Yselle Side Story: The Oak Anvil
Mina held her stance in the center of the kitchen. Her bare back was exposed to the sweltering heat of the room, her hips angled to present her backside to the tavern owner. She had offered herself completely, letting the last remnants of her academic shame pool on the floorboards along with her dark pleated skirt.
Mara pushed her wooden chair back and stood. She walked slowly around the edge of the scarred oak table, her boots thudding deliberately against the floor. She stopped directly behind Mina, her dark eyes mapping the shape of the girl's lower half.
"You offer a wide target, student," Mara stated. Her voice remained calm, but the undercurrent of authority held sway over the kitchen. She reached out, resting her palms lightly against the outsides of Mina’s thighs. "But wanting a strap and actually taking it are two different realities. The leather rig Yselle keeps in that chest is thick and blunt. If I drive it into a dry hole, you will tear. I want your first time taking a strap to be a revelation, not an injury."
Mina shivered at the contact on her bare legs. The ambient heat of the brick oven could not suppress the nervous goosebumps erupting across her skin. "Tell me what to do, Mara."
"Lean forward," Mara instructed, stepping back slightly to give the girl room. "Rest your upper body on the table. Keep your knees spread wide and your feet planted firmly against the wood."
Mina obeyed. She bent at the waist, lowering her upper body until her breasts met the oak planks. The pale flesh squashed against the wood, her broad nipples pressing flat into the grain. She kept her wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, turning her cheek to rest against her crossed forearms. The bent posture forced her backside high into the air, presenting the shadowed cleft perfectly to the room.
Mara looked across the kitchen. "Lysa. Prepare her."
Lysa stopped wiping her hands. A bright, genuine flush spread across the baker's face, accompanied by an eager smile. She reached behind her back and untied her canvas apron, letting the fabric drop to the floor to keep the baking flour away from Mina’s skin.
Yselle let out a rough, booming laugh from her chair. The forge master crossed her arms, kicking her boots out beneath the table as she watched Lysa approach.
"I trained her to eat ass," Yselle boasted, her crude pride filling the humid air. "When I first brought her upstairs, she was too shy to put her mouth anywhere near the dirt. I spent the winter holding the back of her neck, teaching her exactly how to use her tongue. Now she begs to clean up my messes. She loves the taste of a wet hole more than her own honey bread."
Lysa did not deny the accusation. She stepped up directly behind Mina’s exposed rear, her eyes locked on the dimpled cheeks.
"It is true," Lysa murmured, her voice carrying a warm hunger. She reached out, her dough-kneading hands gripping the plush curves of Mina’s backside. "Yselle taught me the patience for it. There is nothing better than feeling a tight muscle melt against your tongue."
Mina let out a high-pitched squeak. She understood the mechanics of sex through diagrams and theoretical texts, but the reality of a sweet, flour-dusted baker stepping up to eat her virgin ass entirely stripped away her intellectual defenses.
"Relax your thighs, Mina," Lysa coaxed softly, her thumbs pressing gently into the meat.
Lysa pulled outward, parting the flesh. The span of Mina’s cheeks required a firm, sustained grip to spread open. The action exposed the pink asshole hidden deep within the cleft. The ring remained rigidly tense, fearful of the impending intrusion.
Lysa leaned in. She did not hesitate or tease. She parted her lips and pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss directly against the tight pucker.
Mina gasped. Her fingers dug into the edge of the oak planks, her nails scratching the wood. The sudden heat of Lysa’s wet mouth against her most vulnerable flesh sent a jolt of electricity straight up her spine.
Lysa exhaled a hot breath over the sensitive skin, sending a fresh shiver down Mina's legs, and then darted her tongue out. She licked the rim, dragging the flat of her tongue up and down the tight folds. She tasted the musky, natural scent of the student. The untouched, sweet flavor hit her tongue, and Lysa moaned against Mina’s skin—a muffled sound of pleasure that vibrated directly into Mina’s central nervous system.
The taste made the baker greedy. She did not just want to lubricate the rim for Mara; she wanted to consume the hole for herself. Lysa pushed her face flush against the cheeks, burying her nose in the cleft. She forced the pointed tip of her tongue past the tight ring, pushing directly into Mina’s asshole.
"Gods," Mina whimpered, her hips shifting and rolling as she instinctively chased the wet friction.
"Keep your footing steady," Yselle commanded from the sidelines, thoroughly enjoying the display. "Let the baker work."
The ring gave way under the wet coaxing. The muscle fluttered and relaxed, yielding entirely to the intrusion. Chasing the dark flavor, Lysa pushed her tongue deeper into the sweltering heat. She swirled her tongue against the internal walls, lapping at the natural moisture she created. She sucked on the open hole, slurping loudly as she tried to drag every drop of taste out of the girl.
Mina let out a ragged, breathless squeal. The pulling suction sent a fresh wave of slickness flooding from her swollen pussy, the clear fluid running down her inner thighs. The wet, slurping sounds of Lysa eating her ass filled the quiet kitchen, mixing seamlessly with the popping crackle of the brick oven. Lysa’s tongue worked with targeted precision, systematically breaking down every wall of Mina's physical defenses.
"That is it," Lysa praised softly. She pulled back just enough to speak, her lips shining and slick with spit. "You taste so sweet, student. Let me have more."
Lysa dove right back in, her tongue lapping deep into the open, wet ring.
While Lysa worked Mina into a whimpering puddle over the table, Mara turned her attention away from the display and walked toward the space beneath the stairs.
"Yselle," Mara ordered. "The chest."
Yselle grinned, her teeth flashing in the firelight. She stood up from her chair, her boots crossing the floorboards. She knelt beside the wooden storage chest, threw the iron-banded lid open, and retrieved the leather rig.
Yselle walked back to Mara, holding the harness out. The dark leather straps were wide and utilitarian, built to withstand kinetic force.
But it was not a simple, single-sided apparatus. The center ring held a solid, double-sided silicone core. The front shaft—the piece meant for Mina—was long, dark, blunt, and explicitly designed for impact. The internal anchor, however, was entirely different. The piece designed to sit inside Mara was short, but obscenely fat. It was a dense node built to stretch the wearer wide open, ensuring that every ounce of force transferred through the rig would be felt intimately by the one wielding it.
Mara took the rig from Yselle's hands. She did not bother removing her canvas trousers. She simply stepped into the straps, pulling them up over her thighs and settling the dense base against her pelvis. She reached down, guiding the internal plug directly into her own heat. She hissed through her teeth as the thick silicone stretched her wide open, filling her completely.
She pulled the straps tight, fastening the brass buckles at her hips to lock the rig in place. The metal clinked loudly in the quiet room.
Mina heard the sound. Even with Lysa’s hot tongue buried deep in her ass, the clinking of Mara strapping on the weapon cut straight through her haze of pleasure. Mina’s breasts heaved against the oak table, her breath hitching into ragged gasps as anticipation flooded her veins.
Mara adjusted the rig, shifting her hips to ensure the internal plug sat flush against her core. She grabbed the long, blunt front shaft with her hand, testing the angle. It did not shift. It felt like a solid extension of her own authority.
Mara walked slowly back to the table. She stood directly behind Lysa, looking down at the wide spread of Mina’s backside, which now glistened wetly with the baker's saliva.
"Is she soft, Lysa?" Mara asked, her voice dropping into a dark rumble.
Lysa pulled her face away with a loud, wet smack. She looked up at the tavern owner, her lips shining, her cheeks flushed with heat.
"She is entirely melted, Mara," Lysa confirmed, stepping back to clear the path. She wiped a stray drop of spit from her chin, looking thoroughly satisfied with her work. "I opened the ring deep. She tastes amazing, and she is dripping wet down her thighs. She is ready to take the strap."
Mara stepped into the space Lysa vacated. She grabbed Mina’s hips, her calloused fingers sinking deep into the yielding flesh. The tavern owner planted her boots on the floorboards, bracing her stance firmly behind the exposed target. Mina felt the cold, oiled tip of the blunt leather press directly against her spit-slicked ring.
"Brace your arms, student," Mara warned, her grip tightening on the girl's hips. "The preparation is over."
Mara did not offer a countdown. She drove her hips forward.
The shaft breached the entrance in a single push. Mina gasped, her fingers scraping wildly across the oak table as the blunt leather stretched the tight muscle to its limit. The rig sank deep, pushing smoothly past the slick, saliva-coated ring and filling her completely. Mara stopped only when the leather base smacked flush against Mina’s plush cheeks.
The sudden intrusion sent a visible shudder rippling through the student's body.
"Take a breath, Mina," Mara instructed, her voice steady and calm over the girl's ragged panting. "Settle around the strap."
Mina whimpered, her cheek resting heavily on her crossed forearms. The stretch burned, a hot, tight friction that demanded her complete focus, but the baker’s saliva and the slow coaxing had done the necessary work. Her muscles clamped down, instinctively gripping the foreign object tightly.
Mara pulled her hips back, dragging the long shaft out until only the blunt tip remained inside the wet pucker, and then she slammed it forward again.
Smack.
The leather base hit Mina’s backside with a sharp, echoing crack. The force of the thrust transferred directly into Mina's body. The plush meat of her cheeks flattened under the impact, absorbing the blow before rebounding outward. A ripple of kinetic energy traveled down her thighs, making the dimpled flesh quiver.
Mara pulled back and drove in again. And again. She locked into a driving cadence.
The kitchen quickly filled with the crude sounds of the collision. Every thrust produced a wet, slurping noise from the slick hole, immediately followed by the loud, meaty slap of Mara’s pelvis hammering into Mina’s ass. The tavern owner wielded the rig like a blacksmith working a stubborn piece of iron on an anvil. She used her full body weight, driving the strap deep and hard, letting the dense internal plug grind against her own core with every strike.
The kinetic force did not stop at Mina's waist. The shockwaves traveled up her spine.
Pinned against the scarred oak table, Mina’s breasts took the brunt of the secondary impact. With every strike from behind, her upper body was shoved forward. The pale mounds flattened hard against the wood, the broad nipples dragging forcefully across the grain. When Mara pulled back to wind up the next thrust, the flesh rebounded, lifting up from the table for a split second before the next blow slammed them right back down.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The wet noise of Mina's breasts hitting the oak planks created a chaotic, hypnotic counter-beat to the smacks landing on her backside.
"Look at her shake," Yselle laughed loudly from her chair, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees to watch the display. "You are rattling her teeth, Mara. The gray-bearded spell-weavers would have a collective heart attack seeing their quiet, modest student taking a beating like a tavern whore."
Mina squealed, a breathless sound that vibrated deep in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut behind her wire-rimmed glasses. The blunt force of the strap scraped relentlessly against her internal walls, hitting deeper than anything she had ever felt. The physical sensation completely bypassed the academic theory she spent her life studying, reducing her mind to pure reaction. Her legs shook, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep her hips elevated under the steady, punishing rhythm.
Lysa stood near the cast-iron stove, her cheeks flushed bright red. The baker watched the wet, pink rim of Mina's asshole stretch wide to swallow the dark shaft over and over, immensely proud of the slick, melted mess she had made to allow such penetration.
"Keep your knees locked," Mara commanded, feeling the girl's stance begin to waver under the force. She wrapped her hands tighter around Mina's waist, her thumbs digging into the soft skin above the girl's hips. "Do not drop the angle. Take the strap."
"I am taking it," Mina sobbed, her voice breaking into a breathless whine. She pushed her heels firmly into the floorboards, forcing her shaking legs to hold the weight. She arched her back harder, actively pushing her plush cheeks back to meet the incoming thrusts.
Mara felt the academic student pushing back, offering her shape to the strike. That eager compliance broke the last remaining shred of Mara's measured restraint. The tavern owner's calm facade cracked, replaced by a flushed, sweat-sheened intensity.
"You want the speed, student?" Mara growled, her voice dropping into a harsh rumble. "Then carry it."
Mara shortened her strokes. She stopped pulling the shaft all the way out and focused entirely on rapid-fire impact. She drove her pelvis forward in a blistering sprint. The leather base hammered against Mina's plush cheeks with the staggering speed of a snare drum.
Smack-smack-smack-smack.
The sudden acceleration shattered Mina's mind. The strap battered against her internal walls in a blinding blur of motion, creating an agonizing, euphoric friction that erased every coherent thought in her head.
Mina threw her head back, her wire-rimmed glasses slipping dangerously down her sweating nose. A high, piercing wail ripped from her throat. Stripped of all her academic dignity, she started squealing like a stuck pig, the sharp, frantic noise echoing loudly over the crackle of the brick oven. It was the exact same uninhibited barnyard sound she had made when Yselle first breached her on the forge workbench, but magnified ten times over by the driving force of Mara's rig.
"Listen to her!" Yselle cheered, slamming her soot-stained hand down on the tabletop in approval. "She is squealing like a pig for the hearth!"
The blunt force of the strap-on pounded mercilessly against the shared internal wall of Mina's ass and her freshly opened cunt. That deep battering stimulated her swollen core far beyond its natural limits. The rapid friction from the back wall pressed directly against her G-spot with every single thrust. Her thighs locked tight, her muscles cording with tension. Her toes curled so hard against the floorboards they cramped.
Mina squealed again, a long, broken sound of pure panic and pleasure, as her body finally detonated.
Her virgin pussy started to squirt like crazy.
A stream of clear fluid erupted from her swollen slit. The sheer volume of the release was staggering. The fluid shot straight downward, splashing audibly against the wooden floorboards between her planted feet. She did not just leak; she gushed with every single rapid thrust Mara delivered. The slick moisture coated her inner thighs, raining down in splatters that immediately began pooling into a wide, shining puddle on the floor.
Lysa gasped, taking a quick step back to keep her leather shoes out of the expanding wetness. "Gods above, Mara. Look at her. She is flooding the kitchen."
"Let her flood it," Mara grunted, her hips pumping in a merciless, sweaty blur. She watched the fluid pour out of the squealing girl with possessive satisfaction. "I want every drop out of her."
The puddle of slick fluid spread across the floorboards beneath the oak table, reflecting the bright orange glow of the hearth fire. Mina’s squeals broke down into ragged gasps as the initial shockwaves of her climax rippled outward. Her breasts lay flattened and heaving against the scarred wood, her chest rising and falling frantically.
But Mara did not stop.
The rhythm was not just a punishment for the student; it was a dual exchange of force. Every single time Mara drove her pelvis forward, slamming the leather base against Mina’s cheeks, the impact shoved that fat, internal silicone anchor deeper into Mara’s own heat.
It created a raw, maddening feedback loop. Mara could feel the exact density of Mina’s body fighting the strap, because every ounce of that resistance transferred directly into the plug grinding against Mara’s own core.
Mara let out a low, guttural groan, her hips snapping forward in a sharp, grinding thrust as the internal plug hit her deep.
Mina felt the shift in leverage. The strap hit deeper, grinding against her swollen internal tissue. The flooding release had drained her lungs, but it had not satisfied the frantic, ruined heat Yselle had unlocked that afternoon. The friction sent a fresh spike of electricity straight to Mina's clitoris.
Mina twisted her head, her cheek sliding against her sweaty forearms. She looked back over her bare shoulder, her magnified brown eyes wild and dilated, her glasses completely fogged with the heat of her own exertion.
"Faster," Mina whimpered, her voice hoarse and desperate.
Mara paused for a fraction of a second, breathing heavily through her nose, sweat beading on her forehead.
"I am hitting the base, student," Mara warned, her dark eyes locking onto Mina's flushed face.
"I don't care," Mina begged, throwing her academic pride entirely into the fire. She pushed her heels harder into the floorboards, lifting her wide, wet ass even higher into the air, offering everything she had. "Don't stop. It feels so good. Please, Mara. Go faster. Give it to me."
Yselle leaned forward in her chair, a feral, predatory grin splitting her face. "You heard the girl, Mara. The academic wants the speed. Let her have it."
Mara’s jaw locked tight. The desperate plea, combined with the stretching pressure of the anchor seated deep inside her own body, shattered the very last fraction of the tavern owner's iron restraint.
Mara lunged forward. She used the plug inside her as leverage, throwing her entire body weight into the assault.
The kitchen erupted into a chaotic, deafening rhythm.
Smack-smack-smack-smack.
Mara drove the strap in a blindingly fast, piston-like blur. The leather base hammered against Mina's wide ass with unrelenting speed. The cheeks flattened, bruised, and rebounded under the frantic assault. The kinetic energy transferred straight through the student's body. Mina’s upper half convulsed, her breasts slapping wildly against the oak table in a frantic bounce that mirrored the chaos of the moment.
Mina's head tipped back. The breathless gasps instantly escalated back into a high, piercing squeal. She sounded like a frantic animal, completely consumed by the overstimulation of the double-sided rig.
The wet, slurping sounds of the strap sliding in and out mixed with the rapid-fire slaps of flesh on leather. Mara growled, her own hips grinding viciously into the internal node, matching Mina's squealing with deep, guttural sounds of raw exertion.
The rapid friction hit the exact, agonizing spot inside Mina’s back wall. Her toes curled so hard against the wood that her arches cramped.
The floodgates opened again.
Mina shrieked, her voice cracking as a second wave of fluid erupted from between her legs. The clear liquid sprayed out in continuous bursts, raining down onto the floorboards and splashing over Lysa’s discarded apron. The puddle grew, soaking the wood as Mina squealed and squirted, her body held entirely captive by the relentless pounding of the hearth's commander.