Free Web NovelChapter 33: Starving Wife
Arthur left the academy grounds, taking the late bus into the commercial district.
His muscles were still coiled tight from the grapple with Morwenna, but his mind was sharp. Tomorrow was the F-rank dungeon expedition. If he was going to carry a team of cast-offs and exploit the dungeon’s resources, he needed his new gear.
He walked down the cobblestone streets until he reached The Iron Anvil.
He pushed the heavy wooden doors open. As always, the sweltering heat of the forge washed over him, accompanied by the deafening, rhythmic CLANG of Brokk’s heavy hammer hitting an anvil in the back room.
Brunhilda was behind the counter, organizing a ledger. She was wearing her usual tight linen shirt, completely soaked with sweat, causing the thin white fabric to cling aggressively to her massive, heavy boobs.
When the door chimed, she looked up. A genuine, bright smile instantly broke across her face.
"Right on time, handsome," she grinned, wiping her soot-stained hands on her heavy leather apron. "Brokk just finished the final stitching an hour ago. Come to the back."
Arthur followed her into the showroom. Sitting on a wooden armor dummy was the custom Shadow Wolf set.
It looked incredible. The pitch-black pelts had been perfectly tanned and interwoven with hardened leather and dark steel rivets. It was sleek, completely matte to absorb light, and practically radiated an aura of lethal stealth.
[Item: Shadow-Weave Leather Set (Custom / High-Tier)] Effect: +10 Agility. +15% Resistance to low-level Dark Magic. Description: Masterfully crafted. Absorbs ambient sound during movement.
Arthur ran his hand over the dark fur collar. "He does good work."
"The best in the city," Brunhilda said proudly. She grabbed the chest piece off the dummy. "Go into the fitting room. Put the base layers on so we can adjust the combat straps. If the leather is too loose, a goblin will stick a dagger right through the gaps."
Arthur nodded, taking the heavy bundle of dark leather. He stepped into the small, cramped fitting room tucked in the corner of the shop and pulled the thick velvet curtain shut.
He stripped off his academy uniform, tossing the shirt and trousers onto a wooden stool. He stood there in just his dark boxer-briefs, admiring the faint, lingering scars from the labyrinth that had already started fading thanks to his Troll Blood.
He pulled the dark leather pants on. They fit perfectly around his thighs, the material incredibly light and flexible. He didn’t buckle the waist yet, letting it hang loose. He slipped the sleek, dark chest piece over his head.
The velvet curtain suddenly shifted.
Brunhilda slipped into the tiny fitting room, pulling the heavy fabric shut behind her.
The space was impossibly small. With both of them inside, there was barely an inch of breathing room. The deafening CLANG of her husband’s hammer echoed loudly from the forge just on the other side of the brick wall, providing the perfect cover of noise.
"Need a hand with the buckles?" Brunhilda asked, her voice dropping into a low, completely unapologetic purr.
Her green eyes immediately dropped down. The unbuckled dark leather hung low at his hips, completely exposing the thick, heavy bulge pressing aggressively against the cotton of his underwear.
She stared right at it, her lips parting slightly.
"The shoulders are a bit tight," Arthur said smoothly, acting as if they were having a totally normal conversation.
Brunhilda snapped her eyes back up to his face. A deep flush was already creeping up her neck. "Right. The shoulders. Let me see."
She stepped right up against him. Because she was only four and a half feet tall, she had to reach high up to get to the heavy steel buckles resting on his collarbones. She got up on her tiptoes, pressing her massive, soft boobs completely flat against his hard stomach as she struggled with the stiff leather straps.
"Hold on," she grunted, her fiery red hair brushing against his chest. "I can’t quite get the leverage..."
"Let me help you with that," Arthur murmured.
Instead of kneeling down, Arthur reached out. He placed his large hands directly onto her incredibly wide hips. He didn’t hesitate. He slid his hands down, grabbing two massive handfuls of her thick, soft ass right through the fabric of her skirt, and hoisted her straight into the air.
"Oh!" Brunhilda gasped, her hands instinctively flying to his broad shoulders to steady herself.
With his Strength, lifting the heavy dwarven shortstack was effortless. He held her up so they were perfectly eye-level.
Driven by pure instinct, Brunhilda wrapped her incredibly thick, muscular thighs securely around his waist to lock herself in place.
The position was incredibly compromising. Arthur’s hands were firmly kneading the heavy flesh of her bare ass cheeks under her skirt. Her crotch was pressed directly against his stomach, and the thick, rigid heat of his erection was resting perfectly against the wet junction of her thighs.
"Is this a better angle?" Arthur asked, his voice a low, dark rumble.
Brunhilda was staring at him, completely wide-eyed. Her chest was heaving wildly against his. The sheer, dominating strength he was casually displaying—holding her up like she weighed absolutely nothing while her husband hammered steel twenty feet away—was completely frying her brain.
She could feel the rock-hard length of his cock twitching against her inner thigh.
"Y-Yes," Brunhilda breathed, her voice trembling with raw heat. "Much better."
She reached up with shaking fingers and adjusted the leather buckles on his shoulders, pulling the straps tight. But she didn’t unwrap her legs from his waist when she finished.
She stayed exactly where she was, looking deeply into his eyes.
"You know," Brunhilda whispered, her thumbs tracing the dark leather resting over his collarbones. "If my husband walked in here right now, he would kill us both."
"Then we’d better be quiet," Arthur replied, his hands squeezing her massive ass cheeks hard.
Brunhilda let out a soft, stifled whimper. Her hips instinctively rolled forward, grinding her soaked pussy deliberately against the hard bulge in his underwear.
Arthur’s eyes darkened. He stepped forward, pinning her back against the wooden wall of the fitting room. He leaned in, his lips hovering barely a millimeter from hers. He could taste the sweet vanilla on her breath.
"You’re starving for it, aren’t you?" Arthur whispered directly against her lips.
Brunhilda let out a frustrated, needy whine, completely intoxicated by the tease.
Instead of kissing her, Arthur slowly, deliberately let her slide down his body. The heavy friction of her thick thighs dragging over his erection made them both shudder. He set her feet softly back onto the floorboards.
Brunhilda stood there, her legs practically shaking. She had to grip the wooden stool to keep her balance. Her green eyes were hazy, completely drunk on the intense, forbidden tension.
"You’ve got a lot of nerve, kid," Brunhilda rasped, looking up at him with pure, unfiltered hunger. "Nobody treats me like that." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
"But you didn’t hate it, did you?" Arthur smirked, his eyes dropping to her crotch. "In fact, I can smell how wet you are. Your panties are completely soaked right now."
Brunhilda opened her mouth to deny it, but no words came out. Her face was burning red.
Arthur didn’t give her a chance to recover. He casually reached down and pulled the waistband of his boxer-briefs down.
His cock sprang out into the open air—thick, heavy, and completely rock-hard.
He wrapped his hand around the base and gave it a slow, deliberate stroke.
"Look how hard you made it," Arthur said, his voice dripping with filthy intent. "If I were your husband, I wouldn’t be out there hitting an anvil. I’d be in here hammering your tight pussy just as intensely."
Brunhilda’s thighs clamped together. She stared at his erect cock, her pupils completely dilated. A thin string of drool pooled at the corner of her lips. Her brain was screaming at her to drop to her knees and take the whole thing into her mouth right then and there.
Her hand slowly reached out, her fingers trembling as they reached for his shaft.
"Brunhilda!"
Brokk’s gruff, gravelly voice echoed loudly from the front of the shop. "Get out here! We got a guild party looking to buy off the racks!"
Brunhilda flinched like she had been struck by lightning. She snatched her hand back, taking a deep, shaky breath, and frantically smoothed out her apron. She slipped out from behind the velvet curtain, practically fleeing the tiny room before she lost her mind and begged him to take her on the floor.
Arthur watched the curtain fall shut, a cold, victorious smirk spreading across his face.
Hooked. Too easy when you know exactly what they’re missing at home.
He tucked his heavy dick away, buckled his new Shadow Wolf pants, and grabbed his duffel bag. He walked out of the fitting room, feeling the perfect, silent mobility of the new armor.
Brunhilda was standing behind the counter, aggressively fanning her flushed face with a piece of parchment while trying to focus on a group of loud hunters.
"Thanks for the armor, Brunhilda," Arthur called out, walking past the counter. He gave her a slow, knowing wink. "I’ll definitely be coming by again."
He walked out of the heavy wooden doors of The Iron Anvil and stepped into the cool night air.
