I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

Arthur entered the Iron Anvil just as the commercial district’s evening bells began to toll.

The main floor was sweltering, filled with the sharp smell of coal smoke and hot steel. Brokk stood at the main forge, his massive arms bringing a hammer down rhythmically against a glowing breastplate. The dwarven master smith barely looked up as Arthur stepped inside, wiping sweat from his brow with a soot-stained rag. He recognized Arthur and waved him toward the back hallway.

”Custom work is in the back,” Brokk grunted over the roar of the flames. ”Brunhilda’s still working.”

Arthur reached the fitting room carrying Whisperwind and Voss’s written specifications. The temporary brace remained strapped beneath his glove and forearm armor.

Brunhilda looked up from her workbench. Her gaze moved slowly over Arthur, paused on the temporary brace around his wrist, and returned to his face.

”You finally remembered where the forge was.”

”I came as soon as I needed something made,” Arthur replied lightly.

Brunhilda stopped working. ”That is exactly the problem.”

”You could have sent word.”

”I shouldn’t have to send a formal order before you come back and fuck me,” she hissed.

The heavy hammer struck the anvil in the neighboring room.

Clang.

Brunhilda picked up Voss’s specifications and lowered her voice.

”Coat, glove, brace, and forearm armor,” she ordered. ”Lift the shirt too. I want to see how badly you’re guarding those ribs.”

Arthur removed the equipment and lifted his shirt. Brunhilda examined the bruising along his ribs before taking his right wrist in both hands.

She turned it once.

Arthur’s expression tightened.

”Still swollen,” she said.

”Voss said I twist it when I switch from the bow to the daggers.”

”I can read.”

Brunhilda picked up the specification sheet, scanned it, then wrapped a measuring cord around Arthur’s wrist and forearm.

”Hold the bow.”

Arthur picked up Whisperwind and settled his hand around the grip.

Brunhilda checked where the weapon rested against his palm and made two marks on the parchment.

”Leather inside, light metal outside, and the palm stays open,” she said. ”Enough support to stop the wrist twisting, but not enough to make it stiff.”

”Will it make me stronger?”

”No. It’s a bracer, not a miracle.”

She pulled a reinforced leather wrap from beneath the workbench and tossed it to him.

”Use that until I finish the proper one. Wear it during your next dungeon and bring it back afterward.”

Arthur strapped it around his wrist.

”That’s all?”

”For the bracer.” Her gaze moved down his body. ”The rest requires more privacy.”

Brunhilda gathered several tools into a wooden case and carried them into the main forge.

”I’m taking the smaller work home,” she told Brokk. ”Vance can carry the tool case.”

Brokk was still surrounded by unfinished armor.

”Fine. I’ll be here for hours.”

Brunhilda returned and pushed the case into Arthur’s hands.

”Carry that.”

”You invite every customer home?”

”Only the ones who disappear after fucking me.”

Brunhilda’s home was a short walk from the commercial district, tucked into a quiet, stone-paved residential street.

She walked ahead of Arthur with quick, irritated steps, her hips shifting beneath her heavy work dress.

”Why didn’t you come back?” she demanded without turning around.

”The academy schedule expanded,” Arthur said. ”Guild work piled up. And then there was the midterm.”

”You found time to nearly get yourself killed.”

”That was mandatory.”

”And I wasn’t?”

”You could have demanded I return,” Arthur told her.

Brunhilda stopped outside a heavy oak door and looked up at him, her bright green eyes narrowed.

”I am demanding it now.”

She unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The house was built for dwarves. The ceiling was low and the stone walls thick. Brokk’s spare coat hung beside the entrance, and his pipe rested on a shelf beneath it.

Brunhilda placed the tool case on the short table and threw the deadbolt.

Arthur reached for the latch on the wooden case. Brunhilda slapped his hand away.

”The thread can wait.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward the bedroom.

”I thought this was a professional fitting,” Arthur said.

”You thought wrong.”

Inside the bedroom, Brunhilda turned around and pulled her work dress all the way up past her waist.

She was wearing no underwear. Her pussy was soaked, the dark curls matted with wetness, her swollen lips shining between her spread thighs.

She lifted one boot and planted it onto the low bedframe, spreading herself wider for him.

”Look at that,” she commanded.

Arthur stepped closer.

Brunhilda reached down and dragged two fingers through her own wet folds, coating them in slick arousal.

”That happened because of you,” she said, holding her fingers up in the narrow space between them. ”Do you understand why I’m angry you stayed away?”

Arthur caught her wrist. He brought her wet fingers to his mouth, licking them clean while holding her gaze.

Brunhilda shuddered.

”Bed. Now.”

She pushed Arthur backward onto the dwarven mattress. The bed was too short for him. His feet hung off the end, his shoulders nearly filled the entire width, and the wooden frame creaked under his weight.

Brunhilda climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs, and opened his trousers herself.

She gripped his fully hard cock in both hands.

”I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” she complained.

”That sounds unhealthy,” Arthur commented.

”Shut up.”

She reached to the bedside drawer, pulled out a small glass vial, and drank a quick measure of a contraceptive tonic. Tossing the empty vial aside, she climbed higher over his hips.

Because of her short legs and Arthur’s larger frame, she had to plant her knees wide on the mattress. She rubbed her wetness along the length of his shaft once, then placed the head against her pussy.

She lowered herself slowly, taking him deeper until she had to stop and catch her breath.

Arthur gripped her waist to steady her.

Brunhilda glared down at him. ”Don’t you dare move.”

Taking a breath, she pushed herself lower, forcing the rest of him inside until she was fully seated.

”Fuck,” she whispered, dropping her forehead against his chest. ”I missed this.”

Brunhilda planted her hands firmly on Arthur’s chest and began moving.

Because the bed was built for dwarves, Arthur couldn’t brace his feet properly. His legs hung off the edge, and the wooden frame groaned under every downward movement.

Brunhilda rose and dropped onto him again. Her breasts bounced beneath the loosened fabric of her dress. Arthur kept his grip on her hips, helping to lift her before pulling her down onto his cock with every thrust.

”You don’t get to disappear again,” she demanded breathlessly.

Arthur drove his hips upward into her descent. ”Make a better appointment system.”

She slapped his chest and rode him faster.

Arthur slid one hand between their bodies, finding her swollen clit through the slick mess of dark curls, and rubbed it firmly while she ground down against him.

Her first climax came quickly. Her body tightened around him, her thighs locking against his sides as she threw her head back with a broken groan.

She didn’t stop moving. She kept riding him through the sensitivity, demanding more.

”Again,” she ordered.

Arthur gripped her waist and rolled Brunhilda over, pinning her onto her back.

The small mattress barely contained them. Brunhilda spread her legs around Arthur’s waist as he caught her beneath the knees and pushed them higher.

He drove into her pussy again, knocking the bedframe against the stone wall.

Arthur pushed her knees higher and drove into her again. Her open dress slipped farther down, leaving her breasts bouncing with every thrust.

The dwarven bed struck the stone wall. Brunhilda reached up, grabbing the headboard to stop herself from sliding away from him. She gritted her teeth and told him not to slow down.

Pain caught beneath Arthur’s ribs.

Brunhilda felt him tense.

”Stop holding yourself up on that side,” she ordered. ”Use your hips.”

Arthur shifted his weight onto his uninjured arm and shortened his movements.

When the second climax hit, her back arched off the mattress and fresh wetness spread beneath her hips. Arthur thrust steadily straight through her climax.

Brunhilda caught her breath, pushed Arthur back, and climbed off the mattress.

”Turn around?” Arthur asked.

”I was going to tell you the same thing.”

She bent over the end of the low bed and looked back at him.

The frame was too low for Arthur. He was forced to widen his stance and grip her hips, pulling her backside upward to correct the angle. She reached between her own legs and used her fingers to spread her soaked pussy wide for him.

”Finish what you started,” she demanded.

Arthur gripped her hips and pushed himself back inside her.

Her body rocked forward with every deep thrust. Arthur’s hands nearly covered both sides of her waist as he established a fast rhythm. The heavy bedframe pounded against the stone floor.

Brunhilda kept one hand planted between her legs, rubbing her clit while Arthur took her from behind. She demanded that he fuck her harder, complaining loudly into the mattress that he had stayed away from her for far too long.

Arthur responded by pulling her hips back into every thrust.

Her third climax was the strongest. Her legs began to shake. She cried out, squirting down her thighs and onto the stone floor beside the bed, her cunt clenching hard around him.

Arthur prepared to pull out to finish, but Brunhilda reached back and grabbed his thigh.

”Inside.”

Arthur gripped her hips, his own breathing ragged.

Brunhilda looked back over her shoulder, her face flushed with sweat. ”I said inside. Give me everything you denied me.”

Arthur’s control broke. He drove into her several more times and came in hard pulses while Brunhilda pushed back against him, keeping him buried until the last one passed.

When Arthur finally pulled out, a thick string of cum leaked from her stretched cunt, mixing with her wetness and running down through the dark hair between her thighs.

Brunhilda looked down at the mess dripping onto her legs.

”Better,” she breathed.

Arthur stayed bent over her for several breaths, one hand braced against the bed. ”Only better?”

She turned around, smirking as she grabbed a cloth from the bedside table. ”You still owe me for disappearing.”

They washed quickly. Brunhilda stripped the soaked sheet from the bed while Arthur wiped the floor and shifted the frame away from the wall. She dropped the bedding into a wash tub and covered it with soapy water before pulling out a clean sheet.

”Brokk won’t notice?” Arthur asked.

”Brokk notices armor. Not bedsheets.”

Once they had dressed, Brunhilda checked the temporary wrap around Arthur’s wrist and tightened the upper strap.

”Wear it during the next dungeon,” she said. ”Bring it back afterward.”

”Only the wrap?”

Brunhilda glanced toward the bedroom. ”Do not wait for another equipment problem before visiting me.”

Arthur returned to the first-year dormitory very late that night.

Emily was leaning against the wall beside his door, holding a folded piece of red parchment. Her eyes moved from Arthur’s disordered hair to the new wrap around his wrist. The smell of forge smoke still clung to his coat.

”That fitting took a long time,” she said.

”Custom work requires detailed measurements.”

Emily studied him for another second.

”Apparently.”

Arthur reached for his door, but she held the parchment out first.

”Instructor Morwenna left this for you. She told me to make sure you didn’t pretend you never received it.”

Arthur unfolded the notice.

Recovery Assessment — Training Hall ThreePersonal weapons prohibitedMobility skills restricted

Emily grinned.

”Looks like Morwenna finally gets to take away all your excuses.”

Arthur folded the parchment and unlocked his door.

”You sound far too happy about that.”

”I’m participating.”

Arthur paused with one hand on the door.

Emily’s grin widened.

”Sleep well.”

She turned and walked toward her own room, leaving Arthur alone in the corridor with the notice.