Hammered and Stretched: Gorzod’s Tavern Triumph

 The Hammered Anvil Tavern crouched low in Stonegrit Hollow, its stone walls alive with the clatter of tankards and the bellows of dwarven laughter. Gorzod, a stout dwarf with a barrel chest and a wild black beard, was a regular here—a chubby figure with thick arms and legs, his hairy gut spilling over a worn leather belt. Tonight, he’d drowned himself in ale, his cheeks flushed ruddy beneath tangled whiskers, eyes glinting with mischief. The drunker he got, the bolder he grew, and Gorzod loved nothing more than a public romp when the spirits took hold.

“Oi, ye lot—watch this!” Gorzod slurred, staggering atop a wobbly table, ale sloshing from his tankard. The tavern’s din hushed slightly, heads turning as he yanked his tunic up, baring his hairy chest and gut, then fumbled his trousers down to his ankles. His short, thick cock sprang free, already half-hard, bobbing against his hairy thighs as he grinned wide. “Fuckin’ feels good out here!” he roared, gripping his shaft with a big, calloused hand, stroking slow in the flickering torchlight, precum beading at the tip.

The usual patrons—gruff dwarves with beards of every shade, their own guts straining tunics—watched with a mix of amusement and rising heat. “Gorzod’s at it again, the randy bastard,” grunted Bork, a broad-shouldered dwarf with a gray beard, slamming his tankard down. “Aye, look at ‘im—shameless as a forge flame,” chuckled Torm, a stocky redhead, thick fingers drumming the table. Their eyes lingered, the air thickening with more than smoke.

Gorzod laughed, gut jiggling as he pumped faster, the tavern’s warmth kissing his exposed skin. “C’mon, ye lazy fucks—give us a cheer!” he bellowed, precum dripping onto the table, glistening in the light. That broke the dam. Bork stood, grinning, “Ye want a hand, ye drunk pig?” and lumbered over, his big hand joining Gorzod’s, stroking firm, slick with ale and sweat. “Fuck—aye, that’s it!” Gorzod moaned, legs wobbling as Bork jerked him, the crowd hooting and hollering.

Torm wasn’t far behind, hopping up with a leer. “Can’t let Bork have all the fun, ye greedy sod,” he growled, shoving his own hairy hand in, taking over from Gorzod’s grip, stroking the base while Bork worked the tip. “Shit—ye’re leakin’ like a busted barrel!” Torm laughed, precum smearing his fingers as Gorzod thrust into their hands, gut bouncing wild. “Keep goin’, ye horny cunts—make me fuckin’ sing!” Gorzod roared, voice cracking with lust, the tavern a chorus of cheers and crude shouts.

The group tightened around him—Dren, a scarred dwarf with a braided beard, and Korgul, a chubby blond—shedding restraint as they closed in, cocks out, stroking themselves. “Fuck it—let’s give ‘im a proper go,” Dren muttered, his thick cock hardening as he stepped close, one hand still jerking himself. Korgul grinned, “Aye, ye’re a right mess, Gorzod,” his shaft stiffening too. But Dren took it further, spitting on his fingers and sliding them under Gorzod’s hairy ass, probing his tight anus. “Gonna open ye up, ye filthy fuck,” Dren growled, shoving a thick finger in, making Gorzod buck hard.

“Fuck—ye’re a nasty bastard!” Gorzod gasped, gut quivering as Dren’s finger pumped, stretching his hole while Bork and Torm kept jerking his cock. “Aye, take it, ye tavern slut,” Dren smirked, adding a second finger, working deeper, the crowd cheering louder. Korgul stepped in, “My turn, ye scarred cunt,” pulling Dren’s hand aside and sliding his own thick fingers in, stretching Gorzod’s asshole wider, twisting slow. “Shit—ye’re tight, Gorzod!” Korgul grunted, his cock leaking precum as he fingered, Gorzod moaning loud, “Stretch me, ye greedy shits—fuckin’ love it!”

Bork took a turn next, his big hand slick with ale, shoving three fingers in, widening Gorzod’s hole even more. “Fuck—ye’re givin’ it good!” Gorzod panted, his cock throbbing under Torm’s relentless grip, precum squirting onto the table, dripping to the floor. “Gonna cum—wreck me, ye bastards!” he bellowed, and Dren pushed forward again, “Time fer the real fun,” spitting on his hand and working four fingers in, stretching Gorzod’s asshole to its limit, the tavern roaring with approval.

Near Gorzod’s peak, Bork growled, “Let’s finish ‘im proper,” and shoved his whole fist in, knuckles deep, hitting Gorzod’s prostate hard. “Fuck—fuck—fuck!” Gorzod screamed, gut shaking, legs buckling as Bork’s fist pounded his prostate, the sensation shattering him. “Here it comes!” he roared, cum erupting in thick jets, splattering the table, his hairy body trembling wildly. That triggered the group—Bork yanked his fist free, grunting, “Take it, ye fat perv!” his cock unloading, cum splashing Gorzod’s chest, streaking his beard. Torm followed, “Drown ‘im, lads!” his load hitting Gorzod’s gut, dripping down his thighs. Dren and Korgul joined, Dren’s thick ropes landing on Gorzod’s shoulder, Korgul’s spraying his hairy legs, their seed coating him in a sticky, glistening mess from beard to boots, the tavern erupting in cheers.

Gorzod slumped onto the table, panting, cum-slick and grinning, his stretched asshole twitching, body a canvas of their release. “Fuckin’ best night yet, ye randy shits,” he rasped, wiping a glob from his beard and licking it with a laugh. Bork slapped his gut, “Aye, ye’re a proper tavern whore,” while Torm chuckled, “Till next round, ye leaky bastard.” The patrons dispersed, tankards clinking anew, leaving Gorzod basking in the torchlight, drunk, sated, and dripping—a dwarven king of his own messy throne.