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Bronze church bells rang out to welcome the dim, gray glow of morning light. They echoed over the quiet streets of Pardalis, resonating between the brick walls that framed its winding paths. For the bakers and the dockhands on the river, the day had already begun; there was little time for industry to sleep in the old city. While there was money to be made, Pardalis strove to earn the greatest share. Even Castle Ocelot, standing proud on an island at the center of the great river, was lit up with lamps and the shouts of soldiers running their drills.

Venerio groaned softly and twisted in his bunk to fight the demand to rise at the sound of the bells before he swung his feet to the floor. He stretched the sleep out of his bones and joints and raked his claws gently through his fur as part of his morning ritual, waking his nerves and muscles. It didn’t take long but once he was satisfied, he sighed in defeat at the erection throbbing from his lap. He was proud of his dear companion: longer than the span of his fingers, iron-hard, dark, ruddy skin with a cap that shined like polished wood. But for all its loveliness, he had no time for his rod: the forge needed to be lit and the other apprentices were still snoring thoughtlessly in their beds.

But Venerio was the first to wake up, as always, so he gathered up his breeches and shirt and let his throbbing erection lead his way to the cistern. Crossing the familiar path nude still sent a thrill down his tail, watching his cock swing erratically between his legs and leave a sparse trail of his precum in glimmering beads on the floor of the courtyard. Once he drew up to the cistern’s basin, he gathered a modest bucket of water, still fresh from the rainstorms earlier that week and cold from the night’s chill and set to clean himself. He washed his face, foreskin, and balls thoroughly then poured enough water over his shoulders to rinse off the night before shaking his fur dry enough to get dressed. His balls still craved release and his cock hadn’t gone fully soft yet but he had put on his business face and hurried to the larder.

Gray light quickly turned to gold as he snatched a stale end of bread and a generous cut of cheese before the journeymen arrived to fight him over it. He didn’t have time to savor his breakfast. If he didn’t have the apprentices up before the forgemaster, it would be Venerio’s hide, so he stuffed his mouth, grabbed a pan and a ladle, and returned to the dormitory.

Returning to the dim room, Venerio realized it wasn’t entirely unlike an orphanage. A dozen young boys were piled up in bunks, sprawled and tangled in their sheets like they had been lazily thrown into place. Each of them came from different families and backgrounds, all of them dependent on the forgemaster’s good graces. Venerio was the same as them, just older; old enough to be a man in his own right. He still felt a kinship to the younglings, and for moment, gazing at the beatific calm of their graceless sleep, it seemed a shame to interrupt their dreams. Then he hammered his pan as violently as he suspected the old metal could handle.

“SUN’S UP! OUT OF BED! OUT OF BED!”

Snores were aborted into snorts and mewls and yowls. The apprentices scrambled out of bed and stumbled into each other as Venerio continued to shout and bang. It took less than a minute for some semblance of wakeful order to settle in the room but they hardly made for an elite force. He relished the authority more than he liked to admit but not as much as the younger boys imagined. Venerio was old for an apprentice at nineteen years and the next eldest would turn thirteen come the fall. He didn’t get much from being in charge of the snot-tailed bunch, and yet he was the “Prince of Apprentices”. Even the journeymen would tease him for it. Regardless, he doled out assignments as evenhandedly as he knew how, sending the biggest younglings to fetch and carry, the smallest to prep and clean.

Until, the forgemaster was out of bed, Venerio was in charge of seeing the fires lit, the metals and fuels laid out, the quenching station cleaned and filled, and the tools prepped. It was a lot to do but there lots of hands and he’d had a couple years practice coordinating the cubs to get the work done. When he was first given the duty instead of the journeymen he took a licking every other day for some task undone or some sloppy bit of work but these days, he felt a little like a proper smith. He even took the liberty to heat an ingot of iron and set himself up to practice hammering out nails. But the metal barely began to glow before the forgemaster arrived with his journeymen in tow.

Enzo Caligari was a tall, broad lion steadily approaching his sixtieth year. His mane was ruddy but had lost much of its youthful luster. He kept it neat and pulled away from his face in tight braids that kept him from from lighting up like a torch. He moved with grace and precision that highlighted the stony expression that hung on his face morning, noon, and night. He patted Venerio’s back with a heavy paw by way of approval but immediately reassigned the apprentices for his own convenience giving roles boys who were best at following instructions rather than those most suited to getting them done. Enzo could make up for bad work but he couldn’t tolerate anyone impeding his rhythm.

“Venerio get on the bellows,” the old lion said with his deep voice made coarse from years of heat and smoke. “Watch me carefully, I want you to follow me without any commands. Really think, anticipate what I need and control the heat. I’m not going to able to work you and the Pulv when we start on the order for the Castellan. Vicini, you’re ‘The Prince’ today.”

Venerio cringed and Vicini pouted in equal measure at the casual insult but neither dared challenge Enzo as he selected a hammer and limbered his shoulder. He was a good man but believed that a strike was best corrective and he was strong enough without a cudgel in his paw. Vicini took a friendly elbow jab from his fellow journeyman, Marcos, and the two batted each other only so long as it took for Marco to make a rude gesture and find his own station, glad to be making real progress rather than babysit.

The bellows was brainless work but it was important and offered a clear view of the master’s technique. The younger apprentices hated it but Venerio had learned after years of study that Enzo believed it was a modest honor to be given the patience and tolerance and opportunity to watch him work. So the apprentice watched carefully.

Enzo had turned the craft of smithing into an intuition. The hammer swung in clean, precise arcs as if it were an extension of his arm. His whole body twisted to support the motion, his tightly corded muscles flexing and releasing in sensuous rhythm to keep himself properly aligned. The clang of metal was musical in its steady pulse and improvisational shifts, exploring the metal as he worked it into the proper shape of a guardsman’s halberd.

Venerio had seen this process many times before. After the coup at the castle, the new Lord of Pardalis had been quick to mobilize out of fear of reprisal, but even with the experience, it was much easier to remember what to do than it was to remember when and why. The forgemaster could spend nearly an hour in a careful pattern only to change to brutish force for a few heartbeats then resume his pattern as if nothing had happened. It took effort to watch the metal and try to understand what Enzo saw in it rather than stare at his chest, swollen with vigor from half a day striking and baking in the glow the forge.

The church bells rang out again, announcing the high noon prayers but Enzo continued as if there had been no sound at all. A couple of the younglings bickered with Vicini to practice their piety joined by another who was simply bored of work for the day. Marcos slowed down to drink and gather his strength for the next stretch but Enzo’s hammer didn’t hesitate for a moment so Venerio stayed alert at his side.

Enzo was inexhaustible despite his age. If it weren’t for the sun setting at the end of the day, Venerio guessed he would work straight through the night still start again fresh in the morning. For all the little indignities of his position, the elder apprentice was always grateful that he could learn from the Enzo and strived to be worthy of his tutelage. He seemed the ideal man of the modern age: strong, vital, a teacher, an expert. Venerio figured an orphan like him couldn’t have been as lucky as to fall under the roof of that lion.

As they worked together, Venerio felt flush; not dizzy from the fires but a heat in his blood that put a thrill in his tail. He shook himself loose and even stole a few seconds to drink from the water basin just outside the workshop but his body still pulsed when he returned to man the fire. He simply refused to think about it. Instead, he refocused on his work. He let his body do what it needed to do as long as he could keep the fire burning right. But before Venerio could disappear into the rhythm again the din of work was interrupted by a cordial shout.

“You keep getting older, Enzo, but you don’t change a bit!” the cougar said with a puckish grin and an accent from the south coast. “I didn’t realize you were doing so well for yourself. Such a big place in a such a big city.”

The cougar looked every bit the adventurer with an old sword strapped to his back and a sun-bleached cloak wrapped around his shoulders. But other than those and his rugged leather boots, his only other clothing was a kilt weighed down in the front with scale mail. He was easily 20 years Enzo’s junior but they were clearly cut from the same cloth, uncorrupted by the worst ravages of time, and yet the adventurer’s bare chest was peppered with scars. Showing so much hide was gauche in a civilized town like Pardalis but he seemed indifferent to the etiquette of city life.

Enzo was unamused. “Zeks, what are you doing here? I have work to do.”

“I’m chasing a relic,” Zeks said, “Signs point to it landing here around the same time as the castle. When I heard you had set up shop here, I thought it was fate looking out for me: see a friendly face and maybe catch a roof for a couple days while I get the lay of the land.”

The air was thick but silent for a moment. Zeks scanned the room as if one of the journeymen might tell him what was going wrong but they knew less than he did.

Another heartbeat passed before Enzo growled then snapped at the workshop. “Wrap it up! Vicini, get the apprentices fed. Marcos, Venerio, be back in an hour. We’re going to be behind.” Vicini opened his mouth to protest but Enzo’s glare stopped him short and the smithy scattered as quickly as they could.

Once they were out of ear shot of the forgemaster, Marcos clapped Venerio’s back with a heavy paw and laughed lightly. “You keep lucking out today, don’t you? I wouldn’t cross Vicini for a couple days though. You know how he gets.”

“I’m not afraid of Vicini,” Venerio replied as dryly as he could manage. He wasn’t any more fond of Marcos than he was of Vicini. The elder journeyman always stunk of too much wine and he was condescending in a way that matched Vicini’s petty meanness.

Marcos only laughed louder. “Nobody’s afraid of Vicini but you’re just a cub, he’ll give you a thrashing if he can get away with it. In the meantime, lets find something to soothe our parched throats. You kept it awful hot in there today; I’m surprised Enzo put up with it.”

Venerio clenched his fist but didn’t react in a way Marcos might have noticed. “Go on ahead. I put something off this morning, I need to deal with it before Master Enzo checks,” he lied.

Marcos laughed again. “Time for his majesty, the Duke of Wank, to retreat to his palace, then? Fair, fair. I didn’t want to pay for you anyway, haha! Enjoy yourself!”

With a deep breath to center himself, Venerio veered away from the journeyman and wound his way around the back of the workshop. If he were a journeyman himself he might have throttled Marcos there in the courtyard but he was still powerless. Instead he found the winter fuel shed and shut the door behind him with a rattle.

The smell of peat and the dim light seeping through gaps in the old shed had a comforting aura. Venerio sighed and slumped against the door as he fought to restore his calm. Duke of Wank, he thought, unable to banish the new nickname from his mind. That wino is jealous because his little pecker doesn’t work.

An impulse carried his paw to his crotch and he petted his dear companion as if it might have taken offense to the remark like he had. With his body still loosened by the heat of the forge fire, his rod surged at the touch and before long, a pet progressed to a slow stroke. The feeling of swelling against his hand, of pushing through the folds of fabric in his pants sent a thrill down his tail and he knew he what he would spend his free hour doing.

Venerio fumbled hurriedly out of his breeches and kicked them onto the heap before sinking to the floor. His cock was nearly at its full size again once it was set free, bouncing playfully before it stood ready at throbbing attention. The cat dusted his paws then gave each one a wet lick before reaching down and taking hold of his tender flesh.

He let out an affectionate sigh as his right palm cupped the bell and his left gripped loosely around his balls then started to slowly twist both just out of sync with each other. The thrills turned to waves that spread over his whole body and made his fur stand on end. He took his time polishing the already glossy tip of his cock so he could coax as much of his precum into his paw as he could. The smooth juice was turned his coarse pawpad into a soft pillow that adhered lightly a lip of his foreskin.

The smell of his own body mixed subtly into the woody scent of the shed and trapped Venerio deeper in the moment with himself. He had no reason to measure the time but he lingered for a while before he changed his grip, releasing his balls so they slapped his taint heavily and switching his paws so the wet one could grasp the base of his shaft and the dry one could get its own lubrication. With both paws slick and warm, he set them to work together, milking his length in an arc that flung precum onto the fuel in front of him.

The cat stayed quiet out of habit but the purr rising out of his throat resonated through his head and chest. The pulses of it gave him a light, relaxed feeling that was receptive to the pleasure radiating into the rest of his body from his loins and he followed the rising cycle of purring and masturbation until he couldn’t go harder with either without hurting himself. The tip of his tail twitched anxiously in anticipation of his impending climax, his spine arched, his fingers gripped tighter. For a moment his whole body tensed, then with a groan, it all washed out of him with his cum.

As rough as he’d been, Venerio had to reel back once he felt his release and just hold his rod as it erupted with gooey, white gobs. The first couple blasts fired up three of four inches before falling back on his tender skin and the half a dozen more that followed bubbled up modestly, drawing shapely waves against his flesh with hot glaze. The heaviest dribbles ran down into the crooks and crannies of his fingers and once his load was spent he couldn’t help but spread it into a froth along his length. He shivered at the feeling of his hood sliding up and down his overstimulated cap but he kept at it, focusing on his shaft and keeping it hard for a second performance.

It would normally take a handful of minutes to get ready but Venerio just liked touching himself; even when it was this sensitive, his companion had a comforting feeling in his hands. Sometimes, despite himself, he would think of how natural Master Enzo seemed with a hammer in hand. The confidence and calm would inspire him even further to perfect the use of his own tool. But before he could begin a second round of practice, the door gave way from behind him.

Venerio thumped onto his back staring up at the elder felines, the lion glaring with simmering disgust and the cougar with poorly restrained amusement. The young tabby boggled for only a moment before he scrambled to cover himself, scatter, and find his pants all at once, managing to do none of those things. Enzo growled at the display and clapped his paws together to focus the apprentice’s attention.

“Damn it all,” Enzo grumbled impatiently. “Stand up, boy.”

With a specific task to keep things in order, Venerio finally coordinated himself to his feet and got a grip over his still iron-hard cock. He struggled to find a spot to look that wouldn’t make him feel like the town fool but he spotted the look on the cougar’s face had turned from holding in a laugh to grin of calm camaraderie.

“Find your damn clothes and give Zeks your key to the shed. I am renting him the space until he can find suitable accommodations.” Enzo said, stuffing his frustration down. He didn’t linger, merely giving Zeks an unkind glare as he took his leave. “And wash up before you come back.”

Zeks rolled his eyes. “He’s really gotten old hasn’t he? No harm done, I guess. Sorry to take your spot from you, though, I suspect I can find a real room in a day or two and you’ll have some alone time in no time.”

The apology was genuine as far as Venerio could tell. Zeks smiled boyishly with all his teeth and seemed perfectly at ease with the situation. The casual energy filled in the pit in Venerio’s gut and even coaxed a wry chuckle oout of him.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t be doing that anyway,” he said, angling toward the shed and shifting toward his discarded breeches.

Zeks replied with a dismissive laugh. “Don’t be silly, it’s healthy. A little lust is good for the blood. Besides it looks like you had a lot to get out." Venerio’s ears flicked back abashedly but the cougar scooped an arm around his shoulders and shook him in a friendly way. “In fact, I think I even have an apology gift that’ll help you out.”

Zeks took a grip of his kilt and pulled it away reveal his own half-hard shaft. It was black as polished coal and tattooed with alternating blue marks as if to measure the length of it from base to crown. But it seemed the point of the display was the pouch tied around his thick penis and heavy balls, fishing his fingers in the purse until he extracted a trinket about the size of a finger bone. It looked to be made of a stone or crystal Venerio didn’t recognize but its white surface shined beautifully in the sunlight with sensuous curves of color that blended one into the next.

“This is a good luck charm,” Zeks explained casually. “I mean, it’s mostly good luck to counter bad luck. Yknow, evil eye, that sort of thing. But that’s not what its best for: next time you get to polish your sword there, hold this under your tongue. It’ll drive you crazy.”

The elder feline took Venerio’s wrist and forced the bauble into his paw, cum and all. A new thrill shot down his tail as he felt a sparkling presence from the stone. It was a physical sensation in a way he didn’t quite understand, like it was purring to him despite lying perfectly still against his pad. When Zeks relinquished his arm, he couldn’t help but stare transfixed. The pearlescent shine shifted subtly like a living thing breathing, like the swirls might reveal something if only Venerio could learn how to see. Even the tacky film of his cum seemed whiter somehow, more vital, more real. It wasn’t until he felt his breeches hit the back of his head that Venerio realized he was staring.

“Shiny, ain’t it!” Zeks cheered from the shed, unloading his minimal affects. “I’d invite you in to try it out but I don’t think you want Old Enzo to start looking for you. Good luck, Ven. Enjoy yourself.”

Then the door shut and Venerio was left, still half naked, with the gift and confusion washed over him for a moment. Despite the anxious feeling of being caught, his cock was ready for another round, and yet it was strange that the forgemaster’s guest was so eager to encourage him. The bauble in his paw only sparked more brightly against his pads as he closed his fist around it and tried to fumble himself back into his clothes.

But the hour steadily dwindled so he took a final hop into his pants and hurried to make himself presentable. He stuffed the trinket in a pocket and banished the thought of how heavy it seemed there and hurried back to the cistern for a hasty wash.