The Smithy Gets Her Fill

The heavy oak front door of the Crossed Swords Inn swung open with a boisterous cry of "Evening, Prim!" as Brunhilde Beryl ducked into the foyer. The door's filigree silver chimes swung wildly, and clanged discordantly before her hand shot out and abruptly cut short their pestering. They let out a tiny peal of protest as she loosed her grip.

A casual observer might have noted the stocky, muscle-bound, well fed woman with the rosy face, raven's feet and brown hair gathered in a businesslike topknot. They might have remarked at her abrupt physicality, too. But most would have missed her momentary anxious cringe when the bells rang out.

"You're not a fan of the chimes, Brunhilde?" said the woman at the desk. "Not to worry, we'll change them." She was busily scribbling in a ledger.

"Alright, I admit it. They drive me nuts. Weirdly grating for something so fine looking, and frankly, I've always preferred to announce myself. Don't worry about it though. I know much work you put into arranging the place, and I'd hate to impose. Honestly I feel better just sayin' it."

Madame Primrose Xaviere Greenleaf, the owner of the Crossed Swords Inn, closed the book, and met her gaze with bright eyes and the usual knowing smile. "First of all, it's wonderful to see you again, my dear. And second, impose my little brown butt! As women in business, you and I are made to worry about imposing all the time; in my house, I want you to impose. In fact I insist on it. You're one of my most valued clients. And far more pleasant than anyone else on that short list. Alright?"

Prim was tiny compared to Brunhilde. But she exuded calm authority from her ageless golden skin that her smallness belied, like a humble mushroom sitting atop a vast mycelium, connecting far-away places and times to this little mining town and this 'house of ill repute'. The mayor's words, that last bit. Not anyone else's in Emeryville.

The Madame waited patiently while Brun took a deep breath, sighed wearily, and drank in the room's sakura fragrance. This was a mandatory first step in doing business. One that undeniably improved the whole experience.

"So. Welcome, Brun. How's the shop?" The ledger was now away, and Prim had both elbows out on the podium, cradling her chin in her black-clawed fingers. Luxuriant dark brown ringlets spilled onto the polished marble surface.

"Great, as usual," said Brunhilde, absently fingering the pink stucco wall. "Gods how it does keep me busy, though. The army needs spears; the men of Freetown need horseshoes and fortifications; and our own mayor continues his obsession with wrought ironwork. I swear he must have some sort of smuggling business on the side, to afford this."

Prim chuckled. "It's the Vale, darling, everybody has a shady side business. Except for me of course! I am proud to have a shady up-front business."

"The town's lucky to have you, and your fine establishment. And with me and two apprentices being constantly busy with orders, I can't think of a better place to spend my windfall. If only I had time to visit more often."

"You're too kind. Now, what can we do today to lighten your load and bring you some joy?"

The mighty woman scratched her head. "Well... I could use someone handsome to work the knots out of my back, like always, and then a nice stiff dick. Doesn't have to be huge. But, uh, I'd like someone who can support my weight." She blushed a little at this, a slight but noticeable skew from her normal pink complexion. "Makes m' feel good." Her folks were said to bear traces of orc ancestry, evidenced in their stature. It made her an exceptional blacksmith. But it was also, sometimes, a point of personal and physical awkwardness, in a town built for men and elves.

"Got it," said Prim. "A sturdy lad, good with his hands. Tell me Brun, have you ever been with an infernal?"

Brunhilde blushed harder. "Ah, you know me, Prim. I'm pretty provincial. Not that I'm opposed, of course! Is, uh... is it true what they say about tiefling men?"

"That they have barbs on their dicks they have to file off regularly? Ha, no. But some of them have a nasty little spine right behind the balls, so watch out for that if you wish to finger one--"

At this, Brunhilde snorted and giggled.

"--What, it's possible! But, they're eager, agile, and practically indestructible. And I happen to have one working for me. Tobin is a sellsword, so you being an armorer, I figure you two'll have things to talk about. Very fine gentleman, very good with his hands. And you could drop a dragon on him. Really."

***

"You were expecting taller, eh?" said the impish man with a wink. He had tough, mottled lilac and blue skin, and a beautiful androgynous face, with small ivory horns at the temples. He was also quite short, a little shorter even than the Madame.

"Not really, I've met a few tieflings--or do you prefer to be called infernals? Sorry."

"It's fine, either is fine."

"Mostly I've just never met one so bloody cute, if I may say so. Doesn't hurt that I could lift you off the ground quite easily. Oh, where are my manners. I'm Brunhilde Beryl." She offered a hand, and he shook and kissed it eagerly.

"Tobin Hammertoss. And I believe you," he replied, licking his lips. "I could also lift you, you know. They build us dense like that. But it's pretty clear you would win in a brawl, and I find that very attractive."

She grinned despite herself. "Care to share a pint, mercenary?"

"Hells yes."

Soon they were situated by the fire, she in a great armchair with her boots up on the ledge of the fireplace, he standing behind, applying his dexterous fingers to the wood-like flesh of her neck and shoulders. Every so often, Brun would pass him the tankard of ale, and he would pause in his labors to enjoy a swig. The Madame was thoughtful enough to have a ready supply of fortified Emery Vale ale for sturdier patrons--this stuff would put an elf under the table, but it was only just enough to make demons and larger humans feel something.

"An infernal sellsword working for the Madame... there's got to be an interesting story there. Were you involved in the recent intrigue with the cultists? If so, we are all in your debt."

"There is a story there. But unfortunately, it's not mine to tell. Suffice it to say, the mission she helped us complete bordered on suicidal. And since the quest yielded no treasure, and just about burned through our coffers, we offered to assist her for a while as repayment. We've all sort of had our fill of adventuring for a while. But what about you? What brings a beautiful woman like you to a place like this?"

"This might surprise you, Tobin, but human men seem intimidated that I'm a head taller and could lift them with one hand"--at this, she raised one arm out to her side, where he took it and began to massage it vigorously. "Thank you, that is lovely. But it's more than that. I'm also busy all the time, and not the most sociable of women. I'm most comfortable when talking shop." Raising the other arm for him, she reached down to her boot with the free hand, and drew a concealed dagger, setting it nonchalantly on the stone ledge.

"Your work? May I?"

"Of course."

Tobin stopped, bent over and picked up the dagger. "Solid Vale-steel! That's worth a pretty penny." With the practiced air of an assassin he turned the blade over, spun it on his palm, and launched into a brief knife fighting drill, tail coiled around his waist. The magnetite-tinged blade practically sang through the air in his capable hands.

Brunhilde, who had lifted partially out of her seat to turn and watch the spectacle, beamed and clapped. "You must get a lot of women with moves like that."

Tobin blushed slightly himself, returning the blade. "Only the brave ones like you."

She shrugged, and settled back down as he continued massaging around her spine. "Feh, I don't know about that. There's a difference between being brave and just plain not being physically threatened by most things."

"You were a soldier once, weren't you? In the war against the mountain orcs?"

"I was. Did Greenleaf tell you about that?"

"Nah, an educated guess. We infernals can feel it when somebody's done their share of killing. You have, and by necessity not by choice."

"My uh, my home village was on the frontier. The raiders hit us early, before any troops had arrived from Matlan. We drove them off. But not before they'd set half the village on fire and killed our elder. We packed up everything we could, moved out of the foothills and into Matlan. I was just starting out as a journeyman blacksmith, but I found I was also quite good at cracking orc skulls. So, I joined up. Spent five years fighting and armoring for the elves."

Tobin paused again, took another swig of beer, and came around to one side to face her. Handing her the last of the pint, he asked, "Is it true what they say about elven soldiers? That they fuck constantly?"

Brunhilde shrugged. "We didn't sleep in their tents, so I don't really know the extent of it. I know after a big engagement, some of the officers really got wild. Fucking each other, getting sucked off by their troops. If we were near town, they'd hire a working girl, and pay her a small fortune to come out to the command tent and get passed around like an apple cobbler. They didn't trouble us auxiliary troops about it.

There was this one time, though. A sergeant who oversaw my unit, came over looking all awkward and tipsy, and complimented me on my hair and breasts. Then he asked if I would stick my thumb up his bum." She waggled her huge fingers as she said this.

The half-demon's eyes went wide, and he took a seat with his back to the fire, impervious to its heat. "What a little perv!...So did you do it?"

"I did. He was cute, and I was flush with adrenaline and more than a little curious. So I pounded my beer. And I followed him to his tent, and we kissed a little, and then he got on top of me and played my cunt like a lute, and I packed his ass like a cannon until he screamed and oozed come onto my tits. And you know what? I was right. That sergeant, whose orders commanded the respect of elves and men and more, he screamed just like the girl in the neighboring tent."

She looked up and saw Tobin was rapt with attention and admiration. "That," he said, "is a really hot story. Speaking of which, shall I warm the bed for us?"

"Yeah, definitely. But how are you going to..." She'd noticed that the room was missing a bed warmer to fill with coals from the fireplace. Tobin paid no mind to this. He just walked over to the wrought-iron bed opposite the fireplace, lifted the covers, set his leathery hand down on the sheets and...

Nothing at first. Then, a wisp of smoke rose from one corner of the mattress. "Oops," he said. "I never really learned fine control of my fire magic. I can warm a bed if I'm really careful, I can warm the big muscles of the back just a little, but in the middle ground between those, I'm dodgy."

Brunhilde smiled and stood. "You infernals sure are full of surprises."

Good as his word, Tobin knelt over her on the bed, and carefully spread just a drop of his fire across her back and ass. It softened her flesh a little, and amplified the soothing effect of his leathery fingers working into those muscles. He worked in silence a while.

"Oh, yeah. I can practically feel the heat of your shop. All day long, this meat supports you and the hundred-pound bundles of metal that you carry around in the hot wind."

"I can't tell if you're bullshitting me or not," Brunhilde said, mostly into the pillow. "But what you're doing is working."

"Good. Now, what're you into? I hope you don't mind I'm frank about it. Even before I worked here, I was pretty slutty..."

"Tobin." She turned to look back at him. "Do I look like someone who has trouble being businesslike?"

The tiefling snickered. "Fair point. So what do you like to do. Intercourse, outercourse, oral, anal? Some kinky shit?"

"Mostly, I want to ride your pretty face and your pretty dick." She turned over onto her back and peeled away the last of her clothing, the long undies that still clung to her calves. In the chilly air her nipples were stiff as iron. She smiled serenely and patted the bed. "I assume it's a pretty dick, anyway." Tobin climbed on, and into her waiting arms, slipping off his shirt in the process.

"Very pretty, I'm told."

His kisses had a spicy warmth. More than mere physical heat, not quite the organic burn of jinji root or capsiflor, but something ethereal that licked at the human mind. His tongue was likewise unique. It was quite long and slender, capable of wrapping around hers. But he didn't overuse the effect. She helped him out of his trousers, noting that his butt was a soft, supple leather just like his face, the muscles like taut bundles of Matlani hemp rope. Tough plate-like derma, like the plating at his temples, adorned the pelvic crests, the spinal column, and the base of his whiplike tail.

"That ass is marvelous," Brunhilde whispered.

"So are these tits." Eagerly he cupped them in his hands, observing her response to the slightest of touches. Quite without warning, his tongue flicked out and across her right nipple. She shivered and giggled. He kept one hand there while the other slid all the way down her belly to her mound. "And this body! Soft skin belying such strength."

"You like it?"

"Hells, yes. I look forward to being crushed by it. But first..."

Tobin leaned into kissing Brun, short, neat little kisses, their lips joining and parting over and over with just the tiniest brush of his hot tongue. His hand still lingered in her bushy pubes, and presently he dragged his fingers through them, and whispered,

"Do you want me to--"

"Touch my cunt? Gods, yes."

He began to lazily slide his fingers between her legs and along the periphery of her cunt, picking up her slick moisture as he went. "Mmm," he said, pulling back from the kiss a moment.

"Mmm. You, sir, are a fucking tease."

"Me? Wha--oh, yes. How rude of me, I forgot to knock on your door." With an evil smirk on his face, his middle went immediately to Brunhilde's clit, and circled around it. Her whole body shuddered.

"That's much better, yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me," she said, grabbing his shoulders to pull him in.

In a minute, she was clambering aside so he could get beneath her and she astride him. At last, she got a good look at his dick. It, too, was a mottled mix of purple and blue pastel hues, but with a splash of gold thrown in. It was wickedly upcurved, not like any human dick she had seen. But in other regards it looked not so different: veiny, ever so slightly conical, the skin stretched so taut it shone in the firelight. She reached out.

"My gods, it is pretty. And so hard! Feels like it might burst."

"It won't. But I might, from waiting to taste that wet cunt." The prospect of riding him, without restraint or fear of doing damage, had her drenched.

"Okay, okay," she said. "Just give me a tap on the leg if you need to come up for air!"

"I wum," he said, muffled as Brun sat down on his face. His hands reached out for hers as he began to slide his tongue around her labia and clit. She squirmed at a sudden swipe of the latter, and bucked her hips. This only caused him to tighten his grip on her hands and to bury himself harder, which caused her to lose herself the more... until she really was riding him like a stubborn young horse, and he was masturbating furiously.

Then she felt his slender tongue slip its way into her, feeling her out. The dampness between her legs became a continuous trickle, and then briefly a deluge. She cried out in awe as Tobin did his best to lap it up. Something warm hit her on the shoulder.

"Oh, my Gods! Sorry Tobin, I didn't know I was going to gush like that."

The messy-faced infernal sucked air like his whole body was a hollow cavity, and then cackled with glee as he easily lifted her and deposited her next to him. His right hand was distinctly sticky. "Didn't know I was going to, either. Can we take a beer break?"

He offered her a towel from the nightstand, got up and replaced the covers, and threw on trousers. Then he ran off to fill the beer mug, his tail buckle still swinging free. Brunhilde rested a hand where he had lain. The linens were nice and toasty.

"Oh good, you're back." She was now sitting at the bedside. "Come join me. I want to hear more about you, the parts you can tell."

"Well, for starters, Fa was human--a former auxiliary soldier like yourself--and was barely in the picture. Ma always told me he'd rescued her from the devastation of Islahan. But I think the truth is messier than she paints it. Lot of women didn't leave the island by choice. She never really seemed to miss him, or recount anything good he'd done, save for bringing her to Freetown. Thanks." He paused to drink from the mug. "Didn't need him anyway. We did well in town purely on the basis of her enterprise: she was a tailor, and then a maidservant, and nowadays she's a schoolteacher."

"Wait a second. Islahan? How old are you, if I may ask?"

Tobin hesitated. "Twenty-five."

"You're just a baby!"

He sneered. "I am nothing of the sort."

"Anyway, it seems like a peaceful enough place to start," said Brunhilde.

"You'd think so. Unfortunately, while Ma was out building on the goodwill Fa's name brought, being an exemplar of our kind for the locals, I was getting beat up by their kids in the street. Got us in some trouble when I decided to fight back and I broke some stupid kid's arm. I feel bad now, I apparently cost her a bunch of business. But I was hurt and angry and very caught up in my shit. So, at age 14 she sent me to the trades. Prominent among the trades of Freetown, of course, is the mercs guild."

"Shit." Air whistled between Brunhilde's teeth.

"Even at the mercs I stuck out like a sore thumb. So I was still getting targeted, but this time, legitimized as sparring. And when I sought revenge--came at my bully with a homemade tail spur, kicked him to the ground and cut his face--the instructor laughed, and told him not to poke hornet nests. And said to me, 'Nice attitude, but work on your fundamentals.' Finally, kids stopped fucking with me, and I could focus on my studies."

She passed him the beer. "And people wonder why I don't have children. So is that where you discovered you had fire magic?"

"We always suspected, but yeah. And it's where I met the first two of my associates. Yan was a cleric's kid, built like yourself, teetotaler, good head for strategy. I thought he was a colossal douche when I met him. Then he saved my hide in a skirmish with some highwaymen. Now, I think he's a manageably sized douche, what has my back and gets things done. And Rowena, she's half-elven and a couple years older. So gifted they made her teacher's assistant. She gave me a hard introduction to magic, kicked my ass all over the yard when I mouthed off. But she also looked out for me like an older sister. It's only... slightly awkward that we're in the pleasure business now, and have spitroasted a merchant together."

Brunhilde chuckled. "I sense you're an unconventional romantic like me. Here, you finish this. But where did you learn to eat cunt like that?"

"Oh, the usual. Kidnapped by lady pirates. One of them comes at night to use me, shows me what she likes. Soon I've seduced them all and they turn on each other." Tobin pantomimed a little slapstick as he continued: "First mate stabs the captain, hrrk, second mate breaks the first mate's nose, doof! and then Rowena, ever the showoff, rides in on a wall of water and whoosh, throws them overboard."

"I'm calling bullshit."

"I swear by the Nine, it happened just like that. Ask Rowena. I'll introduce you later."