Futanari Legends: The Frozen Queen (Book 1: Brenna) (3 page)

I nod.

“How many died trying to save me?” She looks down, and then up at me with innocent guilt upon her eyes.

“Too many,” I say, “including a dozen peasants and twice as many Imperial Legionaries. For your father to call upon a Sister is how dire the matter became. I was in the mountains, alone in my cabin when the word came.”

“Secluded?” She says, scooting around the fire to be closer to me. “Do Sisters live in seclusion-”

“We do,” I say, cutting her short, “the blood of gods means trouble for most, and we are not trusted by the Empire for our divine heritage nor by the people of the North because of our reputation for sullying their daughters. The Sisters live alone away from this untrusting world, yet are still a part of it.”

She reaches for my hand and I pull it away.

“I should warn you,” I say, staring in her eyes and wishing I was lost in them, “while I may pride myself on a measure of self-control, I cannot guarantee you will return to your father a virgin should you press yourself onto me.”

My cock aches and grows under my shorts, trying to free itself, growing like a giant writhing snake under the silk of my panties. Just the thought of taking her excites me, and that she may be willing and wanting of my gift makes my pulse race and my heart flutter like a spring lover.

Her eyes are locked upon the bulge in my shorts.

“I am no virgin,” she says as she slides closer yet again and my senses fill with her perfume and sweat, confirming my worst fears, “Father does not know of the young men I see, nor should he care. I know my way around a man’s cock. Or a woman’s cock, if need be.”

Hearing such an innocent face say such a nasty word drives me wild with lust, but I pinch myself and maintain my steely composure. I must not give in to my baser desires, I cannot fill this sweet thing full of flagons of warm seed and send her back to her father pregnant with another Sister of Gundir. Our kind has done this enough, and I cannot succumb to the stereotype of our people. I must not do this.

I close my eyes and sigh, her eyes clearly upon my growing tool of sex.

“Chloe,” I say, and just saying her name hurts my cock, “please. Still your passions and know they are fanned by the blood of my kind, for the blood of both the Elf-Mother and the Father of All Gods flows through my veins, though weakly so through generations - it still does. A mortal cannot resist this-”

Her lips are so close to my ear it sends shivers down my spine as she whispers. “I cannot resist this.”

Her supple hand slides across the growing bulge in my confining shorts, and I heave breath, my breasts rising and falling under my loose shirt as I try to weakly maintain control. She gives my cock a firm squeeze and I moan weakly.

I tilt my head to the side, whispering her name in protest. “Chloe, no.” My lips are so close to hers I feel her passioned breath upon them. I feel her silken breast press into my arm as she ignites a fire within me by softly touching her lips to the nape of my neck.

Mother Gundir, please help me in my time of weakness.

The trail of her wet tongue up the side of my neck drives me insane with lust, my cock extending all the way underneath me as it pains to free itself in a long bulge, and her lips softly kissing my ear.

Her hand trembles as she realizes how big I really am, and then she grabs the throbbing bulge, She digs her fingernails against the pounding flesh, massaging the massive length of my turgid cock through the fabric of my shorts.

I am certainly too big for you, my dear.

Do not do this.

I cannot control my hand as it runs down the bumps of her braid, feeling her silky hair with every twist, my hand finding the fallow-yellow cloth covering her shoulder. I push her shawl to the side and slip my hand underneath, my palm sliding across her bare skin, plunging down towards her pert and perfect breast. I stop before I can go no further, my fingertips teasing the soft top of her goose-bump covered mound. Her ice-hard nipple remains painfully out of the reach of my fingers, yet I feel it warm and harden. Her heart beats so hard through her flesh I want to calm her, yet I know the only way I know how is by fucking this poor maiden.

“I want you,” she says, kissing my cheek.

I strain, biting my lip so hard as I resist that I taste blood. My eyes are squeezing shut so tightly I see spots. “Are you sure? Is this you speaking or the fire within your loins? Do not be seduced by me, I do not wish this for either of us.”

“I want you,” she says, so softly and almost like the whisper of a gentle south wind. Her hand greedily strokes my length, pushing deep under me as it seeks my tip, stroking back upwards as she finds my root. She kisses the skin beside my lips as I feel her hair brush across my shoulder. “I want you so bad, Brenna.”

“Fuck me.”

I smell the musk of her sex even from here as she sucks the skin of my neck, her hand probing, her breasts firm and pounding hard to each side of my bare arm. She is as wet as a fresh-cut peach baked in the oven and liquid to the touch, and my mind imagines the slick, pink folds of her forbidden yet irresistible sex. Has she soaked herself? Is her cunt as wet as I dream it is? Will sliding inside her be like pushing my finger into a warm, sticky cobbler with her gripping cunt muscles snapping and pulling at me in surrendered desire?

“You wish me to fuck you, milady?” I whisper into her ear, and she moans in approval. I feel her go weak against me at the thought, and then she jolts and stiffens, grabbing my cock hard and kissing my cheek, working her way to my mouth as she pulls my face towards hers, our eyes closed and-

A shrill horn rings out across the desolate plans and we stop, shocked.

“What was that?” Chloe blinks, surprised.

My hand goes directly for my sword as I pull Chloe to her feet. “Abandon the camp and the supplies. On the horse. Now!”

“What? Why-”

I push her, oh Goddess it is so glorious to have my hand almost up ender her as I shove her on the horse. I feel the moistness through her skirt, and the pound of her engorged sex as I pull my hand away and almost cry I shall not be able to fuck such a delicacy.

Yet.

I shall fuck you yet, my dear. I don’t want to, I know in my heart of hearts it is wrong, but I cannot resist you. Right now I need to keep us and my cock alive long enough to get that chance.

Incentive?

Yes, forgive me but most certainly.

If there is anything I have inherited from the bodies of men, it is the desire to kill and murder to protect the soft, gentle, wet places we push our cocks into.

And this means you, my dear.

I look back across the plains and grab the things most important to our survival in the moments ahead. My sword. The leather tarp with my armor. The tent and bedrolls are gone, so I forget about those. I have one final choice as I hear the thunder of horses draw near.

The pack containing food and water.

Or my crossbow and bolts.

The second side of my horse can only fit one extra pack, and I don’t have time to pack up the other with my armor loose and stowed in a leather tarp. I don’t even have time to dress. We must move.

We shall live longer if I can kill.

I take the crossbow, leap on the horse behind her, and we ride like a sudden storm sweeping in from the North Sea. I take my horse into a low gully, knowing my pursuers will be close behind, but at least it gives me cover and I can concentrate on life-giving speed instead of worrying about arrows in my back.

Besides, if I am to get paid by her father, I will need to take every arrow meant for her.

I hear them. They shout and holler as the horde of plains bandits of the Red Scarf thugs descend on my camp yards behind.

The Red Scarf, led my the murderous thug One-Eye Jack. His men must have followed me. They must have found the drakewurm. They know about the bounty.

I hear them mount up a hundred yards behind us, and they shout when they must have seen us riding away. I point my horse towards a distant, stony windswept tree-line and meandering stream where we will make our stand.

And they certainly would kill me to get paid.

Chapter 5:

Last Stand

Goddess, Chloe smells good. We are riding hard, cutting across hill and dale as we charge towards the trees. She bounces against me, and my cock stiffens and shoves against her skirt, riding up against the crack of her ass. She bouncers and strokes me, and yes I know men behind us are trying to kill me, but this moment is heaven enough considering.

I resist the urge to bury my face in her amber-colored braid and get lost in her. I do hold her tight with my other hand, and I do manage to sneak a couple feels of her full, glorious breast with my hand.

Oh Goddess Gundir.

Please let me live long enough to fuck her.

I know I should be fearing for my life, thinking about the terrain, and preparing myself for battle. But I trust my body, and I trust my instincts. If I fret about it, I will over-think and make a mistake that shall cost me my life. So I must trust myself to do the right thing at the right moment.

But she is a distraction. A glorious, warm, inviting distraction who is afraid for her life right now and who needs me to protect her.

For if the bandits take her, who knows what they will do.

The anger wells up inside me, and that is good. The thought of them stripping her, laughing at her screams, and taking her is enough to make my blood boil. In this dark and scary thought, I find my wondrous, powerful rage. It can be pulled from deep inside me, when something I care about is threatened, and something I have the natural instinct to protect is taken away.

Chloe is the spark, and my rage is the fire.

I stroke my rage gently, not wanting to overdo it, and let the smoldering embers burn. An image flashes through my head of the bandits pulling her around by her braid naked and afraid, and I grow angry. I step back, not wanting to blow too hard and make myself fly into a blind rage, as I need to grow my hatred for these beasts carefully. I dwell on other, baser thoughts for a moment and I feel myself slip into a very dark place.

I am no longer angry, but I lust for preemptive vengeance.

They will be lucky to live past this day.

We ride down a gully through a wide, shallow river covered in flat rocks. The water gurgles by, and my horse explodes through the water. I pull us to a stop behind a copse of leafless trees, spin off the horse, and check behind us.

Four bandit scouts close faster than I will be able to put my armor on, or even my breastplate. There is not enough time.

Forty thieves follow behind in the main group. If the scouts die fast enough, we will have time.

“Down!” I pull her from the horse and shove her between two trees. She screams, but her fearful eyes tell me all I need to know. Do not worry, lass, you shall live this day.

“Stay hidden!”

The four scouts reach the other side of the stream, water flying up from their horse’s hooves, and their swords drawing as the men bear down on us like hungry wolves.

I narrow my eyes at the oncoming storm of death. “By the Elves of Iceforest and the lost dwarves of the mountains and their great-father Dvergr I stand before thee. Give me the strength of stone and the swiftness of wind this day.”

My words are spoken to no one but the gods themselves.

I take four steps onto a large rock, draw my broadsword, and I don’t even have the chance to scream as I deflect the first sword-blow intended for my neck.

Death is upon us this day.

And I am it.

Chapter 6:

Spells and Verse

They rode together, yet in their thoughts alone.

Robes of the deepest cobalt blue and purest white covered her full-breasted form, her gold-trimmed hood covering her locks of long blond hair. The wind chilled her lips and cheeks, and the rolling hills around them seemed never to end.

Her companion sat proud on her saddle beside her, long locks of silver-white hair blowing in the wind, and a stringed lute upon her back. Her companion’s silver blue-tinged hair belied her age, for most people’s hair turned white at old age, her companion’s was white since she was born. Some would call this a god-mark, a sign from the gods this person would be blessed by some power or destiny to fill.

She looked away at the ceaseless dry road, the long billows of cold dust hanging in the air behind their horses. This trip had been draining for her in body and spirit, and she hoped they would find a warm place to camp away from the bitter autumn wind this night.

If we have a windstorm again tonight which keeps me awake I shall surely die of exhaustion. One more night before we are at Dragon’s Reach and a warm place to bed in the Mage’s Quarter. I so look forward to that bed, one which I lost myself away from the world in before.

“Oh, the road; oh, the road,” her companion started to sing with the blessedly rhythmic voice of hers, which was beautiful in every way. Even as she spoke normally, the words would come out as if they were sung, pitch perfect and iambic with a sweet resonance which pleased to the deepest parts of her soul.

“Oh, the road is a lone-ly place of which we ride,” she sung, and Astrid smiled, her curled red lips barely visible from under her hood, “for it lies before us winding a-long. Oh the road, life behind, life ahead, and we ride. We ride.”

Her blue eyes lit up when she sung, proud and happy, like nothing else in this world mattered when she broke out in verse and tune. Of course, the woman’s frame was as lithe and shaped as one could imagine, but her breasts were too big for her smallish frame. Her bardic companion wore a suede coat trimmed by fur, and under that a white shirt which pulled between her voluminous breasts like the nape of a high-valley bridging mounts.

For the snow-haired and god-touched Frost Songweaver was her companion, and a traveling bard which brought light to her days and songs to her heart. She could imagine no other companion which could make a hard ride like this a little more pleasant. Frost didn’t seem to mind either, she loved the company of mages, and she loved travel and getting lost among the land and its people.