6 comments/ 16589 views/ 11 favorites The Forge By: MSTarot (Wrote for fun to give a try at a category I've not written in before. Hope it's enjoyable) Rivulets of sweat run down my bare skin to dampen the already wet edge of my leather pants. I keep a slow count as I pull down the rope on the bellows. The constant even rhythm I've kept going for the last hour at least. My shoulders and chest burn from the effort. Or maybe that's from the heat. My face has a sun burnt feeling about it. The large pile of coal the Mastersmith, a great bear of a man, rakes up glows a brilliant red in the growing dim light. The last hours of the day are upon us and the Master is trying to finish heat treating a large gate hinge for the Lords carriage house. I watch as the older apprentice, Harles, moves to his side with a large set of tongs. As I pull on the wooden handle with my pain racked hands I see the two of them working together in perfect harmony. They lift the large heavy piece of glowing steel from the fires and with each of them holding part of it they move together over to the quenching tanks. Three barrels site side by side. Oil for soft, water for hard, salt water for hardest. I learned that this morning. The cherry red steel screams and sends a great billowing cloud up and across the ceiling as they lower it into the salt water. "Enough Geon. You're wasting my coal now." The Master calls over to me, his voice a deep grumble. He looks demonic standing in the cloud of steam, it curling up and around his dark face. I turn the handle lose with pleasure. My blistered hands ache from the unfamiliar effort. This is only my first day in the forge. I stand unsure of what to do as they bring the metal piece up out the water and take it to a large box full of sand. Setting it down it sinks into the shifting sand. At his directing, Harles turns the piece for the Master to see from all angles. "Good. That's one at least. Clean this one up. Well try for the other three tomorrow. Geon. Come here." I walk over to the still blisteringly hot forge. The Master takes a metal rake from the side of the wall and pulls the coals apart. I see him fish out a chunk of...something. "This is a clinker." He tells me moving it out into the open hearth. "It's coal and slag that's fussed together. It makes the fires burn colder. I can't have that. Now they form when the fires are at their hottest like they were today. I want you to start making sure they are fished out the pile. You have to learn how to do it while we work but without getting in our way. You get in my way too many times... Harles show him." The other apprentice stops rubbing sand against the hinge piece with a piece of old leather, and turns to the side. I see two square marks just above his right hip. I look away from him quickly. I've had to do my best not to stare at his body all day. He looks like the smith made him here in the forge. "That's my tongs. I wont do it your first couple of days but if you don't pick this up quickly I'll give you a brand so you can remember to not be in my way. Do you understand?" "Yes Master." The idea of that tong, hot from the fires touching my skin causes me to cringe. Like I can already feel the pain. "As old as you are you're going to have to learn quicker than most apprentices would. If you're going to have any kind of forge of your own one-day you will have to pick this up at near double the pace I normally teach. I realize its not your fault what happened but it's still going to be on you to do it. You understand?" "Yes, Master." "Good. Now every tool in the forge has a place it should be. Most of them are there now. You need to start to lean where things go. Keep your mind free of daydreams and focused when you're here. You can get hurt in this place real quick. You did good today for the most part. You follow directions well, just like your mother said. Now, rake the rest of the clinkers out. Takes these tongs and drop them into the fire bucket here. When you've got that done sweep out the forge. Everything goes onto the stones out front. You leave a hot spark in my forge and something catches fire I'll put you in that fire and roast you! You understand?" I'm already coming to hate hearing that phrase. "Yes, Master. The Mastersmith takes one last look at what Harles is doing with the sand then hangs his apron over the peg by the door. "Keep an eye on him." He tells the older apprentice as he walks out towards his house. The flat metal bar shifts coal in the pile around. "Push it to the outside... away from the bellows hole." I hear Harles say from behind me. I nod but don't look at him beyond a second's glance. The hot clinkers hit the water with a 'thuwop' sound when I drop them in. Little whiffs of stream rise up after each. My blistered hands ache. I shake my head. New trade new blisters. I shake my head at the unfairness of it all. Eighteen years old I should be already the master of my chosen trade. When I was twelve, father, had apprenticed me to a carter. I got to travel the long roads all over the land, loading and unloading goods. Turnips from one place, pig iron from another. Lumber from the harbors. The big wagons with the creaking wheels. The constant weather. I had loved it all. Well... maybe not the heavy lifting, some of that had been backbreaking but still I saw the world for several years. I went to places others only get to dream of seeing. The great white cliffs stand out the largest in my memories, the wide expanse of the sea laid out under them. The tall masted ships smelling of foreign lands. Unloading tons of timber from the new colony. The seemingly endless days of back and forth travel from the coast to the great cities. The loading and unloading of our goods. It had been all I could dream. Till the night the men came out the woods. My master, Simon, had taken one look at them and told me to run! I did as he said of course but by the time I reached the trees I was regretting doing so. I could have helped him. I was near a man grown at seventeen. Then his screams had reached me. I had once been in London during the cold of winter and witness them executing the traitors that tried to blow up Parliament. Their screams had hardly been worse. I made my way through the woods to the nearby township and found the sheriff. With a group of men we went back to the scene and found the wagon gone and all the goods were as well. The body of my poor master, Simon, was nailed to a wooden fence rail nearby. His gut sliced open and laying by his feet. I returned home under a cloud. The family of Simon believed, for some reason, I had something to do with the death of their father. Because I had lived maybe. I went first to their home to tell them of his fate. The news had proceeded me by a half day. I was sent upon by the older sons and their men and chased with dogs nearly to my family's house. Father had, I discovered when I got there, died of cholera while I was gone. My mother and sister were both in a bad way from lack of food and grief. Eighteen years of age with no chance of ever being a carter, Simons family had sent out a black word on me, I had to try and find a way to feed my family. I was strong. Years of lifting and loading had done that for me at least. Mother talked the husband of her oldest friend into taking me on. He needed another apprentice after his newest one had died in the same sickness that took my father. My thighs are pushed up against the forge driving my memories and daydreams away in a rush! I feel the weight of Harles' body pushing me forward. His strong hands go to my arms catching me and holding me fast. The warmth of the bricks begins to burn me through the leather pants. "I saw you watching me. Do you like working here? Working around men like the Master and myself?" his words are soft and right by the side of my head. I feel the press of his bare stomach and chest against my back. Not sure of what to say I stand mute...unsure of more than words. "Hum...afraid to talk? I don't doubt it. You're all soft." His hand turns lose of my right arm and comes around to my chest. "If you had teats you would be like a girl." I try to move but he holds me firm with the pressure of his body against my back. I struggle when I feel his hand run down across my sweaty stomach. I gasp as he grabs me through the leather. "Here something that's not soft though. You must like working around us if you're this hard." I try to move again as he rubs me through my pants. I feel myself hardening under his touch. He grabs the forgotten tongs from my hand and trusts them into he coal pile I had yet to shift. "Don't you move or I'll give you a brand before the Master can." Fearful of even the thought of that I stand still as he turns lose my other arm. His hands circle my waist and take hold of the ties of my pants. Then my cock is in his callused hand. I hiss as I feel his fingers tighten around me with brutal strength. I whimper a bit as he moves down the length of me. "My man's hands to rough for your little girls skin are they? Well here." For a few seconds his hand leaves me. I feel him shift behind me, and then his hand is back. I gasp as I feel the warm oil being stroked the length of me. 'Better?" he asks by my ear. I moan as he tightens his finger again. His grip is so powerful that even with the oil I feel a bit of pain from his stroking. His body leans into mine. I try to catch myself on the forge but my blistered hands burn at the touch of the hot bricks. I have to push back against him to keep from falling forward into the hot coals. "That's better." He says to me in a whisper. I feel a hard bulge against the back of my pants where he is pressed against me. "You like?' he asks me pulling all the harder on me. "Answer me." I swallow and nod. "Say it." "Yes. Yes I like it." I tell him after a second. "I though you might. You have the look of someone who would. Like my hand on you now? Not so rough now is it? Answer." "Yes I like it." I tell him softly. He chuckles in my ear. "I think you're going to like working here." I begin to pant for breath as I feel him thrust against the back of my pants. The heat of the bricks, uncomfortable at first has now settled into hot warmth again the front of my thighs. His hand strokes me with a grip so tight I can hardly stand it, but I slip through his oiled fingers with ease. His off hand comes around me and covers s my mouth. The hard calluses press into my lips silencing the gaps of fear that rises out of me. "Can't have you making a lot of noise when you cum now can we. Wouldn't want the Master to come back out here and find us doing this. He would flog the both of us." I moan into his hand as he starts to move his hand faster. Then faster still. I seem to float for a second trapped between the heat of the forge and his warm body moving against my back. His strong fingers are giving me a pleasure even my own hands have never matched. I whimper into his palm as he all but crushes me. "My soft little thing. Gonna cum for me?" I nod unable to speak even if his hand wasn't in the way. I feel it building. Like a river in flood I feel it starting to rise. Then like that river it spills over its banks to run wild. As I moan into his hand I look past his fingers and see my seed spray out of me and land hissing into the hot coals. Rope after rope of white to sizzle and stream. Only able to breath through my nose I feel myself growing faint as I can't catch my breath. His grip on me softens then. It becomes a gentle stroke that milks the last drops from me to fall dripping onto the stone floor. Then I shiver as I feel his words stirring the hairs on the side of my neck. "It's my turn little Geon." His hand leaves me and catches me by my hip. His other hand has me by the shoulder. I'm turned and leaned down across the largest anvil. The top is a hard cold pressure against my chest. "Don't move." He tells me as he turned me lose. I feel his hands take hold of the side of my pants. With a jerk he has them down to my knees. Then, hugging the anvil to my chest I feel him move away from me for a second. His fingers are covered with oil as he pushes them between my ass cheeks. I bite my lip as he begins to push one into me. I gasp as the slick digit enters me easily. "Quiet now. No noise my little Geon." I have to bite my lip as the finger is pushed all the way into me! I moan in relief as he pulls it back out, then my eyes feel like they are going to pop out my head as he drives it back into me. There is a second finger beside it now! I cling to the anvil and try to not whimper loudly as he moves his thick strong fingers around inside of me. I gasp as they are jerked form me. The slick feeling of oil runs down and drips from my balls. Part of me knows what's going to happen but my mind refused to recognize his actions behind me. Then I feel him at the entrance of me. Like a hard pressure pushing with demanding force against me. He enters me in one quick shove. I can't stifle the cry that leaves my lips then. He leans the length of his body across me and his hand, slick with oil, covers my mouth. "I said be quiet! I have no desire to feel a carter's whip across my flesh." The smell of his fingers under my noise is I know a mixture of my own body and the oil. It has a scorched smell for the many quenching. I whimper against his hand as he thrusts into me. I feel his body rocking against me driving him into me and back out. He moves barely two inches each time but I flinch at ever one of those inches. Slowly I relax. I feel his hand loosen a bit then he moves it away. His fingers take a hold of me by my hips and he pulls out further. I cling to the anvil as he drives himself into me over and over against. The hard metal give surprising comfort as I fight to be quiet under the power of his lusts. I hear first one then another deep grunts from behind me. Then his hand leaves my hips and digs painfully into my shoulder. I'm driven even harder back into him. He slams into me then with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs. Ignoring his own warnings I hear a deep moan from him as I feel his length pulse inside me. I know what has happen. I cling to my solid anchor, this chunk of cold metal that is to be my life from now on. The pain of it begins to seep back to me now. He slips from me with a wet feeling along the side of my ass cheeks. I feel sweat from him dripping onto my back. He pulls me up from the anvil with almost gentle pressure. I'm turned in his arms till I'm looking him in the eyes. He gives me a soft smile, and then I'm feeling his lips on mine. His kiss is firm like the rest of him. He holds me tight to him for several long seconds then smiling lets me go. "Clean yourself up. Finish cleaning up in here and come up to the house. The Master's wife is a good cook." I watch him turn away from me and walk from the forge leaving me standing there with my pants around my knees. Both my ass and my cock drip as I pant for the breath I couldn't catch before. I feel oil running down my leg. I think that's what finally brings me to action. A scrap of old cloth cleans me enough to let me pull back up my pants. I stagger a bit till I reach the water barrel. The water has a metallic taste as I bath my face in it. Leaning over it I see my own reflection looking back at me. My face looks flush but I can't deny the fully satisfied look I have about me either. I look up and let my gaze take in the forge around me. The smells of old metal and rust are strong enough to hide the other scent I notice lingering. I push up off the barrel and go get the broom and start to sweep the floor clean. Moving the dust and dirt towards the door I flinch a bit at little twinges of pain that shoot through me. By the time I'm finishing up I know two things for sure. I'm going to like working here. And I'm not going to sit easily at dinner tonight. The Forge All characters are 18 or older. This is a long build up one, if that's not what you are looking for, then I am sorry. This is just how this story is. +++++++ One Lilly scrambled through the underbrush as fast as she could. The drunk frat boys were still behind her, still cat-calling, and asking why she left. She was terrified. After Trevor, the big one, had tried to rape her in the backyard, she ran. He grabbed a couple of his buddies and gave chase. Now, here she was, heading deeper into the woods, the sunset fading fast, and hounded by three would be rapists. She stumbled over a fallen log and found herself leaning against a fencepost. She looked around as saw she was next to a large yard. The house ahead had a couple of small lights around it, and she could hear a methodical 'ping' of something metal clanging in an even tempo. She slid through the lines of barbed wire as quick as could, getting small cuts over many parts of her body. She didn't care. She ran to the house, and went around to the right, looking for a door or a person or a window with a light on, or anything that might mean help. She called raggedly, her breath all but gone. The metallic pinging stopped as she rounded the corner. She found herself face to face with something that seemed to be out of a history book. A large man stood next to a large anvil, one hand holding a large hammer, the other a pair of tongs. He wore a large leather apron and heavy leather gloves. He glared at her, frowning, as sweat ran down his scruffy face. "Please. Help. They. They're following me. They hurt me." She gasped and panted. "Move." He grunted, tossing the tongs onto the workbench next to the anvil. She collapsed against the wall as he limped past, his fist tightening on the hammer. He went to the corner of the house and stood there, watching the three drunk frat boys fall through his fence, laughing and cursing at each other. The first one noticed the man and waved. "Hey man, you seen my girlfriend around here? She got pissed at something and took off; I'm trying to let her know it's alright." At this the other two howled laughter, slapping each other on the back. "Leave. Now. Or this gets bad." The man growled, starting to limp towards the three young men. "What? What dude? You think you want a piece of us? You can barely fuckin' walk, limp dick! Step on up, son, let's rock!" the biggest one shouted, getting pissed. He strode quickly up to the man, started to shout something else, but was stopped by the head of the hammer being thrust into his solar plexus; not a terribly hard hit, but a surprise that knocked the breath out of him a little bit. Following the young man's grunt of surprise the older man lashed out with the leg that didn't limp, his boot slamming into the side of the kid's knee, dropping him like a rock. When the kid's buddy started a drunken rush forward, the man reared back with the hammer, ready to inflict some pain. The kid thought better of his charge, and slowly walked forward, hands out, and collected his friend. "Get the fuck off my property or I'll kill you for trespassing." The man said evenly, the hammer still raised. The three frat boys thought for just a moment before climbing back through the fence, hurling petulant threats and curse under their breath. The man lowered the hammer and began limping back to where the young woman was standing by the house. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, but skinny. She had the frame of someone who ate light and ran perhaps a little too much. Her makeup was smeared and running down her cheeks. Her tears had dried, but she hitched and sobbed every so often. "The road is right over there, past the oak trees. Those fucks shouldn't bother you again tonight." He grunted, brushing past her the fridge under the small patio. He took out a bottle of water and a beer. He tossed her the water opened the beer for himself. "Thank you, sir. The one you hit, he tried to rape me, he, he," she started crying again, and took a large gulp of water before continuing. "I ran. I was at a party, and he seemed nice, but," She trailed off. "Most men do until they see an easy target." He replied shortly before grabbing the tongs and pulling a bar of glowing metal out of the small coal pit. He began hammering, seeming to ignore the young woman completely. She watched, fascinated as he worked and shaped the metal quickly. She sipped at the water as he turned a thick, blunt bar of metal into a gently curving arc of metal with thin, smooth edges in a matter of maybe ten minutes. He switched hammers to a more round faced one and began to hammer along the edges, softer than before. He turned the piece over and over, hammering here and there, and then stuck it into a bucket of water, producing a hiss and steam. He took the metal to a grinder on the work bench, and worked the edges, showering sparks. That done, he pulled a length of hemp cord from a spool hanging from a small post set into the support pole of the patio and cut it with the blade he had made. With a few quick turns of his wrist he had wrapped the handle portion and knotted the makeshift grip tightly into place. He turned it over a couple times, inspecting the simple and crude but shapely and sharp dagger. He flipped it in the air and caught it by the tip, holding it out to Lilly. "Here. If you run across them again, wave this in their face and they ought to get the idea." He instructed. She reached out slowly, and took the handle, hesitating. She had no idea how to use a knife to fight, and was scared she would cut herself with this wicked little dagger. She had never held anything larger than a steak knife before, and this blade was about a foot long. The metal was unpolished, unsmoothed, and looked mean. No glimmering and subtle chef's knife, this was a sharpened bar of iron, made not for looks but for business. It scared her a bit. "Just hold the handle where the rope is. Then swing. The knife will do the rest." He grunted, pantomiming a few fast slashes. She imitated his fluid movements with a few jerky swings. Not graceful, but if the blade touched anything in those swings, it would get cut. She felt fear, but also power in swinging the knife. She looked at it a moment, turning over the idea that this man had just forged this knife for her, it was still very warm, and now here she was swinging it through the air, feeling the heft of it. She felt overwhelmed with gratitude. She looked up at him, her eyes threatening to spill more tears. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I, I've never really used a knife except for eating before. How did you make this so fast? Where did you learn to, I," She stammered and sputtered as her eyes made good on their previous threat. "Time and practice. The same as anything else." He said evenly, "Give it some time, practicing moving with that, and you will get comfortable with it. You don't have to be comfortable with it for it to cut though." He explained. He went to the work bench and picked up a bar of unshaped metal. He jabbed it out in front of himself, then swung it in a short low arc. She stood a there a moment, frowning before trying it herself. She was slower and clumsier than him, but the basics were there. He swung twice, left then right, in a short back and forth slash. She tried this, and did a little better. "You'll be fine. Hell, you can probably find a bunch of instructional videos on YouTube." He said. "Will you be alright to find your way home? The road right over there is Vintner Avenue, take a right and it will take you to the Willows neighborhood." He asked. "Yeah, yeah I should be alright. Thank you again. My name is Lilly, by the way. Sorry, I'm a little flustered and forgot my manners." She said, offering her hand. "Morgan." He said, shaking her hand, being careful not to crush it. Even through the thick glove she could feel the power of his large, hard hand. "I thought that blacksmiths were gone. You know, replaced by factories and stuff." She said meekly, waving at the anvil. "Yeah, it's only something you see any more at renaissance fairs and the like. That's where I first got interested in it. I went to those things a lot in high school." He answered with a small guilty grin. She smiled at that, trying to picture this large man as a gawky teenager, zits and all, wandering around, surrounded by people in tights swinging swords. "Well, thank you again, for the help and the protection," she said, holding up the knife, "I'm going to get home before it gets too late." She said, not really wanting to leave. "Okay. No thanks needed though. Have a nice night." He said, picking up his hammer again. As she walked down the road, the knife stuck in her belt =, making her feel a bit like a pirate, she felt afraid again. Not terrified, but afraid. The knife's weight was a comfort. The handle poked a knob through the shirt hanging over it with each step, constantly reminding her that it was there, which helped. What she felt most though, was a warmth that spread from her legs to her neck. She had never really liked the big, hairy, and rough kind of guys, but she couldn't get Morgan out of her mind. He was probably too old for her, anyways. But a girl could imagine. She spent the night tossing and turning, her dreams a pendulum that swung from terror and helplessness to flat out arousal, and back again. She woke twice scrambling for the knife on the lampstand next to the bed, cutting her palm pretty bad the second time. She winced, and went into the bathroom to clean it. She did not realize she had the knife with her until she set it on the edge of the sink to turn on the light. After cleaning and inspecting, she figured it was small enough that some ointment and a couple of Band-Aids would be enough. She looked at herself in the mirror a moment, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the pale face, and shut off the light before she could see any more. "Get a grip, Lil. Some drunk asshole grabbed your tit and you got away, and Morgan is a regular guy, not some kind of hidden Adonis." She chided herself as she went back to bed. But sleep was a long time coming. Two Lily could barely pay attention in any class the next day except for one. Her Dark Ages class, the one she usually dreaded, was suddenly something she found immense interest in. She decided when the class ended, that she would go back to Morgan's as soon as her last class was finished. She would drive this time, the walk was only about twenty minutes, but she did not quite feel safe walking alone anymore. At the end of her last class, she was one of the first out the door. She walked towards her car, her bag hanging over one shoulder, the zipper open a bit. She stole glances every few minutes to assure herself that the handle of the knife was sitting right at the opening. She didn't see the frat boy until he was nearly right next to her. He stumped at her on his crutches, his knee in a long, bulky rigid brace. "Hey cunt!" He shouted when she turned. "Your fucking old man blew out my goddamned knee!" Lily tensed, almost freezing as the young man hobbled towards her, his face a snarl. Her mind flashed an image of Morgan limping towards three muscular young men, totally fearless, and that steeled her nerves. If he could do that, she could face one crippled frat boy on her own. All of this flashed through her mind in less than a second. Lily yanked the knife out of her bag in a clean, fluid motion that was more reflexes than skill, and waved the blade menacingly at the frat boy, who almost fell in his attempt to stop instantly. "Whoa bitch! Are you fucking nuts?" He shrieked. "No, asshole. But I'm not going to be fucked with by some drunk piece of shit who thinks trying to rape a girl at a party is funny! You get the hell away from me, and leave me alone, or I'll cut you up." She said, her face turning red as her anger built. He looked at her a moment longer, his eyes going from her red cheeks and flashing eyes to the knife's unshaking tip, and turned around. He crutched away in a hurry, muttering under his breath and glancing over his shoulder. Lily quickly opened her car and sat before her legs could give out. She sat for a moment, her hands and legs trembling as if she were having her own personal earthquake. Then she broke down, crying in great, jagged gasps, her composure gone. She was torn between pride in her ability to face the guy; stark, naked terror of the confrontation and what he could have done to her, both last night and today; and a kind of detached disbelief that her life had change so radically in the last day. She had gone from a bubbly, timid, happy-go-lucky girl without a major concern in her mind to this new woman, who carried a curved dagger almost the length of her forearm everywhere she went, who could stare down a guy who weighed twice what she did (true, he was a little disabled, but still,) and threaten him with a knife that was probably illegal for her to carry around the school. After a half hour or so of crying, laughing brokenly, and shaking, she finally began to get herself under control. Eventually, she calmed enough to start the car and pull out of the parking lot without veering into anything. She skipped dropping her bag off at her small apartment as she had planned and drove straight to Morgan's house. Three She heard the clang of metal as soon as she shut off the car. She sat a moment, trying to make sure she wanted to go see him. She didn't even have an idea of what to say, but she couldn't think straight with thoughts of him intruding every few minutes. She finally gave a mental 'fuck it' and got out of the car. She tucked the knife into her belt and walked up to the small gat that let onto the side yard where his forge was. She rounded the corner and there he was, banging away on a long bar of metal, sweat rolling down his arms and face. She just stood there a moment and stared. She could see all the muscles in his arms flex and move as he works, as well as the ones in his shoulders, chest, and neck. He was not wearing a shirt under the leather apron, and she was mesmerized. He was heavily muscled and had more than a few tattoos. They weren't the ultra-trendy, splashy color sprays that so many guys got trying to look tough and cool. These looked like tattoos you would find on a sailor from the forties or fifties. A large length of chain wrapped around the length of his right arm, ending in a spiked ball mid forearm; an array of cannons across his chest, a neat pyramid stack of cannonballs next to each one; and a gutplate of human skulls, each with a wild looking eye in the right socket, his left arm a flock of sparrows or swallows in flight, headed up to his shoulder, apparently. All of them rendered in the expected blue lines of older tattoos. He looked up, breaking her reverie, and gave a small wave with the hammer. He went back to work for a moment as she walked over to the forge. He dropped the metal into the water bucket when she got to him. "Hello." She said simply, not knowing what else to say. "Hello" He answered, a little out of breath. "I cut my hand." She said, completely unaware of what she was going to say until it was out of her mouth, and then completely unbelieving that she had said it. "Well. Do you need a bandage?" He asked, frowning. "No. Yeah. I mean, I mean I got one, it's on there already. What I'm trying to say is, well, shit. I don't know what I'm trying to say." She stuttered miserably. "Are you alright?" He asked, frowning deeper. "I, I don't know." She said quietly. She pulled the dagger from her belt and set it on the workbench, then spoke softly, her eyes never leaving its blade. "I haven't been more than a foot or so away from that since you gave it to me. It was on my nightstand all night, I cut my hand grabbing for it in the dark. I took it to school; it was in my backpack the whole time. The bag was unzipped a bit so I could see it all day. The man that you hurt last night approached me today as I was leaving. I did what you said, I waved the knife at his face, I yelled at him too. He went away. I was all fucked up for a while after that sitting in my car. I don't know what I should do now. The only thing I could think of was to come back here." She had tears on her cheeks by the time she finished. Morgan pulled out two chairs from under the workbench, and wiped away the dust and dirt from the one he set before her. As she sat, he opened the fridge and pulled two beers. He opened them and handed one to her before sitting. "He scared you pretty badly, last night and today. Didn't he?" Morgan asked, looking at the knife. "Yes." She all but whispered. "Yes. You have every right to be scared. What that spineless shit did was a very traumatic thing. He attacked you. Plain and simple. He attacked you. But today, you stood up to him. And he left. Correct?" He spoke slowly and clearly, looking directly at her, his eyes like the strips of iron around the forge. "Yes." "Yes. Hold on to that. The fear will remain awhile, it's natural. But try to focus on the fact that you could stand up to him, and drive him away. That is what will eventually get rid of the fear. Knowing that you can prevent it in the future." "I want to know how to use that." She said quietly, pointing at the knife. "Well, I could teach you a bit. But knowing how to use it won't magically make the attack like it never happened." "I know, but I think it would help." She answered, taking a quick sip of the beer. "Okay. What do you want to know?" He asked, stepping over to a long wooden box along the wall, next to the work bench. He opened the box and she saw a pile of swords, knives, hatchets, and other weapons she couldn't even identify. Most of them were bright and polished, if a little dusty, but there were plenty that were the dull grey of her knife. He dug out two knives, about the same length and both the dull unfinished grey. He handed one to her, and she ran her finger lightly over the edge. It was about as dull as a butter knife. She stood up, setting the beer down, and examined the weapon. It looked like very basic sword shape, just smaller, nothing fancy about it. The handle was unsanded, unstained wood. The crosspiece was just a bar of metal with a slot for the blade to go through. "What do you use these for?" She asked, looking up. He had removed the apron, and now she could see that the skulls on his stomach surrounded a clock marked in roman numerals of bones, set at a couple minutes to midnight. He flipped the knife in the air a couple times and said "Practice. What else?" She walked into the yard with him, nervous, but excited too. He held his hand out, palm up, and placed the knife along the base of his fingers, then wrapped his fist closed. She followed suit, her small, thin fingers and dainty hand barely fitting around the wooden grip. He put his hand over hers, pressing her fingers tighter together. The touch of his hand sent a thrumming current through her body, the hard callous of his hand was enough to make her gasp. "Hold it tight. If you don't, the knife will turn in your hand, and you will lose your grip. Keep a strong, firm grip and make the knife know you are in control." He said before releasing her hand. He spent the next couple of hours showing her how to hold the knife, how to jab with it, how to swing it; the basics of how to use it without cutting the shit out of herself. She felt jolt of pleasure each time he touched her, when he turned her wrist or straightened her arm, and she almost moaned when his hard hands took her waist and turned her hips to face her target better. She was flustered and her underwear was wet by the time they were done. "Are you okay? You look a little flushed." He asked as she walked towards the workbench. The Forge "Yeah, I'm, um, I'm okay." She said as they sat back down. "Where did you learn all this?" she asked quietly. "Well, most of it I learned from the guy I learned smithing from. He said 'if you're gonna make a weapon, you need to know how to use the weapon, else you won't know if it's going to work right.' He taught me how to use every weapon he taught me how to make. The weapons I've learned to make since then, on my own, I spent months farting around with before I ever tried to make one." He explained, turning the practice knife over in his hands. "How good are you with them?" She asked. He flicked his wrist and the dull practice knife sank deep into the patio post, the handle vibrating, making her jump. "Pretty good." He grinned. She stood up and walked to the knife, stilling it with her finger. She tried to pull it out of the wood and couldn't budge it an iota. He reached over her shoulder and gave it one sharp yank, pulling it free as if it was nothing. She turned and without thinking about what she was doing, she stood up on her toes and kissed him, he small hands resting lightly on his chest, feeling the sweat slicked muscles tense a bit. She broke the kiss after a moment and lowered herself, blushing deeply and looking down. "I'm sorry, I don't-" She started to sputter when his hand cupped her chin. He lifted her face to look at him, and he kissed her. She closed her eyes and moaned far back in her throat. Her mind raced. She didn't know this man, just his name and the fact that he was very good with weapons. She felt an exhilaration that was part fear. Not the kind of fear that had driven her to come back here, but a fear of what may develop from this. She thought he may be twice her age, or only a few years her senior. She didn't know if he was dangerous; well, she was pretty sure he was dangerous when he needed to be, but she didn't know if he was dangerous to her. She felt him back away and opened her eyes. He was smiling a bit, but looked a little guilty. "It's been awhile since anyone has kissed me. I don't know if it's something we should do though. I'm pretty sure you are a little young for a man like me." He said, his voice surprisingly soft. Her heart sank a little at his words, but fluttered madly at his sadness. She hadn't felt like this since she had a crush on her teacher Mr. Rourke in the seventh grade. She bit her lip and looked away. "I might not be. You don't look that old." She whispered, smiling a little. "Well, I'm not an old man, but I'm not a college kid anymore." He said, stepping back from her. "Will you teach me more? I would like to learn, if it's ok." He stood a moment, thinking, and then nodded. "Yeah, I'll teach you more." He said quietly. Four Morgan sat in the recliner, listening to the radio, his mind whirling. He looked at the two pictures on the wall. One of him at about Lily's age, standing next to a young woman with jet black hair and a devious grin. The other of her by herself, sitting on a large rock, looking out at the ocean. He felt a stab of sorrow and a wave of shame, a feeling like he was cheating on her. He took a long drink of his beer and thought. And thought. And thought. Six years. Quite a while. He had been alone in this house for six years, drinking himself stupid for the first few, wandering thoughtlessly and working the forge like a robot for a couple after that. He thought it over and felt that he had spent the last year or so simply recovering from the staggering depression of the previous five. He had thought that it was possible that he was through grieving, but then here comes this girl, stumbling into his yard, scared and alone, looking as fragile as a snowflake. She was quiet and timid, just as Samantha had been. Then, today, he had seen that there was what looked like a hard streak buried beneath the shyness and innocence. Just as Samantha had. He sighed heavily and stood up, limping towards the kitchen. "What the hell are you doing, Morg?" He asked the empty house, getting the exact answer he expected. Nothing. He opened another beer and went back to the chair, his mind racing again. Lily stepped out of her clothes while the shower warmed up, and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked a little less like death tonight, and that made her glad. She glanced down at the sink, and saw the knife laying next to her hairbrush. She smiled a little and ran a finger slowly down the length of the flat of the blade. The metal was cool, and made her mind jump to thoughts of Morgan. His wide chest, oiled in sweat, the deep musky scent of him, the thrum of his muscles under the smooth skin, the tapestry inked into him, the power and grace in his large hands. She figured if he wanted to, he could easily break her arm just by grabbing it and squeezing. The thought of which didn't frighten her, but excited her. She ran a hand along her stomach, which had been fluttering pleasantly all evening. She felt her pulse quicken as her hand went lower, trailing along the top of her slit. She stood that way for a moment, the shower forgotten. One hand gently touching herself, the other touching the knife. She turned to the shower quickly and stepped into the warm spray. As she worked the body wash into a thick lather, she let her hands caress her body slowly, trying to imagine what his hands would feel like in all those places. Trying to imagine the stone-like callous moving across her stomach, her ass, her chest, throat, thighs. She was breathing hard, her lips parted, as she ran a finger teasingly between her legs. She rubbed her clit in small circles with one hand, the other rubbing lightly on her lips, spreading them little by little. She left her clit to reach up and lightly pinch her nipple, working it slowly and softly, taking her time to build up pressure. Her other hand had her lips pulled wide open, and was putting light pressure against her hole. She groaned as her fingers slid in, savoring the moment. She worked her fingers a bit, and then began to speed up, going deeper as she went faster. She began muttering a bit in between moans and gasps, mostly just saying 'yes' over and over again. She felt herself start the tensing up that signaled her coming orgasm. She now had three fingers plunging in and out, as deep as she could, as fast as she could. She left her nipple and rubbed furiously at her clit, pausing only to give it a hard squeeze every few moments. She was moaning almost nonstop as she finally felt the heavy wave of her orgasm crash over her. She rode it out, curling her fingers deep inside, rolling her clit between her fingers, her legs shaking a bit. She eased her fingers out, gasping a bit, and began to actually shower, a small smile across her mouth. Five Saturday was sunny, but cool. A fine day to work the forge. Morgan was out and stoking the pit by sunup. He had just pulled the first bar out of the coals when he heard a car pull into the driveway. He smiled a moment before beginning to hammer. He was working steel today, and wanted this piece to be a good one. He glanced up and saw Lily walking up, the rough dagger jammed in her belt like some kind of garden party buccaneer. It made a jarring addition to her loose, bright sundress and the woven hemp belt that was holding it. She smiled as she sat on the stool, placing the knife on the workbench. "You are gonna cut yourself pretty good if you keep carrying that thing around like that, you know." He said mildly as he hammered. "I only carry it like that when I'm walking. In the car it lays across my lap." "Ah. Well, maybe we can do something about that later. Come here a minute." He said stepping back from the anvil. She hopped up and stepped over. Morgan picked up his spare apron and hung it over her head. Dangling from her neck, it almost reached her feet. She smiled, looking a little confused, but tied it around her waist. He handed her a small ball-peen hammer and held the steel with the tongs. She looked at him, her eyes questioning. He just smiled and pointed at the metal. She gave it a couple of light taps, not sure what she was supposed to be doing. "Hit it harder, you won't hurt it. Try to make the flat part of the hammer land flat on the steel." He said, placing his hand on her back. She smiled a little wider and hit again, harder. This time, she saw the metal bar dent a bit where she hit it. "If I had known I was going to be working today, I would have worn something a little different," She said as she hammered, getting a feel for it. "Well, it's not exactly ideal for learning how to knife fight either," He chuckled, watching her work. He could see that beyond the dainty exterior, she had the potential needed to learn something like this. Her strikes were already showing improvement. She quickly became more consistent as she hammered. She began hitting harder, starting to like it. It felt like a kind of release, just hammering the shit out of something. After her hands and arms began to tire, Morgan took over again. He began to quickly shape and mold the steel. She watched a while, trying to build the courage to ask what she had been wondering. Finally, she simply asked. "When you said it had been a while since anyone had kissed you, how long did you mean?" "Awhile. Six years or so." He said quietly, staring at the metal. "Six yea-. Wow. Awhile. Why so long? I mean, didn't anyone, didn't you, well. Why?" She sputtered, not sure how to ask what she meant. "Six years ago, uh, well," He started, putting the hammer down. He stared at the metal, trying to say it. "Six years ago my wife died. I haven't, you know, gotten out much." He said quietly. "Oh, oh Morgan, I'm sorry, I," She started, a hand over her mouth. She touched his shoulder gently. "It's okay. I, it's okay. It was six years ago." He said, almost to himself. He felt her put her arms around him and he turned to her. She rested her head on his chest and rubbed his back. Slowly, his arms came up and held her. He looked down at her, holding her in his arms, and felt a strange kind of rushing relief. He hadn't stood like this with any one in a long time, and he had forgotten just how nice it felt to hold someone. She looked up and stared into his eyes. He leaned his head down and kissed her. The kiss was brief, but powerful. When he broke it, he saw her keep her eyes closed a moment longer and bite her lip. When she opened her eyes, she saw the relief on his face. She felt a kind of relief as well, feeling that maybe this was going to be okay. She rose up and kissed him, opening her mouth, and letting her tongue seek his. They stood that way for a long time, each both giving and taking from the kiss. When it finally broke, they both felt a sense of 'this is right after all' that was nearly palpable. "Come with me." He said, his voice soft once again. She held his hand as they walked to the door and went inside. He walked to the rear of the house, leading her to his bedroom. When he closed the door, she realized that this was the first time she had left the knife behind since he had given it to her. And she felt that that was fine. She unbuttoned his shirt, taking her time, letting her fingers run across his chest and stomach as she did. He let the shirt drop when she finished. He undid her belt, letting it drop to the floor. He unbuttoned her dress, revealing her smooth, pale skin. She wore a simple pink bra underneath, and matching pink panties. She let the dress fall and undid his belt. She undid his fly and let the pants fall. He wore nothing underneath, and his cock jumped up, free of restraint. She saw a nasty scar that made her pause. It started at the base of his shaft, and churned its way across the wing of his right hip and down his right thigh; a wide, ragged pink and purple mess that looked like it almost took his entire leg. "The accident. The truck door, bent in, it, my leg, the tearing," He said, his hand drifting to cover the ugly thing. She took his wrist, stopping him from blocking it, and ran the fingers of her other hand across it, feeling all the bumps and divots, how it was thick in places and thin in others. She let her fingers glide up to where it met his cock and wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft. He groaned, a long low sound from deep in his barrel chest. She gently pushed him back until he sat on the bed. She took off her bra and let him slide her panties down. Her lips were wet and swollen, waiting. He kissed her stomach as she stood before him, his short whiskers tickling her belly button. His hands went to her ass, kneading gently, and she moaned. His hands felt better than she had imagined, and she had imagined they felt wonderful. She knelt in front of him, running her fingers over his chest and stomach. He felt her breath on his head for a moment, warm and fast, before her tongue ran around his tip. She licked away his precum and smiled before lowering her mouth onto him. She started slowly, but built speed quickly, sucking harder and harder until he felt like she had drawn most of the blood in his body into his rigid dick. He didn't think he had been this hard in years. He was gasping and very close to cumming when suddenly she stopped. He looked down and saw her grinning. "Not yet." She said simply, and pushed him onto his back. She planted a knee on either die of his waist and rocked her hips, rubbing her slit back and forth, up and down his shaft, her hands planted on his chest. He ran his up her sides and cupped her breasts, relishing the soft yet firm feeling of them, the rigid points of her nipples, and the steady thud of her heart. She stopped with her hips rocked forward, his head pressed to her hole, and ground down, wriggling her hips slightly. She reached down and pressed on his head as she rocked down again, guiding him in. They both held their breath as he sank in, not breathing again until she stopped with him fully in, her ass resting on his balls. She began to lift and fall, her eyes closed and her mouth open, lifting, then letting herself fall swiftly, burying him deep with each drop. He grabbed her waist to help lift her, and she realized she did not have to lift at all; he easily hefted her up and down, as though she weighed almost nothing. She found an amazing thrill of pleasure, feeling the strength and power in his hands and arms as he moved her. The feeling of near powerlessness was intoxicating. Her small fingers in the shower now seemed like a garden hose compared to the tidal wave of feeling she received from his strength. He lifted her once more and in one graceful roll she was pinned under him, rolled onto her back. She squealed with pleasure as he settled down over her. He thrusted deep inside, reaching deeper with the new angle, and she felt the wave approaching. She heard a crackle and his grunt, but thought nothing of it, as he never slowed or lost his rhythm. When her orgasm hit, it hit hard. Her stomach tensed hard, and her walls squeezed him tightly. He gasped, and sped up, beginning another orgasm deep in her immediately. He came with her, thundering into her with each hard pulse of his dick, shooting deep inside. She cried out at the warmth it brought, and dug her nails into the backs of his arms. He held himself above her on his elbows to keep from crushing her under his weight, and she pulled his head down and kissed him fiercely, her tongue lashing against his. He returned in kind, but she felt him trembling. She did not think it was from the sex, as his breathing was also ragged. She broke the kiss and saw his face. His teeth were now gritted, his skin red, the cords in his neck tight and clearly visible. "What's wrong?" she asked, concerned, as he rolled off of her. He didn't answer immediately, just laid there, on his back, his fists clenched. She rolled over to him and put a hand on his chest. "Please. My leg. Lift my leg, fast." He grunted, his eyes clenched shut, as he gripped his right thigh where the scar scrawled down. She grabbed his knee and jerked it up. There was a loud crunch and his hip jerked. "What?" She began, more worried than ever, but his face was more relaxed. Not calm, but not the knot of pain it was. "Sorry. It still tends to dislocate. When I strain it. But it was worth the strain. Just give me a minute." He said, his voice still a bit tight. "Don't apologize, it's okay. But in the future, let me know if it's gonna happen again, alright? You scared the hell out of me." "Sorry." He shrugged. "Well, I guess from here on out, I'm on top then." She grinned.