Yselle Side Story: Yselle’s Share
Author's Note & Disclaimer: Please note that the characters in these chapters are all consenting adults, and there is no biological relation between Yselle and Mina. Mina is the niece of Yselle's husband, Torren, making Yselle an aunt by marriage only. Yselle had no hand in raising Mina, nor was she a part of the girl's childhood or upbringing. Their dynamic is strictly between two adults who are navigating a new, consensual arrangement.
The wooden stairs leading away from the kitchen were narrow and shadowed. Yselle walked a half-step behind Mina, her soot-stained hand resting firmly on the back of her niece's blanket-wrapped neck. Every time Mina lifted her foot to climb the next step, her knees trembled, threatening to buckle under the lingering exhaustion of the punishment she had just endured.
They reached the top landing. Yselle guided the young woman down a short, dimly lit corridor and pushed open a heavy oak door at the far end.
Yselle’s rented room at The Stag & Ember was strictly utilitarian. It lacked the academic comforts of Torren’s house, offering only what a forge master required to recover from a twelve-hour shift. A sturdy timber bed sat against the far wall, piled high with wool blankets and animal furs. A cast-iron washbasin rested on a small table, and a single wooden chair sat near the window. The floorboards radiated a deep, comforting warmth, heated directly by the brick ovens operating in the kitchen below.
"Get in," Yselle ordered softly.
Mina did not argue. She let the woolen blanket slip from her bare shoulders, the fabric pooling around her ankles. She crawled onto the mattress, her bare knees sinking into the soft furs. She collapsed onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillows. Her wide back rose and fell with slow, exhausted breaths. Her bare backside remained fully exposed, the pale flesh flushed an angry, bruised red from the leather base, the center ring still struggling to close properly.
Yselle did not immediately follow her to the mattress. She walked to the wooden chair and sat down. She unbuckled her leather work belt, letting it drop to the floor. She reached down and began unlacing her heavy boots, pulling them off and tossing them into the corner.
"Rest, Mina," Yselle instructed, leaning back in the chair and stretching her long legs out.
Within minutes, Mina's breathing deepened into a steady, rhythmic slumber. The sheer panic and overstimulation of the kitchen had drained her completely.
Time drifted. Yselle sat quietly in the dim room, listening to the tavern wake up below them. The muffled roar of the evening crowd began to swell through the floorboards. The heavy thud of boots, the clinking of ceramic ale mugs, and the low hum of fifty overlapping conversations vibrated in the wood. Occasionally, Mara’s sharp, authoritative voice cut through the noise, maintaining the iron discipline of the hearth.
The warmth from the ovens kept the room comfortable, but Yselle noticed a slight shiver run across Mina’s bare shoulders. The forge master stood up. She walked over to the bed, her bare feet silent on the planks. She stood over Mina, listening to the steady, healthy intake of her breath. Satisfied her niece was simply exhausted and not injured, Yselle grabbed a thick wolf fur from the foot of the bed and draped it carefully over Mina’s back, covering her bruised lower half and tucking the edges around her shoulders to keep the chill away.
Yselle returned to her chair. She sat in the dark for two hours, guarding the room while the tavern raged below.
When Mina finally stirred, the noise downstairs had settled into a steady, drunken murmur.
Mina opened her eyes, blinking into the blurry, fire-warmed dimness. She pushed herself up slightly, the wolf fur slipping down to her waist. Her hand patted the mattress blindly, searching for the familiar shape of her wire-rimmed glasses.
"Looking for these?" Yselle asked, her voice a low rumble in the quiet room.
Mina turned her head, squinting toward the fuzzy outline sitting in the wooden chair.
Yselle stood up. The forge master walked over, her bare feet silent on the planks. She knelt on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. With a surprising gentleness that contradicted her calloused hands, Yselle reached out. She had carried the glasses up from the kitchen table. She carefully slid the wire frames over Mina's ears, settling them perfectly on the bridge of the young woman's nose.
The room snapped into sharp focus.
Mina’s nervous system had reset. The deep lethargy was gone, replaced by a lingering, dull ache in her muscles and a renewed, pulsing arousal pooled between her thighs. She felt safe in the enclosed space. The academic shame that had dictated her entire life felt like a distant memory, burned away by the physical reality of the working lanes.
The forge master had stripped off her soot-stained linen tunic while Mina slept. She wore only her canvas trousers and the tight wrapping of bandages binding her own chest.
"Did you sleep well, niece?" Yselle asked, her hands resting on the mattress on either side of Mina’s waist, boxing her in.
"I did," Mina answered. She shifted on the mattress, actively turning her body to face Yselle. She did not try to pull the fur back up. She left her dough-soft breasts exposed, the broad nipples hardening in the cooler air above the blankets.
"You carried Mara's weight well downstairs," Yselle praised, looking down into Mina's magnified brown eyes. "You took a proper beating. You earned your rest. But the night is far from over."
Yselle moved one hand, dragging her rough knuckles over the soft swell of Mina's stomach. She dragged the touch lower, stopping just above the damp, swollen folds between Mina's thighs.
"Tell me, Mina," Yselle whispered, a wicked, teasing smirk touching her lips. "Do you still want to let your auntie have some fun?"
Mina parted her lips, her breath hitching. The choice belonged entirely to her now, separated from the overwhelming pressure of the kitchen.
"Yes, Aunt Yselle," Mina answered, her voice steady and willing.
Yselle let out a low sound of approval. She pushed Mina’s thighs wider apart, opening the young woman completely.
"The baker claimed your back door," Yselle stated, her eyes locked on the slick, pink flesh of Mina's core. "And Mara stretched it wide. But I broke this open with my own fingers on the workbench this afternoon. I listened to you squeal while I ruined it."
Yselle leaned down, her face hovering inches above Mina’s wet center. She inhaled deeply, taking in the musky, aroused scent of the academic.
"I am tired of using my hands," Yselle declared, looking up through her lashes to meet Mina's gaze. "I really want to try out that pretty pussy. I want to taste exactly what I broke."
Mina’s hands flew to the furs, her fingers gripping the fabric tight. The swollen tissue of her clitoris throbbed eagerly at the promise. She arched her lower back, actively lifting her wet slit directly toward Yselle's mouth.
"Try it," Mina pleaded, discarding the last of her hesitation. "Please, auntie. Taste it."
Yselle did not make her wait. She lowered her head and pressed her open mouth directly against Mina’s soaking center.
Mina gasped, her spine bowing sharply off the mattress. The first slide of Yselle’s tongue was hot, broad, and deliberate, dragging straight up the slick cleft. It traced the swollen folds from the bottom to the very top, coating the raw, sensitive nerves in saliva. After the blunt, driving force of the leather rig downstairs, the wet, focused intimacy of Yselle’s mouth felt impossibly sharp.
Yselle hummed against the wet flesh, a vibration that traveled straight into Mina’s core. "Gods, you taste like honey and sweat," Yselle murmured, her lips shining.
She clamped her calloused hands down on Mina’s wide thighs, pinning her in place, and went back to work. Yselle parted the folds with her thumbs, exposing the engorged clitoris, and darted her tongue out to flick directly across the aching nub.
Mina let out a high, ragged whine. Her head thrashed against the pillows, her wire-rimmed glasses slipping slightly. "Aunt Yselle—"
"Let me have it," Yselle growled against her skin.
The forge master settled into a greedy, rhythmic lapping. She slurped loudly as she drank the dripping juices, cleaning the slick mess from Mina's thighs. She pushed the flat of her tongue deep into the open slit, mimicking the thrusts of her fingers from earlier in the day. She mapped every ridge and fold, her tongue swirling and pressing with the same deliberate, unyielding patience she used to temper hot steel.
Mina's hands tangled frantically in the thick animal furs. Her hips rocked upward, actively chasing the wet friction. She squeezed her eyes shut, entirely consumed by the sensation. Yselle’s mouth was everywhere—sucking hard on the sensitive hood, licking deep into the opening, and coaxing fresh waves of clear fluid to spill over her chin.
"That is it, niece," Yselle praised, pulling back just enough to breathe, her face slick. "Melt for me."
Yselle clamped her mouth firmly over Mina’s clitoris and sucked hard, swirling her tongue directly over the peak while driving two soot-stained fingers deep inside her.
Mina shrieked, the desperate sound swallowed by the thick furs and the ambient noise of the tavern below. Her toes curled violently. The climax hit her from a completely different angle—not the sweeping, full-body battering of the kitchen, but a sharp, localized detonation that made her vision swim. She arched high off the bed, her muscles trembling, sobbing her aunt's name as her body surrendered completely to the warm, wet claiming of the upstairs room.