House of Freya: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 1) (3 page)

              Fortunately, Sigrun noticed once her senses returned, fresh basins of water stood warming by the fire. Lars and Hrolf soon had her sponged off and clean again, wrapped now in a long, soft, billowing robe. They left her alone to explore the facilities and tend to her personal needs while they fetched her dinner. She thought she ought to feel completely exhausted from this vigorous encounter on top of the day's exertions, and yet she marveled at how refreshed she felt, instead. Her senses were crackling. She didn't linger in the bathroom for very long, but when she emerged she found the table set with steaming dishes of food, and Hrolf and Lars nowhere to be seen. They must have left again as soon as they had delivered her dinner. She smiled. Good men.

              She sank into a chair and, feeling very hungry all of a sudden, turned her attention to the food.

              Sated, comfortable, sipping another glass of wine and still sunk deep in the cushioned chair, Sigrun pondered her situation. Surely Freya would not have given her attendants such directives, to pleasure Sigrun so thoroughly, if she weren't interested in helping her. Freya had said that she could feel Sigun's power. So surely she understood the nature of it, too? Why else would Sigrun have come to the goddess of love? But perhaps Lars and Hrolf had simply been following the house rules. Sigrun glanced down at her fingers, the blue flames flickering around the tips. Well, however much help Freya ultimately offered her, she would take her opportunities to learn more on her own, wherever she could find them.

              A knock at the door startled Sigrun from her musings.

              "Yes? Come in." She stood up, shaking her fingers to disperse the flames.

              "My lady?" Her boar-shifter escort, the one who had allowed her to ride on his back, stood at the door. "I apologize for the intrusion. Lady Freya asked me to deliver your sword to you. She thought you would feel more comfortable knowing where it was and having it in your keeping." He held out her sword, cloak, and helmet, everything she had left behind when she went to meet Freya, neatly stacked in a bundle. She had not realized how much she was missing her sword until she felt the flood of relief at being reunited with it.

              "Oh, wonderful! Thank you. I am glad to have it back. Not that I didn't trust you to watch it for me," she added hastily.

              He smiled. "I understand. I would have felt the same."

              "Please," she said, realizing that he was still standing in the doorway, "please come in. And let me take those things off your hands." She took the bundle from him and set her gear down on a bench beside the doorway into the bedroom. She turned back and looked at him.

              He was standing closer to the table now, quietly, respectfully, like he was waiting for her to dismiss him. Or, the thought flickered through her head, waiting for her to issue some other command? She was struck again by the image of him in boar form, that huge, powerful, dangerous beast that she'd met out on the icy wastes. She could see glimmers of the boar in the man's burly chest, his thick, broad shoulders and muscular warrior's legs. He had a handsome face. Chiseled, but amiable. Intelligent eyes. The short beard amplified a strong jawline, where a longer beard would have obscured it. She imagined how those whiskers would feel rasping against her skin. A shiver ran through her at the thought of his mouth on her breast.

              Was it the wine going to her head? How could she possibly want more after her bathtime ministrations from Hrolf and Lars? But she couldn't deny it. And this man was different. They were smooth. He was rough, strong. She remembered the feel of him beneath her when he had been a boar and she was riding on his back. Those powerful muscles rippling against her. She felt the desire stirring inside her. It was like something beyond her control, something that came from deep within but also somewhere else entirely.

              She realized that he was staring at her. Or maybe at something just past her, or above her.

              "You
—
you're glowing. Like a halo. Around your head. And your fingers. They appear to be on fire."

              Sigrun glanced down at her hand. The blue flames had returned. She shook her fingers, but the flames only flared higher. She could feel the heat
—
crisp, crackling, her special icy-electric heat
—
flickering around her face.

              "Oh
—
it's nothing."

              "It hardly looks like nothing. This is why you came? Why the goddess has such an interest in you? What manner of being are you? Goddess? Giantess?"

              "I'm not entirely sure."

              "Frostdaughter she called you, when she directed me to bring your sword. And the sword! I've seen few like it. Amazing. And you. Your skin so pale, your hair so white, your eyes
—
you remind me of ice and snow and sky. Those flames
—
are they hot? Or cold?"

              "Both, I think. And neither."

              "May I... May I feel them?"

              "Yes. You may."

              He remained standing where he was. She stepped toward him, stretched out her hand. It was glowing even brighter, tiny silver sparks dancing in the blue flames. The desire was growing, too. She wanted this man, wanted to feel him, all of him.

              She touched his cheek. He drew in his breath at the feel of her glowing fingers, the tiny sparks that flew up at the point of contact, but he did not flinch. She traced a line along his jaw and down his neck, pausing with her fingers resting lightly just above the collar of his tunic.

              "How does it feel?"

              "I... it feels..." His voice was low, husky, and he seemed to be searching for words. "Strange. Hot. Cold. Both. I feel it everywhere, inside and out. Like you're reaching into me and spreading through me."

              "Should I stop?"

              "No."

              She dipped her other hand beneath his tunic, running her fingers up his bare midriff and over the hard, rippling muscles of his abdomen. Pushing the fabric up, she exposed his stomach and chest. She could feel her own nipples stiffening at the sight of his, small and erect on a gorgeous broad chest. He gasped when she bent her head and took one between her lips, nipping lightly and teasing it with her tongue.

              He had been standing still, but now his hands went to her waist, holding on to her, pulling her closer. She wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him on the mouth. Sparks crackled between them. He leaned in to her, kissing back, pulling her against him. She could feel his erection, huge and hard, straining beneath his pants. Then it was a flurry of movements, pulling off his clothes, stumbling together towards the bed, tumbling onto it, still kissing.

              Sigrun's robe fell open, revealing her full, pert breasts and sleek form.

              "Oh, goddess!" he sighed, slipping one hand beneath her back and cupping a breast with the other while he kissed her neck. She arched against him, groaning at the scratch of his rough beard against her soft skin. She loved the feel of his bristles. She reached down to grab his cock, throbbingly stiff, and a small shower of sparks fell from her hand. She rubbed her palm over the head, lubricating it with the slippery drops of pre-cum welling up from it like tears. He moaned as she ran her hand up and down the shaft before guiding it to meet her, and then, as she pressed the head of his cock against her wet, slick lips, he gasped out an oath. She could tell that he was desperate to sink that thick, stiff rod deep inside her. His body was taut, coiled and ready to strike. But he held back, held himself at the threshold of her sweet, hot cunt, waiting, she realized, for her to give him permission.

              "Fuck me," she whispered, "now."

              He plunged in, fast and deep. He felt so good, she cried out, a gasp of delight. She grabbed him by the hips, grinding against him, wanting every last inch. He was good, and strong, and sure in his fucking, and every stroke raised her to new heights of bliss. But she wanted more. She just knew she did. The feel of his beard against her throat reminded her of the bristly hide she had laid her cheek against, riding on his back. Her thoughts strayed to the figures carved on Freya's doors.

              He pulled up slightly, pulled back, and pulled her up with him, so that he was on his knees and she was straddling his lap.

              "My lady, your fire is burning so hot, I feel it coursing through me and don't know how long I can last." He pressed his lips to her neck in a long kiss, and Sigrun realized that sparks were playing across her skin and leaping between them. "Tell me what you want, so I can best serve you."

              She kissed him on the mouth, hands holding his head so that blue flames ran from her fingers through his hair. What did she want? She knew, but should she ask? Shift, she wanted to say, shift for me.

              A shudder suddenly ran through his body. He pulled back from her kiss, eyes wide. The hair on his head was standing up, bristling, his beard thickening. His shoulders bowed and broadened. He pulled out, pulling away from Sigrun, and she slid back onto the bed, watching him transform before her. Not completely into a boar. No, something like the figure on the door, something in between. Hair bristled down his back. His chest was huge, his muscular arms and legs even more thickly muscled. His heavy prick had swollen to a tremendous size. His hairy face remained otherwise human, aside from two tusks jutting from his mouth. There was confusion in his eyes. She jumped up and grabbed him by the tusks, pulling him back onto the bed.

              "This," she panted into his ear, pressing herself against his massive cock. "I want this."

              He took her by the hips and flipped her over, pulling her up onto her knees. He wasted no time. With one hand on her shoulder and the other around her waist, he sank his monstrously swollen member deep into her cunt. The girth of it stretched her to that point where pleasure and pain blur and become one. She buried her face in the bed, shrieking into the pillows as he pounded her with the full length of it, triggering a wave of orgasms that seemed like they might never end. And now it seemed like he was in no more danger of ending too soon, that he might rather fuck her right into oblivion.

              She wasn't sure how long they went. She was conscious only of the sensations, of getting swept into wave after wave of climaxes, rolling, swelling, crashing over and through her as her boar-warrior's cock pounded her, until finally, sparks dancing across her vision, her hands scorching the bed linens, she came with such a powerful final pulse of energy, it carried them both over the edge.

              Sigrun suspected that she blacked out briefly. When she came to her senses, she was sprawled on her stomach in a puddle of cum, his and hers alike, legs tangled with those of her companion, who was now collapsed on the bed beside her and returned to human form. She rolled over after a few moments, chuckling softly, and kissed his cheek.

              "Goddess," he murmured, "you have conquered me completely. Your magic
—
Freya alone has the power to make us shift our forms. Who are you, that you can do such things?"

              Sigrun had no answers. And now, finally, she was exhausted. Her body was humming, warm from the evening's powerful pleasures. Before she could offer any response at all, she had slipped into a deep sleep.

              When she awoke in the morning, she was alone in the bed. Her companion, like Hrolf and Lars the evening before, had slipped quietly away. She yawned, stretched, and luxuriated in the feel of the soft covers wrapped around her bare limbs. She felt good, well rested and refreshed. She wondered what the day would hold, and when she would get a chance to speak with Freya again. How would she convince the goddess to help her? What if Freya had truly given up teaching the Vanir magic? Where would she go from here?

              Sigrun slipped into her robe and slid out of bed. She was hungry and hoped some of last night's food remained on the table for her to pick at. She was delighted
—
and amazed by the stealth of the serving staff
—
to find the table freshly laid with an assortment of delicious-looking breakfast foods. And stunned to see Freya lounging in one of the chairs, a steaming mug of something spicy-smelling cupped in her hands.

              Freya grinned.

              "Sleep well? You must have been tired."

              Sigrun felt a blush spreading across her cheeks.

              "Uh, yes. Very."

              "My priests Hrolf and Lars gave me a full report. They are eager to serve. And adept at the practices... wouldn't you say?"

              Sigrun's face was growing hot.

              "And Ottar
—
such a fine, strong warrior, he's always been one of my favorites." Freya chuckled. "I'm afraid he's quite exhausted this morning."

              "I, um, I hope I haven't..." What? What could she say? Overstepped the bounds of hospitality by fucking one of your favorite warriors?

              Freya laughed. "My dear girl, you've done nothing but exceed my expectations! A girl after her mother born. You have the power. The gift. And you do not understand it, but you are not afraid to embrace it. Tell me, did you know that you could cause Ottar to shift his form? He was a bit shaken by that. I'd never taken him to that in-between place. Wereboars..." She chuckled. "Delightful!"

              "No, I didn't know. I just... wanted it."

              "You're a natural, my dear." Freya took a sip from her cup. "So there we have it. I can't give you all the answers you seek. And I may be taking a risk with you, not knowing those answers, myself. But I would take a greater risk if I were to send you away with so much power, and so little understanding. There are others who would be very glad to get their hands on you. And besides, though I do not always trust the one who sent you
—
it would be foolish to trust that one!
—
we are likeminded about certain things. Stay here with me, and I will train you in the Vanir magic and the Vanir ways."

              "Oh, thank you!"

              "You may end up rethinking those thanks. It will be strenuous, I guarantee."

              Sigrun thought of everything she had endured thus far. She knew that things could always get harder, stranger, more terrible, but she considered the horror and the weirdness and the wonders she had already experienced.

              "I think I can handle it."