forged from lust

i married march and made him a room:

warning: perverse thoughts, masturbation (march), religious mention (gods/goddess praise, sexual acts), kinda unhygienic

you learn very quickly that one of march's love languages is acts of service.

a very saccharine honeymoon phase proceeded your dream-like wedding. march moved in, and easily fit himself in your routine.

every morning and night, you were safely tucked in his rippled arms, the waves of muscle supplemented by his career.

you would find him in the kitchen, shirtless, his dainty-toned figure exposing a back chiseled by the very gods you did not think existed. only his shorts denied you the pleasure of seeing him raw. he'd look back at you, toothy grin, eyes filled with so much love. "hungry?" he'd ask so sweetly.

and every other day or so, he'd shut off the alarm, not to wake you from your slumber. he'd go out and tend to the crops and animals just so you could get a few more winks in. and in return, he got to return to your shared bed, admiring your blissful sleep.

it was all so innocent, for a time.

then, on your way towards the narrows, you were stopped by your husband. he was tending the forge, his body glimmering in sweat. he put down his hammer, biceps taut from the act, before walking up to you. he smiles, rubbing his cheek with his forearm, unaware that he dragged bits of charcoal along his face, "where are you headed?"

you gesture down at the small sack in your arms, "laundry. i've been pushing it off for a while..."

"you're always up to something, for sure," march hums, his words filled with praise. he offers his arms, making you tilt your head in confusion, "give it here, i'll do it for you?"

"are you sure?" your eyes look curiously towards the dancing flames of the forge. "i don't want to bother if you're busy."

"never busy for you, pretty girl," he lulls with a wink. he takes the sack from you, quiet veins crawling along his forearms. "i'll wash and dry it, and bring it home tonight after work."

you gave him an uncertain look, but he waives it off. he insists you do what you must, and let him handle such a mundane task. he hated doing laundry, but was honored to do yours. you were his wife, and he'd do anything to make your life easier.

he enters what was once his home, making his way to the washer/dryer they owned. occasionally wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead, he prepared the washer and detergent.

it was all oh so innocent, the love in his stride when pulling out your dirtied shirts and overalls. he even smiled while doing it, giddy to see your face tonight when bringing you the clean, dried, and folded laundry. but, like caves, the deeper you go, the more treasures you will find.

and in the very bottom of the sack, march found just that; a couple of skinty, small thongs alongside matching, lacey bras.

the very core of his inner forge was set ablaze, and his body suddenly went hot for other reasons. it wasn't so much so he was surprised to see your undergarments, but rather the details of them. your farmer attire truly hid a gem.

putting the other dirty clothing to wash, he snuck away from the main room of the house to what was once his bedroom. everything remained unchanged besides the fact that march was no longer a resident. the wedding had basically just happened after all.

click! goes the lock on his door, his mind going to indecent realms. he tosses your dirty unmentionables on his neatly done bed, his eyes threatening to burn holes right through them.

all this time, he thought to himself. every day, seeing you pass by his forge. you were always so innocent in your greetings, constantly making yourself and what you've done known after leaving the farm and returning from the mines. he never thought that you concealed your own treasures.

quickly, his airy, cedar pants drop to the ground with a huff, while march dizzily walked backwards to take a seat in his chair. he felt high, a feeling he's never truly felt before. it was like something took over, and his mind was no longer set to work.

it was set to satisfy.

a desperate, painful erection poked from underneath his blue plaid boxers. he did not allow a second longer, his hand yanking it off him as if it were something dangerous. the pale limb flings upward, faint veins stretching along its size.

"fuck..." he was breathless. plucking off his work gloves like the stings of a bee, his hand reacquaints himself with his twitching member. the touch of his calloused hand was welcomed, and his head is forced back from the jolt of pleasure.

it was hot, and dribbling with orbs of precum at his flush tip. it was sickening-- he was disgusted. here he was, masturbating to the laundry he said he'd wash. his innocent intention turned warped from his dormant, lustful desires.

admittedly, he had never actually seen you in such garments. he always left fairly early in the morning, and came back to you about midnight when you've long turned in. and even during the day, you proactively showered and changed in the bathroom.

but in this moment of onanism, he could see you in his mind clearly.

he was stroking so recklessly, he was likely to rash. it was frantic, with the way his index rubbed over his slit to bring down more cum to his shaft. he was so achingly hard, he was sure he'd burst.

his dark brown orbs stared down at your dirty slips, unable to fathom the trance it had him under. he traced the embroidered design, imagining how beautiful the stitch looked on your body. and the thongs-- how could anyone create such a piece with that little fabric?

his muscles were all protruding, unable to be kept from the feeling of ecstasy. his entire body was drenched in sweat now, both from the forge, and now from this. the smell of you danced in his senses, despite the unclean state of affairs.

the charcoal smoke contrasted your heavenly smell, march was not going to last. his hand worked his cock faster, dewy cum leaking from his flush tip. "a-ah, f-fuck-- baby-!" his moans called out to you, mixed with shame and a monstrous longing for you.

he was imagining you with the garments on, your curves being hugged so kindly by the little material. the way they could barely handle holding your goddess-like structure, credited by the hard work you had been doing since moving to mistria.

"sh-shit--" he curses through gritted teeth. his body writhes from the addictive sensation, his cock finally fed up. it shot out streaks of white, landing all about the floor, his resigned bed, and your already dirtied lingerie. the tension ornate around his body steadily calmed.

his heart followed suit and slowly calmed, his dick still leaky. his eyes, now squinted from exhaustion, narrowed down at your under slips. the very sight would not permit his cock to deflate.

he forced himself to his feet, redressed himself, and without another thought, he tossed your bra and panties in the washer to accompany the other, evidently neglected laundry.