Interlude: The Waking Anvil
Callis was pulled from the heavy, suffocating depths of an exhausted sleep by a sound that bypassed his frontier instincts entirely and struck straight at the base of his spine.
It was not the familiar clatter of the waking market or the sharp crack of wood splitting in the courtyard. It was a loud, rhythmic squelch, accompanied by the heavy, continuous smack of flesh colliding against flesh.
He opened his eyes, his vision blurred by the pale grey light of the late morning filtering through the frosted window. His entire body ached with a profound, beautiful soreness that pinned his limbs to the mattress. He turned his head slowly against the pillows, noting immediately that Mara’s side of the bed was empty and cool to the touch, Mara likely already downstairs managing the mid-morning rush.
But the guest quarters were far from empty.
Lysa was positioned near the foot of the heavy timber bed frame, pushed entirely up onto her hands and knees. Her wide, plush hips were elevated and angled backward, her skin flushed a deep, brilliant red in the morning chill. Yselle knelt directly behind her on the rumpled mattress, the heavy, oiled leather harness still strapped securely around her muscular waist.
Yselle was absolutely merciless. She had both of her hands locked around Lysa’s generous hips, her thumbs digging deep into the soft, yielding dimples of flesh as she pounded the dark river-stone shaft in and out of Lysa’s dripping core with a relentless, driving speed.
The visual was completely obscene. Lysa was incredibly swollen from the long, demanding night, her dark pink lips puffed and glistening with thick, viscous slickness. Every time Yselle drove her hips forward, the massive stone implement sank to the hilt, burying Yselle’s lean pelvis deep into the plush padding of Lysa’s mound. The impact sent deep tremors through Lysa’s heavy thighs, causing her massive breasts to sway and bounce wildly beneath her chest.
When Yselle pulled back, the thick, velvety internal walls of Lysa’s passage visibly gripped and stretched around the dark stone, milking it with a hot, desperate friction that produced the loud, sloppy slurping sounds echoing through the bedroom.
Lysa had her face buried deep into the patchwork quilt, her teeth biting into the fabric to muffle her continuous, sobbing shrieks. She was completely lost to the sensation, her wide hips automatically bucking backward to meet the devastating force of Yselle’s thrusts, hopelessly addicted to the relentless stretching fullness.
Yselle paused for a fraction of a second, her pale, predatory eyes snapping toward the head of the bed as she noticed Callis watching them. A wicked, deeply satisfied smirk broke across her face.
"Look who finally decided to wake up," Yselle rasped, her chest heaving as she maintained her punishing grip on Lysa’s hips. She didn't slow her pace; she ground her pubic bone hard against Lysa's swollen clitoris, dragging a muffled, fractured scream from the woman beneath her. "The fires are already lit downstairs, Callis, and I am late. But I couldn't walk out the door without working this fat, soaking wet cunt past pride one more time."
Lysa whimpered around the quilt, her plush body shuddering as she actively begged for more. "Please, Yselle," she sobbed, her voice thick and completely devoid of shame. "Don't stop. Do it harder."
"You hear that?" Yselle laughed, a rough, scraping sound of pure dominance. "She can't get enough of it."
Yselle abandoned any remaining restraint. She leaned forward, flattening her scarred chest against Lysa’s soft, sweat-slicked back, and began to pound her with a relentless, hammering rhythm. The heavy timber bedframe shrieked in protest under the combined weight of their bodies. The wet, slapping impact of their skin became a rapid, continuous drumbeat, entirely filling the stifling room with the heavy scent of their arousal.
Callis lay paralyzed against the pillows, entirely drained of his own stamina but completely captivated by the overwhelming display. He watched Lysa’s thick thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably, her internal muscles rapidly fluttering as the tension wound too tight for her to bear.
Lysa shattered with a piercing, high-pitched cry that she couldn't contain in the quilt. Her arms gave out completely, her chest collapsing onto the mattress as a massive, gushing climax ripped through her nervous system. She locked her wide hips backward, her dripping passage crushing the polished stone in a series of desperate, milking spasms that flooded the implement with a heavy rush of hot nectar.
Yselle rode out the heavy aftershocks with a satisfied groan, holding Lysa’s hips firmly in place to ensure the stone remained buried deep inside her until the tremors finally subsided.
With a loud, hollow pop, Yselle pulled her hips back, the dark shaft slipping out of Lysa's shaken-open core. Instead of collapsing into exhausted shame, Lysa let out a weak, breathless laugh into the quilt. She rolled her head to the side, reaching a trembling hand back to loosely catch Yselle's wrist with a dazedly proud, thoroughly satisfied smile.
Yselle reached down, her swift fingers making quick work of the brass buckles. She let the heavy leather harness and the dark river-stone drop to the floorboards with a heavy thud. She crawled over the wrecked sheets, her muscular body slick with sweat, until she was looming directly over Callis’s chest.
Despite his profound exhaustion, watching Yselle thoroughly dismantle their newest sister had brought his cock right back to a rigid, throbbing ache. She did not need to ask for permission; the terms of the hearth still held. Yselle offered no gentle transition, reaching down to grip his slippery length and guiding it directly to her own swollen, dripping entrance.
She sank her weight down in one smooth, aggressive motion, taking him to the hilt with a sharp, satisfied hiss. Her internal walls were scalding hot and impossibly tight, gripping his shaft like a burning vice.
Yselle did not immediately launch into a frantic sprint. Instead, she established a deep, punishingly slow grind, rolling her heavy hips to force his rigid length to map every single inch of her slick, demanding passage. She braced her hands flat against his chest, her pale eyes cutting toward the foot of the bed.
"Lysa," Yselle rasped, her voice thick with authority. Lysa was still trembling in her own slickness, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Get over here. Show our boy exactly what I taught you before he woke up."
Lysa obeyed instantly. Emboldened by the command, she crawled on her hands and knees across the rumpled quilt, her plush, heavy breasts swaying with every movement. She positioned herself right at the chaotic junction of their bodies, her flushed face hovering near Callis’s thighs and Yselle's grinding hips.
Without an ounce of hesitation, Lysa darted her hot, wet tongue out. She dragged it firmly along the sensitive seam behind Callis's heavy base, before pressing deep into the tight pucker of his ass.
Callis arched his back, a raw, entirely involuntary groan tearing from his throat. The shocking, incredibly intimate heat of Lysa’s tongue aggressively working his ass while Yselle dominated his cock completely overloaded his nervous system. Lysa licked and swirled with a sloppy, starving devotion, her hands gripping his thighs as she thoroughly opened him up to her wet worship.
Yselle let out a dark, deeply appreciative laugh as she felt Callis shudder beneath her. She lifted her hips slightly, shifting her angle to grant Lysa better access. "My turn, sweet sister," Yselle commanded softly. "Keep that fat tongue working."
Lysa eagerly shifted her focus upward. As Yselle drove her pelvis back down onto Callis's shaft, Lysa buried her face directly against Yselle's backside. Her hot tongue delved aggressively into Yselle's tight crevice, eating her out with frantic, breathless enthusiasm as she lapped up the slick runoff of their coupling.
The sensation of Lysa rimming her sent a visible jolt through Yselle's scarred musculature. Yselle threw her head back, a guttural sound of pure ecstasy vibrating deep in her chest. She abandoned the slow, torturous grind and began to ride Callis like a woman possessed.
She pounded her hips against his lean pelvis with an unforgiving force, completely ignoring his battered muscles. It wasn’t a slow, connective morning ritual; it was a stripped-down, adrenaline-fueled claiming before she had to face the freezing reality of the forge. She bounced wildly on his shaft, her heavy thighs slapping against him with a loud, rhythmic crack that shook the entire timber frame.
Callis gritted his teeth, his hands flying up to grip Yselle's sweat-slicked hips, desperately trying to brace himself against the devastating impact of her rhythm. The overwhelming friction of Yselle taking him to the hilt, perfectly synchronized with Lysa eagerly alternating her wet, sloppy strokes between both of their asses, completely short-circuited his mind. He was hopelessly trapped in the center of their filthy, coordinated pleasure.
Yselle leaned forward, flattening her scarred chest against his as she captured his mouth in a rough, bruising kiss. She tasted intensely of the plush, sweet nectar of the woman who was currently worshipping them from below, forcing the heavy musk of their shared morning straight down his throat.
The overwhelming friction and the sheer aggression of her pace pushed Yselle rapidly toward a secondary climax. Her breath hitched against his lips, her back arching rigidly as she slammed her hips down one final, punishing time. Her thick internal muscles crushed his cock in a series of frantic, milking spasms. As the orgasm ripped through her, Yselle’s hands scrambled for leverage. She dragged her fingers forcefully over his chest, her nails biting sharply into the skin near his collarbone, leaving a raw, stinging set of red scratch marks as she ground out a ragged, triumphant moan.
She collapsed against his chest for a brief, breathless moment, letting the heavy aftershocks roll through her body before pushing herself back up.
Before climbing off the mattress, Yselle hooked a calloused thumb under his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. She studied his bruised lips and dilated eyes with a blunt, clinical assessment. "Still breathing?" she rasped.
Callis managed a weak, exhausted nod.
"Good," Yselle grunted, her pale eyes flashing with a possessive heat as she finally released him. "Clean her up, and then get yourself dressed. The council expects you to be useful today."