The five maids stood in a line across the Great Hall.
They looked incredibly confused. They were wearing their standard Keep uniforms—thick, scratchy, gray wool dresses that went all the way down to their muddy ankles. The dresses were designed for warmth and modesty. They were completely anti-capitalist.
Marta stood at the end of the line. She crossed her massive arms under her heavy chest and held out a pair of rusted iron shearing scissors.
"The seamstress tools, My Lord," Marta said, her voice completely deadpan. "Though I do not understand why we are destroying perfectly good winter cloth."
"We aren't destroying it, Marta," I said, taking the heavy scissors. "We are optimizing it for the service industry."
I paced back and forth in front of them. Elara and Sienna were holding hands, still sweating lightly from working in the courtyard. Bess was nervously twisting a rag, her massive breasts shifting under the heavy wool. Lila looked completely terrified, clutching her hands to her chest like I was about to sacrifice her to the Wi-Fi Demon.
"Listen closely," I announced, rubbing my hands together. "There are a hundred miserable, freezing merchants out on that border road right now. They have heavy bags of silver. We are going to take all of it."
"By robbing them, Milord?" Elara asked, flexing her strong, athletic shoulders. "Sienna and I can use pitchforks."
"No pitchforks," I sighed. "By serving them drinks. We are opening a tavern in the courtyard. But we are not selling them the drink. We are selling them you."
Lila gasped. "You are selling us, Lord Elaric?!"
"Not legally," I groaned, rolling my eyes. "I am selling your presence. Men are incredibly stupid creatures. If a tired, lonely man sits at a table, and a beautiful, sweaty woman leans over him and smiles, his brain stops working. He will hand over his entire coin purse for a cup of sour mud."
The maids stared at me blankly. They had no idea what a 'simp' was.
"Just trust the process," I said, stepping up to Elara and Sienna. "And if you follow my rules, I will give you each a cut of the silver."
That got their attention. Elara's eyes lit up. "What are the rules, Milord?"
"Rule number one," I grinned, raising the iron scissors. "We fix the aerodynamics of these dresses."
I knelt in front of Elara. The heavy wool smelled like dirt, rain, and her sharp, athletic musk. I grabbed the hem of her dress at her ankle.
Snip. Riiiip.
Elara gasped as I sheared the thick wool right off. I didn't stop at the knee. I cut it all the way up to her mid-thigh. Her incredibly toned, sweaty legs were completely exposed to the cold air.
"My Lord!" Sienna blushed, staring at her partner's exposed thighs.
"Your turn," I said, moving to Sienna. I did the exact same thing, ripping the heavy fabric away. The air in the Great Hall instantly grew heavier with their shared scent. I stood up and used my dagger to slice the thick sleeves off their arms, exposing their strong, damp shoulders.
"Rule number two," I breathed, enjoying the view way too much. "Whenever you serve a drink, you roll your shoulders back. You let them see you sweat. You make eye contact."
I moved down the line to Bess.
Bess was thick, soft, and built for farm work. Her dress was already straining across her massive chest. I didn't bother with her hemline. I took my dagger, grabbed the thick collar of her wool dress, and sliced a deep 'V' right down the center.
The heavy fabric popped open.
I grabbed the front of Bess's wool dress and sliced the dagger straight down. The heavy fabric ripped open with a wet tear.
Her enormous tits spilled forward, heavy and pale, barely contained by the thin, sweat-soaked linen shift. The deep valley between them glistened with fresh musk, fat pink nipples already stiff and poking through the damp cloth.
"Fuuuuck," I groaned, stepping right in.
Bess let out a shaky gasp, round cheeks flushing bright red. "M-Milord… that's awfully low…"
I shoved my face between her massive breasts and inhaled deep. SNIIIIIIIIIIFFFFF. Thick, warm farm-girl musk slammed into me—salty sweat from real work, earthy and slightly sour, with that sweet milky undertone only big-titted peasant girls carried. Premium fucking Bess.
Her breathing turned heavy immediately, big shaky inhales that made her soft tits rise and press against my face. I rubbed my nose through the damp trench, licking a slow stripe up the salty skin.
"Goddamn, Bess," I muttered into her cleavage, "you smell like money and desperate pussy."
I hooked my fingers into the torn edges and yanked them wider, adjusting the neckline until it plunged almost to her navel. Her puffy areolas peeked out.
"When you serve the merchants tonight," I whispered, stepping back, "lean all the way forward. Let them stare straight down into these sweaty fucking tits. Understand?"
"Y-yes, Milord," Bess panted, chest heaving, face burning.
"When you put a cup on the table, Bess," I whispered, stepping back to admire my handiwork. "I want you to lean all the way forward. You don't just put the drink down. You make sure the merchant gets a full view."
"Y-yes, Milord," Bess stammered, her face bright red, completely overwhelmed by the attention.
I looked at Lila. She was shaking. I decided to leave her dress alone. Every good Hooters needed the "shy, innocent girl next door" to balance out the aggressive degeneracy.
Finally, I stepped up to Marta.
Marta didn't wait for me. She stared me dead in the eyes, grabbed the collar of her own dress, and violently ripped the fabric down with her bare hands. The sound of tearing wool echoed in the hall. Her massive, heavy breasts heaved against the thin undershirt beneath.
"Like this, My Lord?" she asked, her voice completely flat, though I caught the slight, mocking smirk on her lips.
"Perfect," I swallowed hard. My mouth was suddenly very dry.
"What is rule number three, Lord Elaric?" Elara asked, tugging nervously at her new, incredibly short skirt.
"Rule number three is the Upcharge," I said, forcing my eyes away from Marta's chest. "When a merchant asks for a drink, you lean in, smile, and ask, 'Would you like the premium cup for two extra coppers?' They will say yes every single time. And if they leave extra coins on the table, you keep them. That is called a tip."
Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors of the Great Hall banged open.
Willem stood in the doorway, completely out of breath. He took one look at the five maids standing in shredded, highly revealing dresses and immediately covered his eyes.
"Lord Elaric!" Willem yelled, staring at the ceiling. "The tables are built! The spoiled mead is tapped! And a massive caravan of merchants has just pulled their carts into the courtyard!"
I grinned. I looked at my squad of S-tier, sweaty, half-dressed waitresses.
"Showtime, ladies," I said. "Let's go empty some wallets."