#blacksmith kink

[he-covets]

Finishing a day of work with too much tension in my shoulders and too much yearning to be considered reasonable. Would love nothing more than for a strong set of hands to be working out the knots around my back and a pretty pair of palms running down my front. Lips working either side of my neck as two very talented lovers allow me to indulge all my greed and gluttony on their beautiful bodies

Starving for some shameless hedonism tonight

[he-covets]

Last Unicorn

[he-covets]

He comes to me on evenings like this one. The nights when the itch under my skin becomes unbearable and I know its grown too long since I've properly relieved myself. I can't get myself off here. I need to get out of the loud hostels and into some private accommodation. Better yet, I need to get into the bed of someone else for a night. God I need a good fuck

I roll onto my side, pull up the scratchy blanket and slip my hand into my breeches. Just need to tide myself over. Just need to get through tonight and I'll see what I can chase tomorrow to properly scratch this itch. But for now, I'll think of him. The knight from my youth

No matter how many years that have passed or how many lovers that I've had the pleasure of bedding, I always return to that winter together. When the roof of barracks collapsed in a snowstorm and the hounds were dispersed to reside elsewhere for the season. I can't say I was pleased to share my quarters with him at first. I'd worked hard to get that little hovel of privacy for myself. But the second I saw who had been assigned to reside in the blacksmiths den, I knew he'd never use the makeshift bed of straw on the floor

Kissed me so sweet. Touched me so shy. For someone that spent so much time in the company of men, he sure didn't behave in the same ways the rest of the cavalry did. But as we undressed, I found him more alike to me than I realised. It made me so soft to touch his bound chest. To watch him trace the scars under my pecs with wonder. Funny that I find the memories of us grinding clothed against one anothers thighs more erotic than the filthy sex we were having by the end of our winter together. Something so charming in our inexperience. Our exploration. He was so lovely to explore

I know we could never return to that time. But maybe if I find myself in the kingdom of my birth, I pay him a visit. I wonder if he looks different now. Changed in more ways than what age does to someone. I hope his touch hasn't changed. I hope he still touches his lover's like they're delicate. I hope he'd touch me like that again if we were to ever reconnect. If he'd have me. I hope he'd have me

God in heaven I need a good fuck

[he-covets]

Itching for a tumble in the grass with a shameless thing that enjoys the rush of being caught with my hands under their clothes

Any takers?

[he-covets]

I had always kept him at arm's length. Until the moment where he needed me most. I caved for him then. Just for him. I miss him all the time

It wasn't really the done thing for newly sworn in knights to start chasing the tail of a blacksmith that had a good number of seasons on them. I reminded him of that every time he came down to the forge with a dopey smile and a trivial task for me to complete. But he was so direct in his affections. So forward in desiring my attention. I love a little thing that knows what it wants. So I wrapped him round my finger, and I wrung him out to dry

I was all too happy to keep him a plaything until he started writing me poems. Lovesick sonnets of borrowed prose and clunky metaphor. I hated that. Didn't want a bar of it. He earned his nickname from his last poem. Self important boasts of his heart being larger than that of a champion racehorse. I gripped his chin and told him he was nothing but an over eager colt. So the poems stopped. And the sex really should've stopped too. But I told myself it would be fine. He was old enough to wield a blade, he could handle a little heartbreak. Why was I ever so cruel?

He slept in my tent the night before it happened. The battlefield was truly no place for him. His training hadn't prepared him for the reality of death. Of decay. Of disease. Even though I'd declined his advances for more so many times, he still came back to me. Crawled into my arms for comfort. Let me use him so long as I would hold him close. Acknowledge him for something other than a tool of war. I saw too much of him that night. Too much fear. Too much anguish. I didn't have the heart to send him back to the tents of the militia after we finished. I held him as he sobbed and pretended I was asleep

Everything happened so fast. Too fast. And yet it feels like that moment stretched on forever. Like it's still stretching on now. The moment he was struck with the first enemy arrow when he was returning from a scout. I witnessed it from the hill. We all did. And by the time we had made it down to his body, he looked more like Sebastian than the man I knew. But I was no Irene. I could not heal those wounds. It tore me apart to see him befall the same fate as the patron who was meant to keep him safe

He was panting when I scooped him into my lap. I hushed him, knowing his lungs were soon to fill with blood. I pressed my forehead to his. My colt. My colt. How did this happen to you? It must've taken all the strength in his body to lift his hand to my cheek. He looked me in the eye and asked me to marry him when we were home. I broke then. Sobbed. Chuckled through tears and told him I was too old for him. Just as I always did. But as his eyelids flickered, I whispered on his lips that I would. Painted the picture of being his one and only. That he would be mine and I would be his. Forever darling. Forever.

I changed after that day. I don't know if it was for the better or for the worse. But I've never been the same. My words weren't empty. I'll never know a wedding after the promises I made to him as he passed away in my arms. That part of me is buried in an unmarked grave behind the hills. That part of me will always be his. My handsome colt. I miss you all the time

[he-covets]

Out on official errands. I don't find much joy in playing delivery boy. One of the aspects of being a blacksmith out in the villages that I miss is the personal touch. The customer making their order and appreciating my work upon collection. But such is life in the capital that folks are not only too busy to pick up their goods, but too busy as to even commission directly. Instead, sending a servant to the forge with an envelope of drawings and a pocket full of coin. I don't like that

Today's delivery is at the very least an interesting one. Clockmakers. It was fun to craft the little plates and pliers, and I was curious to ask about the pieces I had made with no knowledge of their use. The shop felt humble and homely inside. The synchronised clicks and chimes made a soft melody to ears that had become accustomed to the crash and clang of the forge. I wondered what it would be like to work with such intricate little machines. To work with delicate fingers instead of the strength of the shoulder. Too sophisticated for me. But I could appreciate the workmanship

My heart skipped a beat as I was greeted with a handshake by the apprentice. A little younger than myself, soft features that struck me sharp. Lyra. Who names a child that? They shook their head and asked me the same question of my own name. I smiled. No one had named a child Cove. They understood. And our hands held for too long as we saw more in each other's eyes than we had spoken allowed. Suddenly the space felt very, very warm

We both jumped when the shop owner entered from the rear and joyously retrieved the items I'd crafted. He allowed me to come out back and see what my work was being used for, and immediately began tampering with what I'd crafted. I would've been insulted if I wasn't so fascinated. He worked my brasswear into finer shapes and points, all the while praising me for my work with sincerity. The senior horologist explained his method to me as he began to repair a gear cutting engine. Lyra was gracious enough to translate into simple words for my brutish brain. But I was more focused on their hand resting on my shoulder than I was the words leaving their lips. How I'd love to kiss those lips

I dejectedly had to make my leave sooner than I would've liked. I'd spent too much time in the workshop and had little time to run my other delivery before sunset. But as I was stepping out onto the street, Lyra advised me of their closing hours, and asked if I'd like a more private demonstration of the machinery after hours sometime. I grinned at that. Looked them up and down shamelessly as I nodded and told them I'd be by in a few days. I was sent on my way with a wink that I'll be thinking of for the rest of the week

Lyra. Will you charm me like Orpheus did the sirens? Or falter in your exit from the Underworld? Let's see how your hands fair with a blacksmith, soft one. I'd love to know how you touch

[he-covets]

is it just the jesters you like to tease, or would a princess be right in succumbing to your charms?

While the Jester is certainly a personal favourite to play with, they're not the only one I tease. Have been peaking around a few little spots in the kingdom and I would certainly be thrilled to play with a princess

How could a humble blacksmith be of service, your highness?

[he-covets]

I heard your comment, dear black smith, and I couldn't help but wonder: have you ever had a lover ask you craft them a pair of manacles? Ever had them watch over you as you work, both knowing but neither saying? Would you ensure they're strong enough to hold any warrior, or would you perhaps leave a little flaw? A last line of defense, should you come to regret your trust?

Ah Captain Thorn, what a pleasure to see you down at the forge. I'm certainly very normal about your questions

Have certainly crafted my fair share of manacles for the dungeons, but only once have I assembled them for a lover. A pretty little thing with soft wrists and sinful moans who liked to be cuffed as I teased them. Some very hot memories there

Can't say I've been the one bound, but I'm certainly open to it. If I were to make myself cuffs for a lover to use on me, I'd make no failsafe for myself. A display of deep trust that might be foolish if handed to the wrong person. But I'll probably find a thrill in it either way

So how can I help you Captain? Are your questions out of curiosity or leading to a commission?