Chapter 1

Crag Filsak was walking through his woods picking mushrooms one day. He gleaned much of what he needed to sustain himself from his mountain. He had a small garden patch where he grew potatoes, carrots, onions, and various herbs for cooking. He fished every day or so and set snares for rabbits. His mountain was crawling with rabbits. On occasion, he took one of the small red deer for another meat source.

Any feral hog that wandered onto his mountain was immediately dispatched. Hogs rooting for food destroyed too much land. If he were desperate for meat, he would also go high up and hunt for one of the mountain sheep. He had eaten mountain sheep most of his early years and didn’t care for it anymore.

The bald part of his mountain was covered in lush grass. That’s where most rabbits lived, and the deer often visited it. His mules spent much of their off time there too.

He owned an entire mountain and made part of his living by providing firewood to the local village. It didn’t have a name. Just “The Village” is what everyone used. The baker provided several loaves of bread a week to Crag. The town weaver Surheh provided him with some cloth, but the pussy she shared with him was more than welcome. Being non-magical, she wasn’t able to get pregnant from Crag. A good situation for the two of them.

He provided specialty wood to the butcher so he could smoke meat for winter. He provided wood for the blacksmith, and he would make his charcoal using Crag’s wood.

In return, the blacksmith provided Crag with things. This included ax heads, saw blades, and essential hardware items.

Crag left his mules shoe-less. They preferred it that way.

The tanner provided leather goods for him and his mules. Crag traded furs and hides to the tanner, crocks of piss, and firewood. He exchanged items with most other shopkeepers as well. Depending on the weather, he generally went to town every week or so. He did this to deliver firewood and pick up a few things.

Sometimes he visited his lady friend Surheh.

The village inn was the only business in town that paid Crag for firewood. The inn had an attached restaurant pub where you could get a black or yellow beer or, at times, applejack.

Crag made his applejack. He had three orchards with differing apple types. He kept them far apart, so the accidental crossing of varieties didn’t happen. When the apples just started to blush in early fall, he would let the folks in town know they had one day to prepare. He would return the next day to pick up the folks’ apple crates and escort them to the chosen orchard.

They spent the day emptying one of the apple orchards. A week later, the cooper and one of the restaurant folks would join him in picking apples. In Crag’s shed stood an apple press. The cooper provided the barrels. They harvested the other apples as they ripened.

Applejack was juice into which you added a little honey and a packet of yeast from the dry goods store. You corked it, and the cork had a small pipe that allowed it to breathe out as it fermented. When it stopped breathing out, The applejack had finished fermenting.

The barrels required checking a few times a day, and when done, you filtered it and put it in a clean barrel. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the essence of the process. The quality of the apples determined the applejack quality and taste. Other factors were the honey and the yeast, which also contributed to the flavor. You could also add spices to the applejack afterward.

The cooper and the restaurant got the apples for free. The cooper supplied Crag with four 15 gallon barrels. The restaurant paid the cooper for several 20-gallon barrels. The cooper usually filled five and ten-gallon size barrels of applejack. He used them to sell to village residents.

Whenever Crag was in town, he usually got a free meal because he provided the apples and the press. The restaurant had a small press which they occasionally used to make fresh apple or pear juice. Pears are great, but they don’t last long, so Crag has just a few pear trees. Pear and cherry juice, now there’s a mixture. Crag does not keep cherry trees because too many breeds are attracted. The birds swarm over the cherries and stay too long and become a continuing nuisance.

The village sat between two tall mountains on a medium-size river. The river and the east-west road provided enough traffic that the town was very capable of getting by.

The local folk did not cut their firewood. The Great Stony mountain had few trees, and the other choice, Crag’s mountain, belonged to him. Besides, there were a lot of wild animals in his woods. His forebears had planned it that way, the animals moving in. This helped ensure their privacy.

The Filsak family created the woods over many generations. The village came into existence later. Since a Filsak was willing to provide firewood for trade, the locals were happy. Who wants to spend endless hours toiling away in the dangerous woods.

Crag came from a family of mountain giants. His type was pretty much solitary for most of their life. Crag himself is 81 years old yet looks to be in his early twenties.

Giants were not giants per se. They’re just a couple of heads taller than ordinary human folk, but they are much more bulky and muscular. Most giants worked in surface mining, crawling inside of mountains. Some found a place where they could provide back-breaking work that humans were not suited to do. They liked crushing ore, logging, stonework, building large buildings and city walls. Giants just loved to work hard. They got enjoyment from doing things that others found difficult.

Giants also had magic. Part of the reason Crag chose his line of work was he had a touch of mountain magic. He instinctively knew his way unerringly around any forest. He knew where food was available. He knew when anything or person was looking at him. It could be an owl in a tree or a field mouse peeking up at him from his hole.

Crag could also do rudimentary healing.

One day he was searching for a particular mushroom. Crag felt there were some of those mushrooms on the other side of a tree. While stepping around to get to the mushrooms, a soft, warm ball of something jumped on top of him. Extraordinary! He couldn’t remember the last time something or someone had surprised him. His single-minded search had blinded his senses to anything but mushrooms.

He grabbed what turned out to be soft female parts with his right hand, as that’s what came to hand. He was attempting to seize the person. His left hand had contacted the person at the neck when he tried to pull them off him using both hands.

He was finally able to drop her onto the ground. She had been trying to scratch and bite him during this brief encounter. His tough hide protected him. Her soft quim had felt very nice to his big hand and left a lasting impression.

She jumped back up and tried to attack him several more times. Her waist was too low, so whenever she attacked him, he fended her off by grabbing her tits and pushing her back. She had medium-sized teardrop tits by the feel of them. He could feel the nipples getting very large from the mishandling they were getting.

Now, Crag had not been to town for two weeks. So he had not visited Surheh for almost a month. Poor Crag’s somewhat at the mercy of his hormones.

As she kept coming at Crag, he grabbed her nipples as they were conveniently at waist height. He started twisting them enough that she stopped attacking him. Probably from shock, but maybe she had turned from angry to something else entirely. She stood looking at him blankly while she panted and continued trying to get enough air.

They were both breathing very hard as he asked, “Are you sick little one? You are acting crazy. Attacking a mountain giant is not conducive to good health. I grabbed your pussy by accident. Otherwise, I may have killed you for attacking me.

“Oh shit, a fricken Giant of all things. I attacked a fricken giant. Uhh, no, I’m not sick. I was sleeping when you stepped on my dress and startled me. I thought I was defending myself.”

Crag’s cock had been awakened from its slumber, and the wrestling with her had charged him up. He smelled her now and knew she could probably smell his need too.

Crag could tell she was also very worked up by her eyes and breathing. He drew her dress up over her head and placed her on the ground. He popped open his breeches and got between her legs.

Her tits looked much the way they felt. The areolas were wide and light purple, probably from his manhandling. Everything he did must have been the exact right thing to do. She was lying there looking up at him in wonder and anticipation. He spread her legs, and fortunately for her, he saw the flash of white pink. Her pussy showed she was still a virgin.

Being more than 80 years old, Crag has more experience than any three humans combined. He knew sticking his cock in a small virgin pussy. Also, being dry inside was not a good option for the woman. He leaned down and swiped his big tongue through her crease. He wiggled it at the top of the trip, though. Licking there garnered the desired result from her.

She exclaimed, “Ohhh, mmyyyy!”

As he labored away at her open inner lips, she said “Ohhh” at every lick. It took about ten minutes, this being her first time, and then she was at her peak. He twisted his strong tongue into a pointed spear and pierced her membrane as she came. She screamed a little when he did it.

He rested his tongue inside her and sent a healing pulse into the tatters of her ragged cherry. Her breathing slowed, and he slowly started wiggling his tongue gently in her. He did this until she started up again.

He wasn’t sure if she was saying ohhh, or uhhh. It didn’t matter to him. He just followed the repeated sounds to know when something good happened.

Crag treated her kindly her first time. He knew it was easy to ruin sex for a woman if he was rough. Semi-rape is how he understood most young males would behave if they found a hot little honey all alone in the woods. Crag was not raping. His is caring, a giving thing he did for her.

Unfortunately, Crag was entranced by her loveliness. She has black shiny billowing hair, a small round face with sharp features. She smelled good enough to eat for hours, and he intended to do just that when he noticed her ears. Her hair had fallen back, and he spied her ears.

“You’re an elf!”

“And you’re a fricken giant, as I said before. Am I not good enough for your giant-ship’s lusty desires, asshole?”