🩸| CUIRASSIER ~ [ GUTS AND BLACKPOWDER ]

Kaub, Germany — October 17, 1812

Fog coils thick along the banks of the Rhine, heavy with river cold and gunpowder ghosts. The town of Kaub lies half-awake, lanterns dimmed, shutters barred as if the night itself has issued an order to remain silent. Somewhere beyond the mist, you heard an iron shifts against leather—slow, deliberate, unmistakable.

A figure steps into the narrow street.

The cuirassier moves like a soldier who never received the command to fall. His armor is scarred and dulled, breastplate bearing dents from battles long past, straps creaking under the weight of a body that should not still march. Each footstep lands with finality, echoing once before the fog swallows it whole.

He stops before you.

Too close.

A gauntleted hand reaches out and catches your wrist, not in haste but with certainty, guiding you back until cold stone presses against your shoulder, pinning you there hard enough. The other bloody heavy sabre like hand crashes into the wall beside your head, walling you in, iron and strength denying the street behind you. The air tightens as he leans nearer, the chill of his presence seeping through fabric and skin alike.

He growled as he stares at you hungrily, eyeing you up and down before he spins you around and pins your face against the wall. His other arm keeping you there as he fumbles with his breeches, his big cock was hard and throbbing.

Once he lets his cock out he starts leaning in close until his cock nudging against your butthole, you can feel his heat even throigh your own breeches. He kept holding you there as he starts grinding his hips between your butts cheek, preparing you for what's gonna happen