A tale of artists, intrigue, and the magical renaissance

Twisted Smut 11 – Malleus et Faenum {Hammer and Hay}

Whenever my hammer hits steel, it makes the forge sing its ringing song. More poetical persons like to compare the sound to a bell, but it’s got more heft than that, more meat to it. Bells are prissy and dainty, the sound of a hammer on steel means work is getting done. Don’t get me wrong though, it’s still a kind of music. There may be a day one day when I don’t much care for the sound, mebbe when my arms are too frail to swing a hammer, or when the Storm’s buzz in my shoulders gets to be too much, or the day I finally slip up and do myself some damage. Until that day came, the peal of hammer is the only music I ever really cared for.

The rustle of the rain made a nice bassline for the music on that day, perhaps that’s why the sound of it stands out in my memory. The forge gets to be hot every day of the year, so even though it was early spring I had the doors open to the street outside. They were huge doors, large enough that they took up almost the entire wall, so they make it feel like I’m working outside, ‘xepting for the rain that fell down in torrents which I could mercifully avoid. Also, the open doors meant I could watch the carriage approach for it’s entire journey down the street.

I quenched the red-hot handle I’d been shaping in a bucket of rainwater, trading the music of the hammer for the chorus of hisses that the water sang, and waited for the passengers to make up their minds to come in.

First came the page, opening the carriage door and standing in the rain, getting soaked as he waited for his master to emerge. After him came the noble, his nose wrinkled. That nose-wrinkle told me everything I needed to know about him at a glance. He took it as a personal insult that he couldn’t throw money at the rain to make it go away.

How often do you have to step out into the rain, Noble? I remember thinking, using a barrel by the table for a seat, pulling a carrot from my grub bag, how rare is it that things don’t go your way? The noble’s Echo stepped down last, passing through the door in that way that high-class Echoes liked to do. They think it made them look mysterious and ethereal, I just think it makes ‘em look…inhuman. Fake, just like the made-up noble in his fancy clothes and with a parasol to keep the rain off of him. Propter deum, the only real person in the group was their page, shivering as the rain plastered his clothes to his skin.

Rom stepped forward and in their way, bare-chested and imposing. Rom don’t look fake, I’ll tell you that. Big huge muscles that ripple across his back, and when he stands in the middle of a doorway with his arms folded over his barrel-chest, it takes a braver man than the noble to even think of pushing past him. It makes me smile, ‘cause it’s a trick to keep people out that only works on Stormtouched. Only works on the people who think they’re better ‘n anyone else.

Anyways, Rom stood there, silent as he is, and the Noble and his Echo and his page stood in the pouring rain, their way barred.

“I have it on good authority that the blacksmith Romola is coming to the end of a project today,” the noble yelled at Rom over the howl of the wind, “I would like to engage her services.”

‘Have it on good authority’ seemed to be a fancy way to dress up ‘I’ve had servants spying on you,’ but if that was how he wanted to put it there was nothing I could do about it. Well, nothing I could do but take a bite out of my carrot and let him stew for a spell. Rom didn’t have a tongue, so he wouldn’t be saying anything either, and he just stood impassive, arms crossed. After a few moments I finally relented.

“Get in out o’ the rain,” I sighed. “What do you need?”

“I realize how valuable your time is, Miss Romola,” the noble shook rainwater from his hair, plastering it back with one hand, “I was told no other blacksmith matches your skill.”

Tall, pale, thin and spindly, golden hair, golden eyes…I could fall asleep just looking at him, that’s how boring he looked. No character, just storybook and proud of it. His Echo wasn’t much better, in a waifish sort of way. His page, on the other hand…now there was a look I could sink my teeth into. The only fakery he wore was in the Milian uniform someone had stuffed him into.

He’s just two years my junior, but just as rough around the edges even back then, with dark hair that fell disobediently out of his cap and framed his face, the fancy court uniform ill-fitting and lumpy. He had a nice enough face, though a timid expression like a loud noise would scare him away. As soon as I set my eyes on him he dropped his gaze to the ground guilty as anything, cheeks flushing bright red.

Getting an eyeful of my tits, I thought, and I folded my arms beneath ‘em just to toy with him, and so green that he still gets embarrassed about getting caught at it. Nothin’ fake about that boy at all.

Of course, they were assessing me while I was sizin’ them up, just in a much less frank way. I can’t’ve been what they were expecting. Most people like that, when they hear of a Fabera of grace and skill, they picture a pale-haired wisp of a thing, mysterious and sweet. Me I’m just the opposite; my skin is dark brown as an acorn-tree’s bark, but my hair was white even though I’m not even five-and-twenty. The damned stuff gets in my eyes when I work the forge, so I had cropped a few years before then. My arms are muscular, my fingernails and skin usually dirty and covered in soot. I’ve got muddy-brown eyes, and I’m told my expression is mean and bad-tempered as a forgecat, even when I’m grinning. Maybe I should stop grinning at folks’ stupidity. Anyways, if the group was expecting a beautiful Fabera of myth, they were having to revise their opinion of me now. I munched on my carrot, content to wait until they had something to say.

“I find myself in need of a sword,” the noble said after a few moments of awkward silence, “one of a design fit for my station. True beauty in design is very hard to describe to the typical Florezian blacksmiths, you may take it from me, and so when I heard rumors, rumors of a master Fabera who could craft true works of art even in a humble forge…well, I hardly need tell you how excited I was. You and I are almost kindred spirits, you know, I think we both appreciate the subtle intricacies of fine taste, the beauty of craftsmanship, the delicate-”

I have to admit, I’m proud of the timing of that belch; normally I can’t do it on command, but it just happened to work that day. The one thing that would annoy the man the most, and I pulled it off, stopping his pompous little speech dead in its tracks. In the shocked silence that followed, the page was almost able to keep a straight face, but the tiniest of noises burst past his lips. The noble whirled on him, hands clenched and face livid.

“Right. You want a sword. What’cha payin’?” I asked. I liked the page, didn’t want him getting hit on my account.

“I have been told that you no longer accept florins for your work. That your skill has transcended mere coin,” he looked around skeptically, but I kept on eatin’ my carrot. Truth was that I got plenty of gold from the smithing I did in the village, but the nobles wouldn’t know that. They liked their trinkets and baubles and swords, but they didn’t know the value of a good Fabera-made portcullis or a perfect circle of iron for a chandelier. That was for their househands and mansion-minders to know about and pay for, and pay me they most certainly did. The noble didn’t know it, but I’d probably already gotten my hands on quite a bit of his money.

“Nah, I wouldn’ accept florins for your sword,” I said, “not for the sorta sword you want.”

Oooh I milked it hard, letting the silence stretch even further, enjoying his discomfort. Finally he snapped.

“I’m not entirely sure you even know the sort of sword I want,” he said, his face twisted up into that nasty little nose-wrinkle, “I’m beginning to think that your reputation was passed on to me as some sort of joke,” he spun on his heels and stalked in the direction of the door, snapping his finger for his page and Echo to follow. I knew I had to get serious then, much as I hated it.

“It’s blade so sharp the breath of the wind is cut in twain,” I said, letting my voice linger on the lilts in the words, “the lustre of its curves more soft that a woman’s flesh and more terrible than a flash of anger in her eyes.” By this time the Noble had stiffened and turned, frozen and still, and I finished the rest with gusto, “dear god do I envy those who stand in my way, for they may embrace it to their hearts and feel it’s deathly kiss. I can never feel the touch of its beauty, I may only administer its bite.”

“Was…was that a passage from L’épée du Père? I wouldn’t have thought someone like you would be much for poetry, let alone Fracian poetry.”

That’s the problem with nobles, in a nutshell. Show ‘em a girl who belches and has muscles, and they’re flabberghasted that she can appreciate a little beauty in life. And yeah, I realize the irony of judging ‘em all for judging me, but hey, they started it.

“If you think your friends sent you may way as joke, you can be on your way, but the ghost of the sword you never had will weigh heavy on your hip.” This was when I gave him the ‘disinterested’ act; tossing the head of the carrot onto the straw floor for the rats, moving back to the forge, purposely turning my back him. A few pumps of the bellows were enough to make the embers of the forge glow hot again, and the heat washed against my face and on my fingers.

“What do you want for it?” The noble asked, and I had to be careful to stop grinning when I turned. People say it makes me look like a forgecat.

It’s always best, in these situations, to take something right away, and take something they aren’t expecting. Tell them to bring you three bags of florins and you lose a little mystery; you stop being the Fabera of myth and start becoming a blacksmith again. No, nobles can always do with some unexpected in their boring pretty lives. That day was hard, on account of I couldn’t think of anything I really wanted. I could’ve taken the carriage, I thought, but that didn’t seem like enough of a payment for someone who annoyed me so damned much.

I could demand his clothes, force him to get a little creative in finding a way back to the palace without humiliating himself…but no, he would probably just buy the clothes off of someone’s back, or take them from his page.

That was really the thought that sparked the whole thing, if I’m being honest. Couldn’t help but picture the poor page without any clothes, offering him respite in my little forge…There was a nice frame lurking beneath the velvet and ruffles, I warranted, and I was pretty sure he had the interest. I flicked a gaze at him, and he was blushing again, staring at his feet but thinkin’ about my chest.

“I’ll take the page,” I said offhandedly.

Oh. Oh friends. It was sweet as candy, his reaction. He was so surprised he actually took a step backwards like I’d thrown something at him.

“I…what?” he said, gapin’ like a fish out of water.

“What?” the page was so startled his mouth fell open. Even Rom was startled, turnin’ to me and raising an eyebrow in that expressive way he does. I kept my face a blank mask, but I was cackling like a madwoman on the inside. What must life be like for people who are predicable? It must get dreadfully dull.

Before you start gettin’ worried, don’t think I was just throwin’ the page’s life into chaos because it was funny. That was just a side benefit. No, in that moment I could see the boy’s life stretch out in front of them, as clear as day. He would do good work, he would rise to high page…but never above. There’s no room in the courts for a Mortalis these days, not really, and back then it was even worse. He would always have someone above him, and if the Noble was indication that someone wouldn’t be pleasant to work for.

“I’ve been needing an apprentice, he’s here anyways, seems like a good trade to me,” I shrugged. The noble stared at me for long moments, and you could almost hear the steaming as his mind struggled to work for what might’ve been the first time that week.

“Something’s not right here,” his prissy little Echo spoke for the first time, “the page isn’t worth the sword. There’s something more to him that she’s not telling.”

“I know that Zia, I’m not a halfwit,” the noble snapped. He turned back to me with his ‘shrewd face’ on, like the nose wrinkles with an added helping of too-clever-for-his-own-good. “The boy stays in my employ, but he will help you in your forge whenever you need him.”

“Nah,” I said simply.

“You arranged this somehow. You wanted the boy and you knew that I would bring him. What’s so special about him?”

I shrugged. I wouldn’t have said a word even if the truth was something more complex and sinister than  ‘I could use an apprentice and this one is good looking and will have a better life with me than with you’. It was just far too much fun watching the noble’s greed war with his paranoia.

“I’ll bring you two other pages as payment for the sword, ones that I select.”

“Nah.”

“At least tell me why you want the page, and I’ll make the deal.”

“Nah.”

“Then I’ll take my business elsewhere!”

I gestured towards the door, but I used my whole hand instead of a middle finger, so for me that was the height of politeness.

 


 

“The trick is to hammer down the length of the steel, shaping it by flattening out in one direction, then you turn it and do the same, you see what I mean?” I slowly turned the tongs as I lengthened the red-hot steel.

“I see it, but you’re holding your arm at an odd angle,” Grato, formerly the page, pumped the bellows again. Clever boy, even on his first day he had cleverness to him.

“That’s good, you’ve got a good eye!” I said, “when smithing a soft metal like gold or silver, it’s all about the movements of your wrist. Smithing steel is different, all of the motion is here in the shoulder. Most people don’t notice that difference.”

“Yeah?” Grato stared intently at my shoulder where I indicated. Veeery intently. So intently that it was obvious he wasn’t focusing on the shoulder.

“Hey, pay attention, I’m tryin’ to teach you something here!”

“I…I am paying attention.”

“Aye, payin’ plenty of attention to my tits and not enough to the smithing.” Soon as I said the word Grato’s face flushed bright red, and he dropped his gaze to the anvil.

“I’m sorry Master Romola.”

“It’s alright, I can’t blame you for gettin’ distracted I suppose,” I sighed. I did like the ring of ‘Master Romola’. “But you’re a Mortalis, Grato, you’re gonna have to work twice as hard as I have if you plan on making it to my level.”

“Do you really think I can be as good a blacksmith as you someday?” Grato asked hopefully.

“It’s halfway skill, halfway attitude,” I put the shaped steel into the bucket, listening to the hiss and rubbing my shoulder where the Storm buzzes too hard. “You have to have the confidence to go after what you want, full steam, and not be brought to a full stop of you fail once or twice or a hundred times.”
“I’ve never really felt that confidence.”

No shit, I thought, but aloud I said “that’s a skill you can train in yourself, just like any other skill. It’s a skill I plan to teach you just as much as I teach you smithing.”

“How can you teach me that?”

“Just got to give you opportunities to practice your attitude, that’s all,” I wiped my forehead with my sleeve and glanced around the forge. The day was officially done, the wide doors closed to the dark. Rom was wandering the taverns around the forge, but the two of us had been working the whole time since the noble had left with his promise of a sword, going over the basics of the forge and how smithing was done. I don’t have much in the way of official working hours, usually I work ‘til I’m tired then I sleep ‘til I’m not, but…the patter of the rain outside and the comfortable dull heat from the forge made me feel satisfied and content.

My eye wandered to Grato’s page jacket sittin’ in the corner, and it made me idly think of how the rest of his clothes would look in a pile along with them. Who am I foolin’…I give Grato a hard time for his starin’, but I can’t say my thoughts were much cleaner. “Here, we’ll start teaching you confidence right now,” I said, taking a step back from the forge and facing him. I folded my arms beneath my tits again, staring him down with a cool expression but letting him see the smile in my eyes. “All day you’ve been catching glances at my chest; do something about it.”

“I…what?” Grato looked both mortified and horrified, and I chuckled.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been looking with no desire to touch, you’re not that good a liar.”

“You…you don’t know how good a liar I am,” Grato’s chin rose just a fraction of an inch in defiance, “I might surprise you.”

Damn if he didn’t surprise me. It was adorable, his little rebellious streak in the midst of his terror.

“There you go!” I cheered, and Grato ducked his head again, “I can see the makings of confidence there, if I squint. Go on then, do whatever it is you’ve been imagining doing while you stared.”

He stepped towards me hesitantly, and I arched my back ever-so-slightly to make ‘em stand out more. I was used to men teasin’ me with their fingers or their mouths, but the way he approached me, slow and timid…that was teasing in a way I didn’t have much experience with. I was more used to lovers whose idea of ‘moving slowly’ was to find a bed first, and this? This was a new feeling for me. By the time Grato reached a hand out towards me, I was practically tingling with anticipation…and then dropped his hand.

“I…I can’t,” he muttered, his face bright red.

“Can’t because you don’t want to, or can’t because you’re too embarrassed?” I had to ask, even though I dreaded the answer. I knew then I was going to have him if he would have me, but I’m not the kinda girl who takes it by force.

“The second one,” he mumbled, “embarrassed.”

“You really are a young cub, aren’t you?” I smiled, but my heart fluttered in my chest. He wasn’t going to tease me like that and then not deliver, not if I could help it. I reached behind me to untie my blacksmith apron, tossed it to one side to lay in the straw with Grato’s page jacket, then pulled my shirt off over my head. It was sudden, and measured to grab his attention; he had been staring at ‘em all day, we’d see how embarrassed he was when they weren’t just a fantasy. Grato’s eyes widened, and he didn’t make an attempt at hiding his stare. I have to admit I basked in the attention a bit, stretching and folding my arms behind my head so that my breasts were lifted just a bit. “You know you want to touch them,” I teased, “go on, give them a squeeze.”

When Grato raised a hesitant hand again, I didn’t give him the chance to think about it. I stepped forward so that his hand clasped my breast. He gasped, but after a few moments gently squeezed. His fingers traced the curve of my skin up, then hesitantly down to my nipple, toying gently with the silver ring that pierced it.

“I knew girls wore rings in their ears,” Grato said reverently, “but I didn’t know they…did that too.”

“Not a very common thing,” I grabbed his other hand and placed it firmly on my other tit, thoroughly enjoying myself by this point, “and it hurt like hell…but now any time I’m bored at the forge, I can make a new set of rings or studs for them. They’re pretty cute, aren’t they?”

“Do you mean the rings, or your…” Grato faltered, and I grinned. He was adorable, utterly adorable, and how the bloody hell had it taken me this long to find out that ‘adorable’ was something that turned me on? I was so wet that I worried my juices would start running down my leg, so hot that I could swear the pants I wore would catch fire.

“They do make my nipples a little more sensitive though, so you’ll have to be gentle when you use your mouth on them,” I would’ve been disappointed if he had picked up on the hint right away, and sure enough he didn’t disappoint.

“When I what?”

“Come now, Grato, you act like I don’t know what a man like you is thinking when you stare at my rack with that look on your face. You want them in your mouth, but I’ve helped you enough. If you don’t have the confidence to take action now, I don’t know what will give it to you.”

I waited with bated breath for what he would do. It wasn’t that I wanted his lips and teeth and tongue on my breasts…well, alright, I wanted it enough that I thought about grab him by those bronze curls and forcing his head between my breasts, but it wasn’t entirely about that. I hadn’t been lying about attitude, how important it was. The man needed confidence, and if I was going to train him in smithing then I could train him in that as well. If he couldn’t muster up the confidence to move forward given such an obvious invitation like this, maybe he didn’t have the attitude he would need to succeed as my apprentice, no matter what I thought I’d seen in him.

He did make me worry, for a bit. Just when I thought that he wasn’t going to take advantage of the opportunity, he reached his head down and took my nipple into his mouth. I gasped, the corner of my mouth turning up in a smile. He kissed and sucked on the tender skin around it, pressing his lips and tongue against the soft skin of my dark breasts.

“Gentle,” I breathed a reminder as I felt his teeth brush against my firm nipple, but I needn’t have worried. He bit gently, just gently enough that I could feel it, then flicked the silver ring with his tongue. It was tentative, and it was glorious, and I moaned and ran my fingers lightly down his back. Much to my disappointment he pulled back, looking up at me curiously.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked. I swear the heat between my legs was hotter than any forge I’ve ever stoked in my life.

“The opposite. Let’s keep on with your lesson in confidence by giving you an example of confidence, shall we?” I said. Nah, it didn’t make much sense, but I was husky and horny and didn’t much care at the moment, “I would like you to get down on your knees now.” Grato obeyed, slowly kneeling but still looking up at me. It was a pretty sight, my new apprentice gazing up at me with something akin to adoration.

I could get used to this, I thought, hooking my thumbs into the waist of my pants and slipping them down just an inch or so. From where he knelt, Grato would be able to see a small strip of pubic hair peeking over the edge of my pants, snowy white. His eyes couldn’t get much wider, and he was so close I could feel his breath on the strip of skin I’d exposed.

“I’m not taking these off,” I said, “if you see something you like, is up to you to act on it now.”

There was no way the boy wasn’t going to do it, but even so I had to grit my teeth as he sat there and worked up his courage. Finally, after what seemed like years, he slowly reached up and grabbed the waist of my dark cloth pants and slowly pulled them down.

The air in the forge still bore the heat of the dying fire, and the warmth felt so good on the matching fire between my legs. If I had felt like being cruel to myself further I would’ve waited until Grato worked up the courage to touch me, but my sex was beginning to ache with need.

Ah well, I thought, reaching out to gently pull his head where I wanted it, there’s a lifetime of teaching him about attitude ahead of us. Rima wasn’t built in a day, after all.

Grato stuck out his tongue hesitantly, flicking it across my wet lips and looking up at me questioningly. I just about purred, running my fingers through his hair and gently pulling him even closer. His lips between my legs, he began sucking, licking, making small noises of appreciation. He wasn’t skilled at it, and if he knew what and where my clit was he apparently didn’t think it deserved much attention, but damnation his enthusiasm was adorable, and…

Deos denique it’s been far too long since I’ve had a man between my legs.

I lightly brushed my fingers along his scalp as his tongue worked to make me even wetter. I knew that sometime soon I’d gently teach him how to do this properly as well, but it was nice enough, and there was no rush. He began working in earnest, probing deeper into my body with his tongue, tasting my juices and moaning softly, and I fantasized about how exactly I’d teach him as I let the pleasure wash over me.

Mortalis blacksmith did quite well in Florezia, especially ones who were well trained. He would be one of the better-trained in the world. We would forge during the day, fuck during the night, and he would slowly improve at both. Give me a few years to train him, and he would become a master at both. The hardest part would be the attitude. Speaking of which…

“Alright Grato,” I took a step back with a smile, ignoring his crushed look and holding out a hand to help him up, “how are you feeling?”

“That was…nice, Romola,” Grato said, looking at his feet and blushing. I have to admit I frowned. I was picturing him with shoulders thrown back, chin up, perhaps staring me down with a devilish look in his eye. What could I do to get him closer to there than to here?

“You want more? Perhaps some fun for you?”

“I… yes, if you wanted to-”

“No, none of that feeble attitude,” I interrupted, “so help you Grato there are three things that I’m going to make you better at, and you’re going to pick from two of them. Are you listening? Good. Your first option,” I stepped closer to him, stepping out of the pants that had pooled around my ankles, “is that you tell me, boldly and clearly, exactly what you would have me do if you could make me do anything in the world. Your second option is that we fire up the forge again and get started on a pair of spears for the palace, and you’ll have to deal with this later, on your own.” I reached forward between his legs and grasped the bulge beneath his pants, partly to make a point and partly because I was curious what I had to work with. Grato sucked in a sharp breath.

“I…I’ll take the first option, then,” Grato stammered, “if I could make you do anything in the world I’d…I’d have you take me to bed.”

“I’m not so naive, Grato. If that’s the most depraved thing you can think of, I’ve pegged you wrong,” I took a moment to contemplate the interesting mental image my choice of words had brought up, but shook my head. That was definitely something I should save for later.

“Well…” Grato’s face was so red I could’ve used it to heat metal, and he wouldn’t meet my gaze. I stepped in so close that my naked body pressed against him, my lips brushed against his ear. Even through his clothes I could feel his hard cock pushing against me, but this way he at least wouldn’t have to look into my eyes when he said…whatever it was.

“You’ll never know the answer unless you ask,” I whispered into his ear.

Grato told me.

I took a step back, eyebrows raised in surprise. I’d heard worse, of course, but it was a dirty kind of inventive in a sweet and innocent way, and I have to admit I was impressed.

“That’s disgusting!” I said gleefully.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…I shouldn’t have-” Grato began, but I was already taking him by the hand and pulling him in the direction of the forge. I rested my other hand on the anvil, testing its temperature and brushing off charcoal and flecks of metal. It was almost cool to the touch…a bit dirty, but for just this once…

“Now you get to find out how nice it is, asking for what you want,” I said, whirling to face Grato again.

“You mean…you’ll do it?”

Ha, ‘would I do it’? I didn’t even bother answering; I just stuffed my hand beneath his clothes to grasp his member. He definitely doesn’t need any foreplay… the man was already so hard that there was barely any room for my hands down there. I yanked his pants down with a tug, thoroughly enjoying the look of mingled disbelief and ecstasy on his face as he did so. Leaning closer, I kissed him gently and stroked him back and forth in a steady motion, trying not to grin at the twitching of his shaft beneath my hands. It was hard to keep the smile off my face, but judging by his heavy breathing and his hands clasping and unclasping at his sides, he wasn’t going to last long. I would hate to wreck his newfound fledgling confidence by making him think I was laughing at him.

I used my other hand to gently, lightly scratch the underside of his cock, tracing a gentle trail all the way down to the balls. The light from the dying forge was enough to see him throw his head back and clamp his eyes shut, and his whole body twitched as he came. It was a hard trick to keep gently stroking as he shook, much less keep my hands clear of the ropes of cum that spurted from his member, splattering the anvil but not much else. I managed. Letting go of his spent shaft, I sauntered around the anvil until it was between me and him.

“Are you watching?” I purred, “I’m only going to do this the once, so you’d better pay attention.”

That one turned out to be a lie, but he didn’t much seem to mind the other times I’ve done it either, the kinky little freak.

Anyways, I needn’t have said anything. Grato was watching me intently, probably paying more attention than he had ever paid in his life to something. I took a breath, steeled myself, and bent down to lap up his jizz from the anvil.

Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. The anvil tasted of cold metal, of course, and I’m sure I got a little dirt or grit in my mouth as well, and I’m not particularly fond of the taste of cum, but the reaction…oh God the reaction. I made a production of slowly running my pink tongue over the sticky white patches and I glanced up as I licked up the last drop to see Grato’s open-mouthed expression, his eyes full of lust, his limp length twitching.

Oh yes. The reaction is quite worth the taste.

Although he hadn’t specifically mentioned swallowing, I tilted my chin up ever so slightly so that it would be more obvious when I did, and then I opened my mouth to show off. He didn’t have a word to say, but his shaft was already growing hard again. I hadn’t even known it was possible for a guy to be ready again so soon, or at least I’d never met one before then who could.

Maybe he’ll have to take care of himself later anyways, I thought with delight, maybe he’ll want me to help.

“That’s all the lessons for today,” I said softly, but he jumped at the sound of my voice, “you can have the bed upstairs, at least until tomorrow when we can arrange for something for you. I don’t mind sleeping in the hay in the corner down here.”

“It um…it looks comfortable,” Grato said with a shy smile, “and the forge makes it warm…maybe we should both sleep in the hay?”

“It’s good thinking like that that’ll get you far in this business, Grato,” I grinned, indicating the pile in the corner, “after you.”

Watching him try to pull his pants back up and walk to the corner at the same time, looking over his shoulder at my naked body and practically radiating excitement was worth the cost of the sword alone.

For the first but definitely not the last time I remember thinking I should’ve gotten an apprentice ages ago, as I went to join him in the hay.

 

4 responses

  1. As readers will be able to see, I tried something a little new with this chapter. A little bit of a different “voice” in the narrative, helped in no small part by the 1st-person perspective that I don’t normally use. Can’t wait to hear what people’s thoughts are on it!

    Like

    2015-04-22 at 10:19 pm

    • DeNarr

      I’m not sure if it’s intention, but you are sometimes switching from 1st person to 3rd person in the middle of a sentence. It makes it sounds like someone was controlling Romola. Here’s an example:

      [I made a production of slowly running her pink tongue over the sticky white patches]

      Like

      2015-04-23 at 9:43 am

      • Good call! The rough draft was written in 3rd person, and I thought I’d caught everything, but it looks like I missed 3 “she”s and 7 “her”s.

        Thanks for the catch!

        Like

        2015-04-23 at 10:52 am

  2. It definitely felt different. Romola was also pretty funny, but kind too. Still I think I like the third person more if for no other reason than it’s what I’m used too in this story. Keep up the writing Maddie.

    Like

    2015-04-22 at 11:01 pm

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