WARNING: This story contains dickgirls/futanari. If you aren't into this sort of thing, please don't read it anyway then cry about it in the comment section. If you are into this sort of thing, carry on smartly.
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For blacksmiths, things were always busiest with the spring thaw. Generally, only two groups made up the bulk of the brisk trade. There were the constant stream of farmers, looking for new tools or repairing the damage done to old inventory. Then there were the armies, with pompous aides-de-camp placing large orders of weapons and armor for the campaign season. Every blacksmith across the valley and the surrounding hills was working from sun up to sun down, desperately banging away with their hammers in hopes of stemming the tide of incoming work. Ghoraka the Lefthanded was no exception, the powerfully built orc woman pausing only to brush her leaf red hair from her eyes and wipe the plump drops of sweat from her bro.
With a sigh, she rolled over her latest work: a repair job on a damaged chest plate, the new owner explaining it was a family heirloom of sorts, taken out by a particularly impetuous son and returning in its present state. Ghoraka grunted at the short tale the middle aged man told, asking in typical orc fashion, "Did the son come back too?"
The man betrayed no hint of surprise whatsoever, "Unfortunately, yes." He offered up both hands in a sign of resignation, "Ah well, I suppose it is better than the alternative. I couldn't bear to hear his mother's weeping if he did not."
But that left Ghoraka over-tasked for the day, her apprentice having temporarily succumb to the shop's heat and repetitive strokes required to fashion metal in a quality fashion. Shaking her head, she wondered where the girl had gotten off, no longer lying outside the door, covered in sweat and fanning herself lazily. There wasn't much she could do about it from her shop anyway, setting the armor back on the mold and resuming the swings of her hammer. She was rhythmic in her dedication, repeated strikes smoothing the metal out before setting it back into place, the gashes and dings disappearing by the minute.
However, it was far from easy, and Ghoraka found her usual dedication flagging. Not for any particular failure of her strength or stamina, merely the rise of her libido as she worked. That was one place where Marrissa, her apprentice would have come in handy, the rather stocky human teen always being up for a quick romp while bent over a workbench or on her knees in the backroom, tending to Ghoraka's needs in a most satisfying fashion. Her lips were like --
The orc shook her head, trying to drive the scene from her mind and get back to the task at hand. However, in spite of her thoughts filling with various tricks of the blacksmith's trade her thick member persisted in its growth, slowly gathering blood and flaring, the heft of it lifting her apron. She grunted in frustration, finally laying her hammer aside and casting off her apron, fully nude underneath on account of the unusually high temperature in her shop.
If the girl, her apprentice, had gone anywhere, it was likely to be far away and Ghoraka nearly resigned herself to a long trek towards the town's central well, likely to be crowded as people poured out of their homes and sought to socialize. Whereas the blacksmith loved nothing more than a quick, spontaneous romp, most women weren't nearly as indiscriminate and the long dance between two eager parties only frustrated her on most days.
There was an alternative though and Ghoraka quickly pulled on breeches and a loose-fitting sleeveless blouse, the bare essentials to maintaining public modesty. The top's long slits allowed anyone astride her an ample survey of her breasts, their size and shape matched only by their firmness, while her bottoms were tight against the width of her hips, speaking to the body of a breeder. All the same, she rarely enjoyed any attentions beyond that, the prominent tusks and unsubtle musculature turning away most of those who would have been interested, with her cock, hanging stiffly down the leg of her breeches, scaring away the rest.
That left the art of self-reliance, one she'd been taught from an early age, the practices of which she planned to put into effect as soon as she'd rounded the corner around her shop to a stable, clean and freshly strewn with straw although presently empty of horses. It was far from ideal, but it was inviting, with her cock making its approval known through the most direct manner, throbbing intensely against her thigh as she took a quick glance to the street before stepping inside.
Once inside, Ghoraka wasted no time, untying her breeches and pushing them down to her ankles, sitting down on a particularly soft looking pile of hay and lewdly spitting on her now standing member. The wad of spittle landed true, coating the head as her head clasped it tightly, rolling in a circular motion to smear the ad hoc lubrication around. While her muscles might have protested further activity, her fat dick and plump sac underneath had the libidinous veto and forced Ghoraka to push them into action, peeling back the small amount of excess flesh to bring her cockhead into the glorious light.
She grunted again, sliding her hand down halfway before squeezing tight with her left hand, the grip strength enough to cause her green breeding pole to deform in shape like as if a bladder filled with water: the middle portion giving ground to Ghoraka's hold while the darker green head swelled. It was move that the orc had learned young, increasing the sensitivity and allowing her to merely lick at the head to provide an incredible sensation.
Adequately primed and ready, Ghoraka rolled onto her her shoulders, contorting her body as if a dancer, her thick legs posted back, bringing her face to face with her own cock. Smiling to herself and grunting, the orc dickgirl extended a rough tongue to flick at the tip, swiping a thick drop of precum into her mouth. Just as expected, a sharp pang of ecstasy flowed down her shaft and to her chubby balls, bringing them tighter in her sac.
As her efforts were rewarded, the lewd greenskin bent deeper, allowing her lips to the connect to the head, providing a hot, wet mouth to complement her tongue's work. But she didn't neglect her shaft, her hand scooping drool from her lips before it rolled back on to her face, providing the opportunity for her hand - still clasping as tight as she dared - to slide up and down the remaining length of green dick. Additionally, her off-hand dropped even lower, slapping her balls several times before lifting them away and sliding three thick fingers up and down her equally eager, but heretofore neglected snatch.
Blessed she was, able to - with some difficultly - suck her own cock.
