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Message-ID: <63918asstr$1494231001@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: RavensDrkGothic@aol.com
Full-name: RavensDrkGothic
Subject: {ASSM} Darkmoor Inn (Chapter 2)
Lines: 172
Date: Mon, 08 May 2017 04:10:01 -0400
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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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