<the sound of metal dragging…and a rush of air>
He stood at the anvil, his hand wrapped around the end of the tongs while white heat turned the darkened steel the color of cherries. He lazily wiped sweat from his brow, a dark streak indicating the path from left to right just above his eyes. He stared into the fire, gauged the steel, and in one familiar motion lifted the hammer from the anvil’s face and replaced it with the glowing mass. The sounds repeated again. Each strike moving the now-softened metal around like hard butter. Each ring of the hammer on the anvil cleared the scale clinging to it, and resulted in a shower of sparks that rained upon the dirt floor. The few that stuck the smith simply went out when they touched the canvas of the kilt as countless other had over time. He worked intently, with purpose and care. He saw the end item in his mind, and the metal simply needed to be forced into the matching shapes through will and muscle as much as more subtle coercion. The form wanted to show itself, but the metal was coy.
She stood in shadows and peered into the building, leaning against the rough boards threatening her delicate skin. She saw him at the forge, his shape dark against the raging fires, the sweat in beads on his flesh. She wanted him, but knew the stories. He was a monster, a devil. He slept while the sun burned, and drank the blood of his chosen victims under the blanket of stars. He used the dried bodies to fuel his infernal forge, within which he created things of great beauty or of great use. Rarely, the things were both – a plow blade adorned with filigree so fine that it seemed a shame to desecrate it with earth. When it was finally used, it cut hardpan as easily as it was beautiful. This, from the hands of a monster.
She shifted her position to better see his chest as the hammer rang. Each pivot to the fire was flourished with a sway of the kilt. “This is no monster,” she thought to herself as her desire began to warm her body. “Tha’ats a man if I ever saw one.”
He stopped, but did not turn around.
“Aye, lass.” He spoke, resting the cooling metal on the anvil’s face and placing the hammer beside it. There was a sudden flush in her face as she realized that she must have actually spoken aloud. She wanted to run, but her feet betrayed her. “But yer eyes ha’ent seen everything, ‘ave they? An’ yer such a wee thing. Come in. No need to stand in the shadows.”
As her heart beat against her chest, her feet stepped towards the heat of the forge, and him. “I won’t be bothering you no more, Sir. I just wanted to watch.”
“A’course you did…” He said, as he turned to meet her face and smiled into her eyes. She felt her desire building.
“Oh, Sir, I… I… “ Her words faltered on her lips. “Oh…I don’t want to be of any trouble.” She could feel herself wanting him. She gazed at his face, his neck and shoulders, the curve of his arms, and hands. She wanted those hands all over her, she wanted this man or creature, or monster… whatever he was… she wanted him. Her body flushed with the heat of lust. It welled up inside of her and took over what little control was left. It came out of her, and it showed in the flush on her skin, the fullness of her breasts, the tip of her hips. She could feel the damp heat turn to a flood, it bristled inside her, clawing out and running freely across the inside of her thighs. She trembled against that desire, and was lost to it. She stuttered, and made soft noises as she came even closer. She began to circle the creature, running a finger over his flesh as though her were a statue in a museum. “Oh, my. You are no man…” she circled and touched, tracing his muscles, his shoulders, the line of his kilt. “Please, I …”
She stopped in front of him, touched him through the kilt and began to kneel. She wanted that flesh inside, to pleasure it, to feel the creature tremble in her hungry mouth as she knew she could. He stopped her, forced her to rise, smiled again, and ran his hands up over her hips – steel and sinew caressed skin the color of fresh cream. The heat from the forge was no match for what she was feeling, and still he smiled as he lifted her to his waiting lips. She opened her mouth and felt him enter her, his tongue searching, his lips fanning the flames of her desire. She wrapped her legs around him, the rough canvas of the kilt contrasted against her butter-softness. She felt the rush of lustful nectar running down her thighs, across her ass, and his hands rubbing it in. She wanted this man more than she ever thought possible… and still he kissed her as though she had been his for all her lifetime.
He crossed the shop with her wrapped around his body. She felt as though she was floating, alive for the first time, in love and lust. She ached to be full of his flesh. All of it. She ground herself into him, and was surprised when she was placed deftly onto the bench, remaining between her legs. He pulled away as though she simply let him go. She hadn’t, but had no way to explain how it happened. It didn’t matter – she was going to give herself to this wanton thing. It was all she wanted. “Does this creature have a name, if you please?” she asked.
“Angus, my dear Kyla. I’m Angus.” He slid his hands up her legs, opening them and pulling her forward. She burned to kiss those lips, to taste his mouth. Angus moved to the belt, and the buckles on the kilt, and let it fall to the floor at His feet. Kyla whimpered against her lust, and gave into the kiss that came hard against her mouth. He tasted of grassy hills, and of wide, blue-grey skies. He smelled of the earth and comfort, and something dark and forbiddenly luscious. Kyla gave heself willingly.
She felt him enter her as the the throbbing ache inside her soul spiraled higher. She was filled to the point of exquisite pain, and he stroked into her over and over. She bucked against the thrusts, his hands pushing at her and forcing her back onto the bench. He plucked the buttons on her dress with a sharp nail, and she felt her corset give way, her ample flushed breasts spilling out and into his waiting grasp. Angus leaned down to kiss them, suckle them, and bite them. She was in ecstasy, and screamed his name as she climaxed, flooding the bench beneath her with her slick essence. He moved her effortlessly and lay her belly against the bench, her round, welcoming ass against those tense hips. She could hear her own voice screaming in pleasure, the moans, and the deliciously wet sounds… all of it continued to fuel her lust to a peak she never could have believed possible. Angus slapped her hard, as no other man did, nor would again. She screamed as he turned her ass nearly the same color as the steel he forged earlier. She was aching both for more of it, and for it to stop at the same time, but still he slapped her. She climaxed again, her body writhing as his hand grabbed her tender cheek and squeezed hard. She squealed in pleasure and pain, giving into the waves as they flowed over and through her.
She felt herself being lifted and spun to face him. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his body and felt herself full once more. He lifted her ass, running hands over it and spreading the soft, tender flesh as he slid her down again and again. She felt his mouth on her neck, in her hair, against her body… and as she felt the tension and his thunderous release inside of her, there was a sudden stillness. A lingering kiss on her neck, and a spreading warmth. She dreamed of home, far and away. She dreamed of pleasures, and of eternity. And then the darkness called to her and she knew that she would never again see the light of a sunrise or feel the morning light upon her face.
Angus lifted His head, blood smeared on His lips and whispered…