Fairy Tales Ch. 06: Rusty

Rusty

"Find a man!" her mother had been telling her since she came of age. "But why?" the milkmaid replied. "A woman needs a man! To cut wood! To fix the house! To plow the field!"

But the milkmaid saw no need for a man, not for any of that. She cut wood for her mother every day. She had fixed the chimney when the storm blew the top down - making the mortar, fitting the stones.

And she was a milkmaid! No plowing was required! She put the cattle in the pasture; she brought them back to the barn; she milked them and carried the milk to the cans for the dairy to fetch.

They made a good living, and no man was going to make that any better.

Still some days, when she tended the cows in the field, she wondered. Other women needed a man, for children and to make a family.

She would like a child.

Could she, without a man? These thoughts occupied the long hours.

One day a bull crossed the fence from the neighbor's field. She was not alarmed; the neighbor would soon come fetch it.

But the bull began to sniff at her cows, bothering them and turning them. Soon the bull had a group of cows under a tree.

It heaved itself up! straddling a cow. Now it had its red member, swelled many times its normal size, dangling between its legs!

It plunged it into the cow, bellowing and thrusting. After a moment it withdrew, a gush of white spume accompanying the now-reduced member.

For its part the cow took no notice, even continuing to browse the tender grass in the partial shade of the tree.

All afternoon this was repeated, the bull getting huge, the straddling, the bellowing and the spume, the cow unconcerned.

Was this why she needed a man? To straddle her, to impale her! To produce the white spume?

This thinking consumed her thoughts all that day and the next.

The neighbor came to fetch the bull.

"You owe me six cruckets! To pay for the bull's service!"

"I did not require the bull! I did not make a bargain with you! It's your fence and your bull!"

She sent the neighbor away, muttering about calves and taking it to the mayor. She was unconcerned; she had truly made no bargain and would not pay.

In a season her brown cows whelped fine spotted calves - spotted like the bull! Now she knew what she had suspected.

The neighbor came demanding a calf; she gladly gave it him, to quell the argument and because this new learning was worth a calf.

For children she would have to be impaled. But how to produce the spume? Was the cow or the bull responsible?

Reasoning it was the cow that made the calf, then the bull had little to do with it.

Perhaps it was only the threat of further impalement that induced the cow to create one!

She experimented on herself. First with her fingers she investigated the folds beneath her bush. There was indeed an opening for a member to impale here.

It was even exciting to explore! First her hand pressing at the opening, then one finger inside, then two or three!

She soon switched to bigger things - a carrot from the garden, washed at the pump. A gourd handle. A cucumber - that was best! Slick and waxy with just a hint of bumps!

But no spume. No children.

One night, watching mother churning the butter and pouring off into a bowl, she thought "The white spume! Buttermilk is similar, and it's produced by the churn!"

So, when mother retired that night, she determined to try. The dasher had a long smooth handle protruding from the cover. Very like the bull's member!

Removing her breeches and standing over the churn, she carefully lowered herself until the handle met her delicate hole. Ouch! It was rough.

Thinking quickly, she took some butter and worked it into the dasher, then tried again. Wriggling a bit, the handle was soon inside her!

The bull had plunged - so she reached below and grasped the dasher, plunging it into herself.

Oooh! That was nice!

A little more plunging and she was worked up into a lather. She began to hump up and down, matching the dasher thrusts with lowerings of her hips. This was better!

Before she knew it, she was flowing. Her knees felt weak, but careful! don't fall upon the churn! She plunged one-two-three times more on shaky knees, then it happened.

A sudden flow from her body, covering her hand! She lifted carefully off the handle, then collapsed onto the hearth rug. She lay there a bit, just quivering and breathing.

When she had her senses back, she examined her hand. Yes! She had done it! A white spume, clearly!

She repeated the experiment most nights for a fortnight. It was lots of fun, it occupied her quiet evenings, and if it brought a child then all the better!

But no change occurred that would seem a child was on the way. She didn't throw up like the women of the village said should happen. She didn't get huge in the stomach. And she certainly didn't produce a child.

Lying in the sweet hay one day, watching the cows and the clouds and absently diddling herself with two fingers, she spoke aloud.

"Oh, how I wish for a child! I wish the butter churn would bring from me the right spume! Or the carrot, or the cucumber!"

It happened a sprite of the wood was nearby collecting pollen for its supper and heard her.

"She thinks a churn can make a child! Or a vegetable! Silly! Of course, it takes iron to make a womb quicken!"

For it was that way with the sprites of the wood.

For mischief the sprite put a thought in her head: "If I fuck the nail on the fence, it will bring forth a child!"

The milkmaid's gaze fastened upon the gate. An iron spike rose proud from the hinge, so that the gate might swing.

"Why not!" she reasoned. "Perhaps it's something in the meadow, that brings forth a child!" She'd even heard women in the village talk of being taken by their husbands on a creek bank or in a wood.

She climbed the gate, scooted along its top until she could bring herself over the hinge. Lowering carefull! carefully! she brought her wet hole to the spike.

It was cold but worn smooth from years of the gate hinge's action. Gently she bobbed up and down, feeling its uncaring length enter her, straightening her insides to conform to its curve, then pulled gently out again.

This was different! She repeated until her legs began to quiver in the familiar way, increasing her bobbing until she was nearly! nearly! there.

Ahhh! She felt the spume begining to spurt around the spike, wetting it and dripping to the grass.

She lost her senses and fell from the gate, landing in the soft hay. For a time, she lay, panting.

The wood sprite had seen all and was amused. For spite it cast a spell, quickening the milkmaid's womb. An iron child, from an iron dick! Then it left.

The milkmaid lay in the sun and considered. She felt no different. Silly girl! To think a child could be made by a churn or a spike! It seemed a man was the only way.

Yet the next day she ate her meal and then threw up. Her mother cast a searching eye upon her.

"Have you been fucking the laborer in the next field? Did he cross the fence and put his long cock into your wet hole?" she scolded.

"No mother! I have had no man! I need no man! It was an iron spike that brought forth a child from me!"

She was jubilant! A child at last!

Mother was doubtful, but what could she do? but watch as her daughter's belly grew, her tits grew heavy, her nipples darkened.

In the time it takes to conceive and grow, a baby was born to the milkmaid under a dark moon. On the bed, straining, her mother caught the strange child as it came squalling into the world.

Its cries were as the gate swinging to and fro in the wind.

"Is it a girl?" the milkmaid asked.

"No, it's a strange little boy. A hard, red, strange little boy." Mother was still doubtful but who could have sired this child? An iron spike? It made as much sense as anything else.

The boy grew. Called Rusty, his favorite plaything was the fire. One day she found him dancing in the hearth, the flames harming him not!

In the woods he could cut saplings with his hands alone, fingers for saw-teeth. Soon he was cutting all the wood, even the mature trees, and carrying them to the axe yard!

He carried the milk now, lifting even the full cans into the dairyman's cart with ease.

In a high wind a stone dislodged from the chimney and fell Crack! onto his head. His mother cried out! sure he had been killed.

But Rusty smiled and skipped to her, showing her how the stone had broken on his hard red head.

The boy grew into a man, and desired to see the world.

One day the dairyman had a tale to tell.

"The Earl's daughter was taken by goblins! They desire the maids of men to do their labor in the dark holes of the mountain!"

"Who will go down and bring her back?" Rusty was concerned.

"No one will go! No one has ever gone into the dark holes of the mountain and returned!"

"I will go! The goblins cannot keep me from their lair!"

The dairyman was going to laugh but considered Rusty and all he knew of him.

"Maybe so! Climb aboard and I will take you to the Earl!"

Rusty hopped onto the tailgate, the cart tipping dangerously from his weight for now he was full-grown and built like iron beams.

Arriving at the manor house, the Earl was mourning his daughter and did not want to see visitors. But Rusty just walked past the guards, ignoring their weapons and pushing the largest of them aside.

"I will bring back your daughter! Take me to the lair of Goblins!"

The Earl had never set eyes on this strange man, red as rust, rough face and hands, hair like iron nails, smooth limbs shining in the light of the fireplace.

"No man can face the Goblins! They are as rock, immune to our weapons!"

Rusty laughed. "I am as iron! Immune to their blows!"

He invited the guardsmen to do their worst. They rained down blows on his head and body, making no dent but just ringing like the blacksmith's hammer.

"The Goblins seal their dark holes with boulders, too large to move with 100 mules!"

"I can lift any boulder!"

He took the Earl's huge oaken table from the floor and flung it out the window. It crashed into a hillside a thousand feet away.

"Maybe you can!"

"I can but try!" Rusty was not truly boastful; his mother had raised him better than that.

So, they took him to a boulder in a hillside, where stood a guard of 10 men. They stood aside when Rusty approached with the Earl.

One hand closed as to be a blade he plunged into the boulder until buried to his shoulder. He heaved! and heaved!

The boulder groaned and cracked! It rolled away.

A dark hole indeed! It descended into total darkness.

"You will not be able to find her in the dark!"

Rusty thought and answered.

"Douse me with pitch! and set it alight. I will see by the light of my flame!"

This they did. As a flaming torch of a man, he strode into the dark.

His flickering light revealed stone steps which he descended.

A chamber appeared in the flickering gloom, inhabited by 20 goblins! For this they must be, bent and grotesque and made of stone and chert.

Their howling was as grinding stone under a wagon wheel, terrible to hear! They ran to him and rained down blows from their granite fists!

He rang! and rang! with the blows, but not a scratch appeared on his shiny limbs.

Making a fist, he pounded them each on the head! Crack! Their skulls split, spilling gravel onto the floor. When all had been vanquished, he saw among the gravel bits of color.

It proved to be curious gemstones!

Down further steps, each broader than the last until he was on a grand staircase, he found a chamber of crystal and gold. In it a hundred goblins chanted and worked.

A strange statue stood at the back, tall and straight, rough and smooth. He did not recognize the deity. He studied the goblins instead.

Some chipped the curious gemstones from the walls, which they carried to one on a raised platform.

This one was surrounded by chanting scores of smaller goblins, female in their form. Their combined voice was as a terrible earthquake, grinding and cracking!

The priest, for such she was, would take a handful of gemstones and invest them into a stone bowl with powders she ground with her very hands.

Clapping another bowl over it to form a rough ball, she would place it on a hole in the platform.

At intervals a jet of steam would emit from the bowels of the earth, making the ball melt and fuse!

Another would take the reformed stone and place it in a pile with hundreds of others. Looking carefully in the gloom, he saw they had gemstone eyes that rolled and looked about the room!

The goblins were creating an army with their strange magics! First the heads, and then who knows?

This would not do, for with only a small army of goblin soldiers they could easily conquer the lands of men.

With a bellow of steel, he strode into the chamber. All goblins turned as one to gaze upon him. Even the eyes of the stone heads turned to look at him, glimmering like a hundred fireflies.

The chamber grew silent as they face one another. Then the priestess raised an encrusted arm and pointed to the statue. They groaned as one, a deep sepulchral moan that made even Rusty shiver.

For now, he saw, the statue was of him! Down to the last nail in the head, the iron limbs, the rough face, the shiny torso. How could this be?

The goblins turned back to him. The females who had been chanting, now began to clack and cackle. They swarmed toward him, but not to attack!

Caressing him, fondling his limbs and torso, they seemed to desire him.

His breeches having long burned to ash, his rusty red cock began to swing proud. This they fondled, rubbing their stone hands and bodies on it to produce a screeching scrape.

Somehow this inflamed him, not with desire for the goblins but desire, nonetheless.

The boldest goblin climbed his body and thrust herself down on his blade of a cock. She strained down upon it as it cleaved into her, insanely cackling.

With a crack! she split in two, the pieces of her body bouncing this way and that. Her head, intact, rebounded into the crowd, the eyes rolling in ecstasy!

Another took her place, thrashing wildly on his proud member, cackling and screeching in turn, shattering in the same way.

They began to mob him in a frenzy, each intent on pillaging his member for her own strange pleasure!

He stood his ground, letting each have her way with him, fucking his iron and bursting to oblivion.

His iron cock beginning to ache and grow hot with the constant grinding. It even began to glow red! But he could not stay their ardor, there were so many.

As the mob began to thin and the pile of rubble to build around him, it became easier for each to climb and impale herself on his cock. It took only a moment now, for each to destroy itself.

Finally, the priestess herself climbed him. With an uneasy groan she grappled him, grinding her body into his, breathing some foul sulphureous effluent from cracks in her face, and shoved! herself onto his steaming member.

She resisted much longer than the others, his cock feeling the heat of her core, the pressure growing past reason. But she too finally with a great cracking! fell to pieces, her fragments seeming to flow and melt from the heat of their coupling.

The miners, strangely unmoved by this spectacle, turned to continue their labors. The gems they collected and piled on the dais. But no priestess lived to invest them into new goblin skulls.

He crossed this strange chamber and searched for other tunnels. Behind the statue his found it - a large golden door. It resisted his efforts to open.

Thrusting his red-hot cock into the keyhole, the gold turned bright; shimmered; flowed and dripped down the door. The lock fell away and the door swung free.

Inside he found a great black goblin, seated on a rough golden stool. Behind her there stood a human woman, naked and smeared with soot! She ran a rough comb of quartz through the goblin's strange asbestos hair.

With a roar this queen of goblins thrust the girl aside and faced him. The woman fell on her rump on hard stone. "Ow!"

He saw the goblin eyes glow brightly as she recognized what he was.

Stumping toward him on pillars of quartz laced with diamonds, she reached her crusted arms to embrace him.

"You may not want to look at this!" he warned. The woman backed away.

The queen thrust him to the floor. Grasping his red iron cock, she positioned herself over him and dropped!

With a clang! of iron on stone, he entered her. She began to rock on him, rising and falling like a jackhammer. She began chanting a strange gravelly chant.

The floor beneath him was getting pounded to powder; his cock became red then orange then white!

Who would fail first? It would be him!

With both iron fists combined, he raised his arms and struck her on the head! With a boom! she was rocked but continued as before.

Twice more he struck Boom! Each time she was only stunned for a moment.

He tried her quartz breast, beating on it as before. She rocked faster, her desire inflamed by his love-play.

Only one more trick to try! Raising his hips to meet her thrusting, he cracked! against her granite hips, meeting her blow for blow.

Her eyes glowed bright then brighter. Her chant rose to a crunching, crackling crescendo! then with a great thundering groan she split, from cunt to head, and fell into rubble around him.

Her great basalt head rolled away, the gemstone eyes going dim then flickering out.

The woman had been hiding behind a pillar but peeking around from time to time. She was looking at him how.

"Who are you, to defeat the great Goblin queen with your cock?" She seemed unperturbed.

"I am just Rusty, a lad from the glen where my mother the milkmaid raised me."

"Why have you come? To defeat the Goblins, who were preparing an army to defeat mankind?"

"Um, well, no. That just happened. I actually came to find you and return you to your father the Earl!"

"Oh, that old fool! I left with the Goblins to evade his meddling, grasping ways. He wanted to marry me to some fat merchant. So, I read the old books and learned the goblin tongue!"

She spat out some cracking, sputtering sounds that seemed somewhat like the cackling he'd heard before.

"They accepted you?"

"Oh yes! I am a woman, and they accept all women. Long ago their men tried to meddle in their lives, so they shorted them brains and made them slaves."

That matched what he'd seen in the great hall - the men laboring at the mining; the paltry dribble of gemstone in each skull the priestess created.

"Well, do you want to go back?"

"No, I want to be queen of the goblins, enslave man and live as a queen! Would you help me in that? You look like a useful fellow."

Rusty considered. "I would not like to be a slave, but I would want a wife. Could we be man and wife?"

She looked doubtful. His cock was still steaming.

"I like your strength and your kindness. But that cock would have to be tamed! Try quenching it in the water streaming from the wall of this chamber."

He peered into the gloom (as his own light was failing, the tar having been consumed) and saw a stream flowing from the wall through cracks in the floor.

Jutting his cock into the stream, it sizzled and cooled. Because it was iron it actually grew tougher as it was annealed!

When it was cool enough, the woman bade him sit on the stool. She sat gingerly in his lap and adjusted herself so her naked sex kissed the root of his member.

"Oooh! I could get used to this!" She cooed. Gently riding him up and down, but not quite to the tip, she grew wetter and redder.

His cock where it was wet, grew orange and slick with rust. His eyes began to roll up as the exquisite feel of her tender sex on his bounced around his brain.

"You feel so much better than the goblin women!"