The Sawmill

When the monarchal clerk, positively giddy at your interest in developing land on the frontier, sold you your deed, they told you of the local sawmill that exported a slow supply of wood to the kingdom. In need of fresh planks as you are, you decide to make that your first stop.

You head in the direction of the river, passing a couple small fields and backyard gardens as you walk along the town's single dirt road. Your nose twitches a little as you pick up the scent of the farmers currently sowing seeds in the tilled earth.

You blush a little. You always found the smell of human sweat to be somewhere between pleasantly aromatic and overpoweringly arousing depending on the person and how pent up they happened to be at the time. As one of the burly farmhands stands up straight, raising a muscular arm to wave at you in a friendly fashion, you are hit with such a wave of pheromones that your knees buckle for a moment.

Your mind goes foggy for a moment and all you can do is turn to hide your needy expression and the tent in your cloth pants as you imagine all the ways you could drain this stranger's balls into your all-too-willing body. He must be very pent up for you to be having this much of a reaction, and from 10 meters away no less. Or maybe you're the one who's pent up, that was certainly a long cart ride you just went on.