{ASSM} Darkmoor Inn (Chapter 2)

[RavensD...@aol.com]

Darkmoor Inn (Chapter 2)

Early morn break fast of hard stale bread soaked in water and quickly
to work in an old worn dress. Joining the other girls from the taproom,
minus two that found a gentleman friend for the night, I pull my skirt up to
my thighs and tuck it between my legs. Kneeling on the bare wooden floor,
cleaning the stains with a stiff brush. The other girls on their knees
like me or sweeping ahead of us. The smell down low nauseating in the
morning, the taproom still cold as little wood has been added to the fires. A
combination of fluids and solids staining the floor. Sliding forward with
my bucket and brush, feeling the wetness on my legs, the dampness, seeping
into my skirt. Cursing softly as a piece of skirt snags on a sliver of
wood, tearing a small rip in the worn garment. Arms aching as we finish the
taproom, many filthy buckets emptied in the process. The owner Jon, throwing
a few logs of aromatic wood on the fire, the scent, masking the smells of
the taproom.
Leaving the room, I hurry to the stream behind the Inn, carrying a
worn shift, I shiver as my toes touch the cold water. I feel the bumps along
my legs and arms, a smile replaces the look of shock at the feel of the
water. As I quickly strip my dress from my body, I feel the small electric
shock of it rubbing against my hardening nipples. Looking around as I stand
naked, not seeing anyone, I step tentatively into the stream, feeling the
cold water against my skin, hurrying to wash my body of the sweat and other
stains and soils from the previous night. Rubbing the rough soap over my
skin, feeling cleaner, feeling my teeth chattering as stand in the almost
frigid water. Wondering if clean is worth this suffering. Wishing I was
Jon's girl, so that I might have a warm bath, before he fucks me.
Throwing my shift quickly over my wet body, sliding into a pair of
sandals. Quickly washing my dirty garments, and draping them over my arm, as
I run up the bank of the stream, wending my way through the woods, hearing
the spat of drops of rain and then a clap of thunder as I move quickly to
the path, leading to the Inn. My shift wet and hugging soggily at my body,
as I reach the settlement. The thunder and lightning filling the sky with
sound and light. Ducking into the blacksmith shop, I feel the instant
warmth as the hot fires fill the building with heat. The clanging of the
hammer on anvil stopping as he looks up at me. His eyes meeting mine, then
dropping to take in the wet shift, molded to my body. "Seems you are more
than chilled this morning wench," eyes focused on the indents in my shift from
my hard nipples. Large pebbles on the small mounds of my teats. Then
seeing his eyes dropping to look at the roundness of my mound and the juncture
of my legs, outlined with wet cloth.
Turning I look behind me at the puddles splashing muddy water, as the
downpour turns the street to a small stream. My body jerking as I hear the
thunder, my breath catching as I see the flash of lightning. I can feel
the warmth of the open room on my backside as I watch for a few minutes,
noting that the smithy has not returned to his work. Finally I hear the
breathing of his bellows, as he strokes the fire. The intake and then the push
of air as it blows to the fire. The crackling and flash as the room
brightens with the rising flames. "You have a fine ass girl," turning at his
words, feeling the cloth of my shift, wedged just barely between my cheeks,
pulling it free, as I look at him. His body bare except for breeches and an
apron covering his chest from sparks. A giggle escapes my lips. He looks
up at me, a hammer in one brawny arm and pinchers in the other, holding a
length of white hot metal. A coarse mat of hair covers his arms and
shoulders. "What girl," a questioning look on his face?
Shyly, looking at him, "I was thinking that if you caught fire you
would burn forever with all the hair." Setting down his pinchers and hammer,
he beckons me to him. Taking my cleaned dress from my hands, he spreads it
on the back of a stool in the corner, sliding the stool to the fire.
"Would you like to dry the one you are wearing also?" His question with a
turn of a smile on the ends of his lips. Feeling the damp clammy shift,
clinging to my body, I stand by the fire, looking into it for a minute or so,
then turning I lean forward, grasping the hem of my shift and pull it over my
head. My eyes covered as my body uncovers. Knowing he is looking at the
naked flesh, wondering what he might be thinking as he sees my hairless
mound. Not a an everyday look, most women like the extra warmth the mat of
fur gives them, especially those that can't afford undergarments. Setting it
on another stool, I turn to face the huge man, then step forward, feeling
my nipples against the soft leather of his apron. standing on tiptoes, I
touch my lips to his.
"Thank you, Master Smithy." Feeling his lips open in surprise, as
his arms reach out to touch my arms and then push between, his fingers
touching my nipples. Moaning softly, a quick wince of pain, as they squeeze too
hard, feeling the heat of the room, heating my body, inside and out. His
large hands mauling my small breasts, feeling them kneading and pulling on
the long hard nipples, his eyes, watching his hands. The tip of his tongue,
licking the corner of his mouth. Moaning softly, with the pain and
pleasure, and most of all need. I push my chest, to his fingers. I can feel my
labia, swelling, my legs parting as I stand in place, first a few inches
then more. The lips pulsing and radiating heat. Hearing the wet sound as
they are stuck together and movement pulls them apart. Looking up at the big
man, my hands pushing at his apron, lifting it away, as they touch the
front of his breeches. Feeling lump swelling as my fingers move slowly along
the lengthening shaft. Hearing his breathing audible as my fingers fumble
at his breeches, finally exposing his penis. Not able to look down, but my
fingers needing both hands to encircle, as they slide up and down on the
shaft. Feeling the heat of his cock, the veins thick and distended. His
hands squeezing harder on my breasts, tears forming in my eyes from the pain.
Wanting to remove his hands, finally feeling one release my right breast,
looking down, seeing it covered with soot and black. His hand again on my
arm, turning me around as a mere doll, and walking me forward, my stomach
presses to the smooth surface of the anvil. His other hand, pushed mine
away from his manhood. Stepping back a little, I spread my legs, as I bend
over the still warm iron.
Moving as I feel his shaft, no a sausage like finger, push at my
swollen vulva, pushing into my wet valley, finger tracing along the slit. My
hips press my puss to his digit. A couple of strokes with his finger and I
feel it pull away, my body trying to follow, as a ham like hand pushes on my
lower back, holding me to the anvil, I the material of his pant legs,
against my knees and then his cock against my lips. Groaning in surprise, as
with one stroke, he pushes deep into my warm moist hole. Feeling the
tunnel pushed open and then grasping at the thick shaft of hot meat. Moaning in
pleasure, as the cock fills and leaves my needy cunny in quick hard
strokes. My index finger moving under me to rub at my clit, feeling it behind
the protective hood. The bump growing as the room is quiet; but for the
exhales of breath and the steady low moan from my mouth. The crackling of the
fire and a wet squishy sound, as his cock massages the wetness of my pussy.
My body clenching at the huge cock.
My thighs are strained, as my body release a flood of juice on the
cock, spasming on the anvil, another malleable ingot, for the smithy to mold.
His hands holding my waist and back, pinning me to the top of the anvil,
his hard thighs banging against me, his muscled stomach, pushing against my
soft ass cheeks. Trying to breathe as the hard fucking, brings me to
another orgasm, feeling my nose pinched, hearing a panting in my ears, and
realizing it is myself. Shaking on the anvil, as my body spasms, hips trying to
push back. The pubic hair, scratching on my soft flesh. Feeling the
thick swollen bone, throbbing in my cunt. My body milking at the long nipple,
seeking his milk. Then feeling the spurt of hot seed into the depth of my
womb. A loud grunt punctuating each spurt of his jism. His hand pushing
hard on my back and squeezing tighter on my waist. Knowing I would have
slid to the floor, if his hands didn't hold me in a viselike grip. Long hard
strokes, pounding my backside, my pussy rubbing against the hard iron,
wishing I did have hair for some cushion. As the strokes continue, I can feel
cum running down my thighs. The wet sound louder, as his cock whips the
cum into a frothy liquid.
As he slows down, I notice my breasts are aching from rubbing on the
rough wood of the anvil stand. Reaching for them, tears run down my face,
so painful to the touch. Cushioning them with my hands as the last few
strokes end with his cock pulling free with an audible pop. A rush of cum,
along my left thigh as it pours from my cunnyhole. I feel his hands,
lifting me from the anvil, and setting and steadying me on the floor. Looking
down I see his cock, still semi-hard and long, the head dripping cum,
staining the front of his breeches. "Thank you girl." His voice soft and tender,
a contrast to his size.
Looking at him,"no, thank you Master Smith." Kneeling in front of
him, I lift his cock to my lips, tongue licking at the tip, catching a drop of
his seed. Lips swallowing the head and soft shaft, sucking slime from his
shaft. Tasting my juices and his. Reaching down, I move my hand to my
lips, feeling the moistness on them. Pulling them back through my labia, I
bring them to my mouth, licking at the cum, enjoying the taste. Feeling
that I was loved for a little bit.
"Come girl, you need to wash up." He takes hot water from a pot on
his cooking fire and pours it in a bucket. Grabbing a clean rag, he hands it
to me. "Clean yourself girl." He stands watching me, as he tucks his
pricke back into his breeches. His eyes soft and gentle, as my hands move
over my bruised body, cleaning black soot from my flesh and between my legs.
My breasts are red and raw, so very sensitive to each touch, even of the
wet warm rag. My stomach, where it rode the anvil, is red and starting to
show signs of bruising. He takes the rag and cleans the soot from my ass
and back and legs.
Smiling down at me, he leans to kiss my lips, reaching to a corner, he
lifts out a coin from a stoneware container. Shaking my head as I see
this, "no need Master Smith, your warm water and comforting fire is payment
enough, thank you." Sliding on the shift, I watch him for a few minutes till
the rain abates, then with a quick squeeze of one of his huge hard hands,
I take my work dress and run along the wooden walkway to the Inn's barn.
Feeling comfortable with my life for the moment.

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