The Blacksmith
by Alex Barton
It was almost unbearably hot in the smithy. Searing coals glowed a fierce red in the furnace as Joss Fayrfax worked a horseshoe on his anvil. Outside the summer heat showed no signs of easing even though it was nearly five in the afternoon. Joss, who had been at work since dawn, suddenly decided he could take no more and he threw the half-worked shoe into a trough of water where it hissed and spat.
He walked to the door and filled his lungs with fresh air. What breeze there was brought the smell of his sweat to his nostrils and Joss took off his shirt and went to wash.
He primed the pump with three or four strokes and bent his head under the flow of cold water. Then he straightened and rubbed a cloth across his broad barrel chest and down his muscular forearms, wiping away the soot and grime that had gathered from the long day's work.
Over six feet tall, with fine features and piercing blue eyes, Joss Fayrfax had learned the blacksmith's trade from his father, inheriting the smithy when the old man died. He was not long returned from France, alive in body but dead in his mind after serving as a sniper in the mud and blood of the battle of the Somme. A great livid scar now traveled the length of Joss's thigh: it had caused him many months of agony in a hospital bed that jagged shard of shrapnel, but it had also meant he survived as very few did.
Filling a bucket, Joss carried it into the smithy and set it down on his workbench. He stripped off the apron made of sacking he wore round his waist, unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants. Ladling water in his great strong hand, he savored the pleasure of rubbing the cloth up the inside of his thighs and over his genitals.
His balls felt full, swollen with sperm. His huge cock, instantly hard, jutted out from his flat stomach. The skin over his glans, taut and tight, peeled back when he reached down and wrapped his fingers round his cockshaft and moved his hand slowly and firmly up and down its full length. Stroking himself felt good and the pressure of his pent-up semen made him ache to release his seed.
Joss stood up and reached for the length of thin cord suspended from a hook set in the roof which he used to hobble high-spirited horses that might kick him. Then, holding his erect cock to one side with his wrist, he carefully tied a slipknot round the soft skin between his pendant balls and the thick shaft.
He pulled the slipknot tight and tugged his balls away from his body, making them bulge. The constriction made his cock swell up even harder so that it was like a great iron bar of masculine flesh. The bite of the cord felt good.
Standing with eyes closed, Joss took the end of the cord in his left hand and closed the fingers of his right over the bulging glans of his cock, slick with oily pre-come. Then he started to masturbate, pulling down on the cord as he did so.
A mixture of pain and pleasure radiated from his sex organs across his belly and up along his arms and chest. His cock seemed to grow even harder in his hand as he used the cord to pull his balls further and further away from his body. The more he pulled, the more he had to raise himself to allow for the stretching until finally he was standing on tiptoes. If he sagged, the cord tightened another centimeter and the pain and pleasure grew almost unbearable as his balls moved even higher into the air.
Joss's pleasure grew and he stroked himself harder and faster, his breathing become more labored as he concentrated on his approaching climax. A stream of pre-come poured from the tip of his cock as he arched his body up, trying to keep himself fully extended so that the cord did not feel as if it was tearing his balls from his body while he pumped his bulging cock hard with his hand. Then the intensity of what Joss was doing to himself overwhelmed him and he climaxed in a great rush of intense sexual satisfaction. Spurt after spurt of thick sperm burst from the taut tip of his glans and splattered onto the floor of the smithy as waves of hot pleasure coursed through his body.
When his orgasm had subsided, Joss slackened the cord, slowly untied it and left it hanging from the hook. He stood for a moment, breathing hard. His balls felt like they were on fire but he had achieved a release of the tension that had almost, but not quite, quieted his fuck-hunger.
He would have taken a few more seconds to recover but he heard a female voice call sharply from the yard, "Hello in there?" and he hurriedly pulled his trousers up his legs and retied his belt.
Outside a young woman was standing next to her horse. The stallion was favoring its left hoof, trying not to put its weight down. The woman was disheveled, with a smear of mud across her cheek and a tear in the thigh of her tight riding pants.
"You took your time, Mister Fayrfax," the young woman said sharply. "Did you not hear me calling?"
"No, Miss, I did not," Joss said, his eyes meeting hers steadily.
The girl reminded him of her mother. She had the same long golden blonde hair which she wore untied so that it framed her face. Her complexion was porcelain fine, setting off her big, blue eyes and wide, sensual mouth. Her breasts were like her mother's, so big they pushed out the tight material of her riding jacket.
Joss cast his eye admiringly over the girl's bosom and then down her long shapely legs. Her name was Caroline Redgrave and she was the 18-year-old daughter of Sir Piers Redgrave who owned the land which surrounded the village.
"How can I help you, Miss Redgrave?" Joss asked.
"Ajax threw a shoe," she said. "Up on the gallops. Threw me too, the bloody beast. I need you to reshoe him for me. Now, so that I can get home."
Joss felt his hackles rise. He did not work for Sir Piers and being told what to do by his daughter was something he need not accept.
"I'm sorry, Miss, but I have finished my work for today. You may leave Ajax here if you wish. I will stable him until I can do the job in the morning. You can collect him at midday."
"Oh good god, man," Caroline Redgrave snapped at him. "Don't be so bloody stupid. It's three miles back to the house and I have to get ready for dinner."
"I'm sorry, Miss Redgrave," Joss said firmly. "Leave Ajax or walk him home, the choice is yours. I am concerned only for the horse. Not your dinner arrangements."
"Damn you, Fayrfax, shoe the bloody horse like I told you to!" Caroline Redgrave cried in fury, stepping forward and raising her crop towards Joss's face.
Astonishingly fast for a man of his bulk, Joss caught her arm as it descended and twisted her wrist behind her back, pulling her hard into his chest. She struggled to get free but could not.
