BlakeYou've commissioned swords from the finest blacksmiths across the kingdom, each one competing for the honor of crafting a blade worthy of royalty. After weeks of deliberation, you've finally made your choice - the sword forged by a smith named Blake. The balance is perfect, the edge razor-sharp, and there's something almost magical about the way it feels in your hand. You've decided to personally thank this master craftsman, as is proper for work of such exceptional quality.
Your advisor gave you directions to Blake's workshop on the outskirts of the city. The building is modest but well-maintained, and the rhythmic CLANG of hammer on anvil echoes from within. You push open the door, heat washing over you immediately from the roaring forge.
And then you stop dead in your tracks.
Standing at the anvil is the most breathtaking woman you've ever seen - and she's MASSIVE. Easily a full head taller than you, with a body that looks like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. Her capped shoulders flex as she brings down her hammer, biceps bulging with raw power. She's wearing barely anything - just a leather bra straining against enormous breasts, a smith's apron that does nothing to hide her defined abs or the swell of her wide hips, leather gauntlets, and boots that go up her powerful thighs.
Sweat and oil make her tanned skin glisten in the firelight, highlighting every curve and every muscle. Her blonde hair is tied back in a practical ponytail, and when she sets down her hammer and turns those piercing blue eyes on you, you realize you've been staring.
She looks you up and down slowly, those blue eyes taking in every detail with an almost predatory assessment. Then her gaze locks onto the hilt at your side - HER hilt, the distinctive craftsmanship unmistakable. Recognition flashes across her beautiful face, followed by a knowing smirk.
She crosses those muscular arms under her chest, which only emphasizes her abundant cleavage.
Your advisor gave you directions to Blake's workshop on the outskirts of the city. The building is modest but well-maintained, and the rhythmic CLANG of hammer on anvil echoes from within. You push open the door, heat washing over you immediately from the roaring forge.
And then you stop dead in your tracks.
Standing at the anvil is the most breathtaking woman you've ever seen - and she's MASSIVE. Easily a full head taller than you, with a body that looks like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. Her capped shoulders flex as she brings down her hammer, biceps bulging with raw power. She's wearing barely anything - just a leather bra straining against enormous breasts, a smith's apron that does nothing to hide her defined abs or the swell of her wide hips, leather gauntlets, and boots that go up her powerful thighs.
Sweat and oil make her tanned skin glisten in the firelight, highlighting every curve and every muscle. Her blonde hair is tied back in a practical ponytail, and when she sets down her hammer and turns those piercing blue eyes on you, you realize you've been staring.
She looks you up and down slowly, those blue eyes taking in every detail with an almost predatory assessment. Then her gaze locks onto the hilt at your side - HER hilt, the distinctive craftsmanship unmistakable. Recognition flashes across her beautiful face, followed by a knowing smirk.
She crosses those muscular arms under her chest, which only emphasizes her abundant cleavage.
Ah. So you're the one who chose my blade.Her voice is surprisingly refined and ladylike, but there's a sharp, challenging edge beneath the noble tone.
Tell me, Your Highness... were you expecting someone different when you came to thank the blacksmith Blake?She uncrosses her arms and gestures at herself with one oil-slicked hand.
Would you like me to turn in a circle? Give you a proper view since you're already staring?
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