Fencing Academy by AW Freyr

Author:AW Freyr [Freyr, AW]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Uruk Press
Published: 2015-03-23T00:00:00+00:00

Dear Liam,

Strange thing happened. I disappeared for a week and have no idea where I went. I ended up being rescued by Marcus Challette, and I mean the Marcus Challette. It was an accident, I swear, but we slept naked together. It wasn't sex but

Stupid, thought Lyza. She crumpled that too and added it to the pile. Maybe Liam never needs to know. Would he know, where he is?

"What you need to do," said Tom, in a slow, relaxed tone as he wiggled his toes out of the window, "is air out your feet. You wouldn't know how good you feel, after you get a good breeze through them."

"My feet are fine," said Lyza, in a surly voice.

Tom shook his head and smiled. "Your feet stink. More than that, you're so... pent up. If you just relaxed."

Lyza twisted around. "I am not pent up. I relax plenty, I just need a drink or two."

Tom laughed. "You don't need a drink or two. You need a fuck."

Lyza sneered. "Didn't we agree, Tom, that you wouldn't say that shite?"

Tom withdrew his legs from the window and yawned. "You talk as though you're doing me a favor. But what we agreed was that I wouldn't make a pass on you, not that I couldn't speak the truth. Anyway, that bug's up your arse. If you excuse me, I'm going to take a piss in the Blackwater."

Tom lifted himself from his seat, scratched his ass, and headed out the door, leaving Lyza alone with her thoughts.

Lyza gritted her teeth. This is not what she wanted, not when Tom provided such a good distraction from her letter. Damn it, Tom, come back soon.

Tom's place was kept in surprisingly good order. It was certainly nicer than her place; there was not a loose dish nor a speck of clutter, and all his things were of decent quality. He had even cleared out a large central area for sword practice. It made Lyza wonder if he was more serious about his fencing than he let on. Large windows looked out on the ocean, allowing plenty of light and salty air. It was a damn sight better than the putrid river water smell of her own dwelling.

Some further attempts to write a letter ended in more crumpled papers. Her frustration caused her to give up entirely. Instead, she leaned on her palms, and massaged her brow. The tension left her forehead. She stared out at the ocean, and lost track of much time.

A fuck actually sounds pretty good right now, she sighed.

She was no innocent maid, she knew how the business worked, she had watched Picot's whores fucking before, and she had seen every set of cock and balls imaginable. They were funny shaped, curious things; their appearance was often better in the imagination than in the flesh. Some had the look of being painfully swollen to huge girth and length, others no more than bumps of flesh amongst folds of fat. None were pretty or beautiful. Still, she wondered how they'd feel between her legs, or in her hands.

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