FSE

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Birds blithely chirped away as the sun rose in the morning sky. The residents of the village said their hellos to one another as they made their way to their respective places of work, each as important to the town as the next one; the place would have trouble functioning should one be shut down.

One such establishment was the local blacksmith, run by a man named Anvil - he'd assure people that his name was coincidental. The crocodile had apprenticed in the trade at a young age and, as such, had been working in his forge for most of his adult life. He'd grown far more capable in his craft than people initially gave him credit for, which brought him great pride. Success upon success shut people up quickly.

Besides starting out when he was young, the main reason people were suspicious of him taking up the job was of his generous endowment, which put it mildly. The reptilian had been gifted with an ample package, one that swung wildly while he walked and was always the first thing a person noticed upon meeting him. Several trips to the local tailor ensured that he could keep it in place with a restrictive set of trousers; it just cost him a pretty penny in return.

That worked out perfectly for him as his gigantic manhood usually had a mind of its own at times, becoming a nuisance when it throbbed to life in the midst of his working day. Having some way to hinder his overwhelming libido was a godsend for his productivity.

It meant that he could focus on what was important to him, like supplying the townsfolk with various equipment to make their lives easier, such as his first order - a sword. Barbarians from the east had been seen skulking around the lands, and it had the villagers rather spooked in that most of them didn't have much in the way of protecting themselves. That's where he came in.

Anvil had forged many weapons since acquiring his business - potentially hundreds from orders coming in all over the kingdom - so creating another one could just about be done in his sleep. Iron ready to be turned into steel had already been placed in the oven, an act that could be performed without consciously thinking about it these days.

Putting it together was effortless for the burly man. Every swing of his muscular arms molded the metal into its ideal shape, his biceps bulging with his movements. Hard-earned beef stretched the purple markings that lined his scaly hide, his body a testament to the intense physical labour that he experienced. It gave him an imposing visage, one that contrasted with his easy-going personality.

The repetitive motions of his form not only had an effect on the crafting of the weapon, but also on his hyper endowment. The friction caused by the tight material of his pants stimulated the fattened flesh of his pole into stirring along his leg. He could feel it writhe in place, though did everything in his power to ignore it as best he could.

That was sometimes easier said than done, but his mind squarely concentrated on his work meant that focusing away from his arousal was possible. Forcing himself to his craft was sometimes about the only thing that got him through his day.

In no time flat the sword had been completed, leaving him satisfied with his handiwork as he moved onto the next order. He chuckled to himself as he perused the paper application and noticed that the person wanted a shovel for their garden - total child's play. Even a craftsman below his calibre could hammer that out without trying.

It got him thinking that he could work on the next request at the same time, which happened to be a shield - a little bit more daunting, but also incredibly effortless if one were to ask him. With a roll of his broad shoulders he assembled everything that he needed to get started, throwing enough iron in the furnace for both projects and grabbing the right equipment. He was thankful that he could get wood shaped for his needs at the sawmill for a lower price than the rest of the town could.

He laid the plans on the counter against the wall while the rest of his tools lay on the table closer to the oven. His brain was already hard at work mentally outlining what the final products would be in accordance with the buyer's wishes. Time to get to work.

In the midst of his hammering, Anvil's pillar throbbed as the agitation of his trousers provided more stimulation to shoot waves of pleasure traveling up his body. His ample balls received the same treatment as the pouch that contained them caressed their overly sensitive flesh and made him squirm. He just had to put that out of his head and work.

His junk continued to pulsate with euphoric bliss whenever his brawny leg rubbed up against it, causing him to huff as he shaped the blade of the shovel. He snorted in annoyance as he pushed past his desires and kept his attention on his work.

The story was similar when he formed the front of the shield. His nostrils flared as the head of his cock wriggled further down the leg of his trousers, a bead of precum heralding his libido's awakening. It required him to grit his teeth to try and disregard his burgeoning arousal. That didn't stop a hand from involuntarily migrating to the base of his tremendous crotch rocket for a feel, and it took him a moment before he even realized what'd happened.

That brought upon more unconscious actions, such as his hands lasciviously groping his hardened physique as he inspected his handiwork. It was only after he finished did he understand what he was doing, rolling his eyes as he attempted to wrangle his arousal under control.

Just like the sword, the shovel and shield had been completed without even breaking a sweat - an attestation of his years of experience in the field. Goods of high quality weren't so easy to come by around these parts, making him proud of the work that he accomplished.

The previous three tasks had been painless in his eyes, and he looked forward to the final order of the day so that he could get it finished and take care of his needs. His spirits were high until he glanced at the actual request itself - an entire set of armour. He groaned at the mere thought of spending that much more time in the shop.

Nevertheless, it was his job to accommodate the needs of his fellow villagers. Steeling his resolve, he went and started the necessary preparations for the order, getting metal heated up in the oven as he organized the appropriate tools. He hoped that he could last long enough to complete this before losing control of his junk.

And that's when a stain began spreading along the bottom on his pant leg, making him feel caught between the hammer and the anvil. He hated it when his dedication to the craft became compromised by his overbearing horny nature.

His libido continued to surge the more that his focus was yanked away from his work. Try as he might, he couldn't make his mind stay on track with the order. He balled his fists in an attempt to quell his needs, but soon realized that he'd already rocketed past the point of no return. The question was now when he'd shoot his load, not if.

In some instances, having a set of engorged testosterone factories hanging lower than one's knees would make for a memorable night of hedonistic passion. This was not one of those cases, however, as the amount of work still on his plate took top priority. The urge to drain his balls had grown far too strong to ignore anymore, however, and in spite of biting his lip and clenching his fists, he couldn't force his arousal to dampen given the undeniable horny inferno burning inside of him.

Anvil's will gave up the ghost and let his hands freely roam around his body, feeling up his sumptuous physique. His tensing musculature bulged in his grasp, heaving with every breath as he slowly let himself succumb to his urges. Vigourous and deliberate was his fondling, trying to entice his meaty shaft now that his inhibitions had been annihilated, his hands sensing that his package was trying to break free of its fabric prison by whatever means necessary.

The heat was on.

Without any conscious action, his throbbing cock went and tore through the supposedly tough material of his trousers, exposing his leg to fresh air since clothing himself that morning. His leviathan crotch rocket stiffened before his eyes, bloating to full mast as it grew engorged with blood. It slapped up against his torso, the head at eye level as it oozed out copious amounts of precum down the pulsating flesh of swollen length.

His monstrous orbs slammed against the hard floor of his forge, pushing his feet aside as they audibly churned with potent ballbatter. Now free of his pants, they ballooned to their normal size, veins as thick as his wrist pulsing along the scaly hide of his sac. The overpowering pressure mounting in his lower half forced him into action as he couldn't put his arousal off any longer.

One of the more impressive attributes about himself - in his opinion - was that he was both a shower and a grower, as evident by the way that his mammothian schlong both made him look like he possessed a third leg when soft and grew to being as huge as the rest of his body when hard. His erection would tower over others should they happen to come across him while he took care of it. Hell, there were times that it got the better of him as well.

But the staggering amount of lust pumping through Anvil's veins told him that he needed to take care of his 'problem'. With all the grace that someone with a pillar the size of a person could muster, he slammed his turgid erection on the table where he worked, inadvertently pushing his equipment to the side as his need to get off took centre stage. There were definitely moments where he figured that he should schedule masturbation breaks throughout his work day - this only solidified the idea.

Using his entire body, he pushed against the diamond-hard flesh, his fingers massaging his manhood like a lover. He moaned aloud as his rod gushed out pre by the bucketload. Having a monolithic python of this magnitude was sometimes a pain as his hips naturally thrusted forward to help push him closer to release, but the unimaginable weight of his cock and balls meant that he couldn't move it as much as he wanted. The upside was that the flesh was overly sensitive to compensate, meaning that any and all stimulation only furthered his goal of climax.

His over-productive balls fueling his desire to cum, he continued to grind his muscled body against his tumescent shaft as he begged to be able to orgasm. Pleasure radiated throughout his form as his hands persisted in their fondling of his pillar. Even squeezing his legs against his dick sent shivers ripping up his spine as his nervous system pummeled his brain with overwhelming ecstasy.

The longer that time ticked on, the nearer that he grew to release. It was all that he could focus on, his thoughts dominated by his urges. Pure erotic energy welled up inside of him, coaxing him into lashing his tongue against the slickened meat in front of him. It elicited a groan of approval out of him the more that he did it.

Sex consumed the air in the forge, his massive shaft being the only thing that he could smell anymore. Even the heat emanating off of it far overpowered that which came from the oven. Every grope, every lick, every buck of his hips - all of it kept pushing him closer to climax. Barely any time remained until then.

Anvil could feel the fruits of his labour begin to take shape in the form of his prostate forcing his taint to bloat out as he neared orgasm. That got him half-lidded as the pressure in his balls just about hit its intended mark, bringing him to fever pitch. He huffed as his pistoning slowed down, a pool of preseed formed along the floor of his workspace. Just a few more thrusts left to--

With a relieved bellow, he unloaded everything that his fattened cum tanks produced, gushing out like a waterfall onto the ground below him. Spunk flooded his forge's floor, the level of which rising as his balls drained themselves dry. While he naturally took longer than others to ease his tension, the fact that he had a cock like a water feature helped a ton.

Jizz rose to his knees, close to submerging the orbs that produced it all. They throbbed with need as they pumped ballbatter through his bulging cumpipe at a rate that a geyser would find excessive. The fire in the oven had been thoroughly snuffed out thanks to the egregious volume of fluid jettisoned into the enclosed space. The knowledge that he'd have to clean all of this burned him, but that was for future him to take care of.

The weight of his cum bearing down on the door was so great that the lock gave way, unleashing a torrent of virile crocodile seed flooding into the village. The level in his forge dramatically dropped as the pressure was released. More and more spunk deluged the area around his establishment, pooling out across both dirt road and grass, and yet his balls still hadn't fully drained. The unrelenting pleasure consuming his very being egged him on.

Whole minutes of blasting sticky rope started turning into seconds as his cum tanks gradually emptied. He could feel cognizance of the world around him begin to return when the flow pouring from his shaft eventually trickled to a halt, leaving him a heaving, sweaty mess, laying on a flagging mass of cock that slowly shrank back down to its flaccid state. The forge was a site of chaos as everything had a layer of pearlescent spunk on it save for the ceiling. While he hated his equipment getting soiled like that, it wasn't the first time that it'd happened; the reptilian was well-versed in cleaning up his own juices.

The building would require a deep clean in order for him to return to work, though it might take a bit of time before that could happen. He needed to fully settle down, of course, but he was happy to wait.