[fM] Wild Roses pt. 2: Training Days

With a grunt, Willard squared his hips and thrust against Spring, and as the force of his motion hit her, she squealed with pain.

“You got to keep your parry up, girl!” he admonished, stepping back and circling her. “Is this your first time holding a fucking sword?”

Turning around to follow him, she used her off hand to pull her short shaggy fringe of black hair out of her steel blue eyes. When the old sword struck again, she had her parry up, but he sailed right through and broadsided her with the dull training steel.

“Ayup”, he said, “that’ll leave a bruise.”

“Fuck you, old man.” Spring spat. “How am I supposed to parry a blow like that, if you put your whole weight behind it.” She circled, staying out of his immediate reach. “Your whole, _considerable_, weight.”

With a laugh, Willard lined up for another shot at her. This time, she managed to hook the pommel and deflect the blow.

“Like that!” he shouted triumphantly, as he bowled around for another blow, which handily took Spring’s legs from under her.

Lying panting on the ground, Spring stared up at her teacher. “If this is how you teach soldiers, I can see why you’re retired.”

Willard drove his training sword into the ground next to her. “That’s enough for today, girl, you’re too cranky to learn.”

“Too cranky to teach for a tired old man.” Spring sallied.

“Or that.” Willard said, reaching out his hand and pulling Spring to her feet. “But, a teacher doesn’t choose his students. We’ll resume in the morning, when you’ve had some food and rest.”

Spring wiped the sweat from her brow. “And a bath.” she added.

“Ayup”, Willard agreed, “and a bath.”

Inside Willards small house the two of them shared their afternoon meal, while Willard commented on Spring’s developing sword form. It was simple fare, but filling; roast pork and fresh baked bread, with forest mushroom soup on the side, and beer to wash it down, a cup for Spring and a large tankard for the old soldier.

After the meal was done, they walked down the street to the town bathhouse. At this hour of the day it was deserted, so they had it to themselves as always after practice. Inside, they disrobed, and at the edge of the tub, they sat washing. As Spring sat cleaning her pale skin with warm water and rough soapstone, she saw that the flowers of today’s practice was already blooming; a large red welt on the side of her slender belly where the last blow had fallen, along with a purple bruise on her narrow hip, where an earlier blow had struck true and hard.

The rest of her body was bruised as well, although most were faded, gifts from the first few tries at practicing with Willard, but her long arms were still marked by blue welts up and down their length. When she was done cleaning her bruised body, she fetched a large pail of cold water, and dumped it out over her head. The water was cooler than she had thought, and shivering she traipsed lightly over to the main tub, where when she sat on the edge seat, the water came up to just below her small, perky breasts, whose small pink nipples were still hard as stone from the freezing torrent.

As she sat warming up, she allowed herself a look over at her grizzled teacher. At near six feet, he was of a height with her, but three times as broad, at the least, and despite his long retirement, near all of it muscle. His skin was coppery and rough, and what little hair was left to him had gone to gray, leaving his smooth head bald, encircled with a rim of neat locks. At bath he made a habit of shaving his beard, as he did now, but he kept his thick, gray moustache, but well trimmed. His chest bore many a scar of his past, in particular a particularly large one from left hip to right shoulder, which blossomed like a sprig as it moved over his chest; small and neat at the hip, broad and heavy at the shoulder.

“I’ve been meaning to ask”, Spring said as she sat watching him shave, “how old are you, anyway?”

Willard considered this for a moment. “I’ve got fourty-some years, I reckon, maybe a few more. I stopped counting the day a northman gave me this, and I lived to tell of it.”

He drew his finger across his chest to indicate the scar that ran from shoulder to hip, mark of a grievous injury as it was.

“Did you kill him for it?”

“Can’t say as I did”, Willard mused, rinsing his dagger in the tub, “stray blow from one of his compatriots took him out as he raised his sword to finish the job. Seemed there were no reason to him dyin’ that day, nor me living, so after that counting years seemed a pointless thing to do.”

Spring nodded sagely, and watched as Willard rose from his bathing stool and clambered into the tub, his massive cock swinging lazily between his legs. She’d seen her father’s at bath often enough, but it seemed to her that Willard’s was something else entirely. It was a handspan long, and an inch thick, crowned with a large tangle of gray scraggly hair, and in the heat of the baths, its thick veins bulged against the skin. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it, but something about the sight of it felt different today, although she could not have said what.

If Willard noticed her staring, he didn’t comment on it, and soon he was sitting next to her, soaking in the warm water, his eyes closed where he sat in easy repose. Spring slid forward a little and leant back as well, sloshing some warm water over herself. In spite of the heat, her nipples were still fiercly hard, and the heavy air of the baths suddenly felt unaccountably heavy in her lungs.

Carefully, she scooted closer to Willard, into the hollow left by his arm stretching out along the rim of the tub, and leant against him to steady herself, but it had little effect. If anything, it seemed to make matters worse, and soon she felt as if her face was on fire, where she sat staring down into the depths of the water at Willards manhood.

“You all right, girl?” Willard asked, not unkindly.

“Yeah, just a little light headed from the heat.” she said, and nudged him slightly with her shoulder. “You don’t, um, mind or anything?”

Willard shook his head lazily. “Practice can take a lot out of ya, and a growing girl needs more food than you eat, I think. I’m not so steady at cooking for anyone but my lonesome, but I’ll see about fixin’ that.”

“Yeah”, Spring said, biting her lip, “that’s probably it…”

She was feeling hungry, but looking down into the water, she didn’t think it was for food. With a deep breath, she let her hand wander of its own volition, and shivered as it closed around the base of Willard’s cock. Willard made no move to encourage or rebuke her, but merely opened one silver grey eye and glanced over at her.

“What are you up to, girl?” he asked as Spring blushed furiously.

“I – a soldier should train with all manner of swords, no?” she tried, fingers trembling at the feel of him in her hand.

“Aye, but you’re not a soldier, and that’s not for fighting with.”

Spring was blushing so furiously she felt her face might burst, but encouraged by Willard hardening in her grip, she pressed on. “No, but I’m a woman, and your student, and you’re a man, and my teacher, and I want you to teach me how to use this sword as well.”

“A _girl_.” Willard corrected her.

“Whichever.” Spring said defiantly, and began experimentally stroking his cock. “And I believe you promised my father to teach you all you knew, if I wanted to learn.”

“Aye, that I did, but I don’t quite think this is what he had in mind…” Willard sallied, his resolve quickly draining into his cock as Spring tried her hand at it.

“A promise is a promise, seems to me.” Spring said, her hand getting a better feel for the shape with every stroke.

“Aye, very well then.” Willard relented, any reticence chased away by Spring’s slenders fingers. “What you’re doing there will serve”, he added, “just be sure to find a good rythm…”

Spring smiled happily as Willard raised his arm from the edge of the tub and put it on her shoulder, and eagerly she worked up a solid rythm, feeling him harden and grow.

“Do I just keep doing this?” she asked when she felt the cock was as hard as it was going to get.

“Aye, you can.” Willard said slowly, his breath growing heavier.

“Or other things?” Spring suggested.

“Or other things, aye.” Willard confirmed. “But now I think you should stop. We can continue at home, where nobody will walk in on us.”

Disappointed, Spring let go of him and clambered out of the tub, and Willard followed soon after. With her breath still heavy and oppressive, Spring gathered up her linen tunic, but instead of putting it on, she simply gathered it up in front of her and sprinted out of the building with a grin, leaving Willard behind, cursing and swearing. Going the back alleys, she didn’t run into anyone on her way back to Willards house on the edge of town, and once inside she discared her clothes and tumbled naked into his bed.

Soon, the door clattered open, and Willard stepped through, his jerkin and boots unlaced, and his breeches only poorly.

“What was that about, girl?” he loudly admonished her, tossing her left-behind shoes to the floor. “I thought you wanted to be a soldier, not some wild slattern.”

Spring sat up on the bed, legs crossed, showing off her rose rose to Willard. “Who says I can’t be both?”

Fuming and grumbling, Willard set to pulling off his boots, as Spring got off the bed and slinked over to him. “Besides”, she said as he stood up and noticed her, “nobody saw.”

With a quick motion, she pulled his jerkin up over his head, and dropped to her knees in front of him, a hand on the stomach pushing him up against the door. Where she sat, she took to unlacing his breeches, the hardness of his cock still apparent beneath the worn leather.

“And while I waited, I thought of something else I wanted to try.” she said with a grin as his trousers fell to the floor and his manhood flopped out. “After all, you say I don’t eat enough…”

Carefully, she began kissing his cock, one hand planted on his stomach and the other experimentally fondling his balls. When he was once again as hard as he’d been in the bathhouse, she tried slipping her lips over its head. It was a little large, but once the head of it was past her teeth, she had no trouble keeping it up. Soon she felt his hand on her head, gently guiding her motion and setting the rythm, teaching her. She let her hand drop from his stomach to stroke the slick shaft, still warm and soft from the baths, and feeling for his twitches and sounds as she squeezed and fondled his balls, she tried to figure out what he liked best.

Soon she had it figured out, and found that instead of directing and moderating her, his hand entwined in her hair was urging and egging her on, telling her to move faster, deeper, and as a good student, she obeyed. With a sudden grunt and a twitch, Willard came, spilling himself in her mouth with great spurts, giving her more than she could take in one go, and coughing and hacking she pulled back.

“You – *cough* – could have warned me about that…” she said, looking up at him reproachfully.

Willard nodded weakly. “Learn to keep your clothes on in the streets, and maybe next time I will.”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/5l4a1j/fm_wild_roses_pt_2_training_days

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