
- 07.09.2022
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