Authors: Astrid Lee Donovan
Moments later Astrid remained standing stock still at the center of her ship’s deck; though, she had to note, only one of her lovers remained kneeling at her feet.
A worshipful Eirik continued to kiss her feet; licking her toes through the opening in her sandals before stealing up beneath her flowing skirts of ivory silk to run a long, adoring tongue up the length of her exposed legs.
Standing tall and proud at her back, Magnus wrapped his arms around her sturdy waist and pulled her flush up against the planes of his hard, sculpted body; her back pressed tight against his massive muscled chest as the lustrous strands of his fire red hair brushed gentle against the back of her neck.
“Relax and let us love you, milady,” he whispered in her ear, dipping his hands into her firm muscled shoulders and massaging away her work worn tension. “Let us prove our worth as your kings.”
Turning her head to engage her fire-haired lover in a heated, passionate kiss, their lips meeting and melding between them as their tongues entangled. An enraptured Astrid leaned into his kiss, moaning against his lush, moist lips as he reached beneath the fabric of her airy ivory dress and kneaded her bare breasts—flicking her nipples until they stood erect beneath his attentions.
Down below his fair-haired brother delivered his own intimate massage, his strong but nurturing hands rubbing her hips and thighs as she sighed with delight.
And just as Magnus kissed her senseless and continued to rub and massage her skin, his brother graced their queen with an intimate kiss; stealing farther up her skirts to kiss and lick open her sensitive feminine folds.
Spreading and bracing her legs to allow him greater access, Astrid writhed wild against the body of an equally impassioned Magnus, who continued to knead her breasts and rub his lips soft against hers. Then she gasped outright as Eirik fixed his own full, moist lips around her throbbing clit and suckled her nice and slow, sending shards of pure erotic pleasure careening wild through every part of her body.
Letting loose with an ecstatic moan, Astrid threw her head back to bask in the heat of the sol (her people’s word for sun) as a supportive Magnus clutched her to him and gyrated his rock hard hips in a blatant tease against her fleshy derriere—all the while raining her sensitive neck with a veritable rain of sweet, delicate kisses.
“From this day, forward, Love, we are together in ast,” he whispered in her ear the word for love.
Echoing and enhancing this sentiment, Eirik leaned his head farther upward to shift his lush blond head from side to side; this move intensifying the feel of his soft, moist lips against her throbbing clit even as his silken gold strands brushed the length of her bare naked thighs. Soon his long, wet tongue joined the fray, licking and laving her delicate skin as he set her body afire. The afternoon winds snuck beneath her skirt to further tickle and tease her; and as she bucked her strong, trim hips forward to intensify the pleasure, Astrid’s eyes flew wide to take in an ebullient kaleidoscope of sun, sea and sky.
Finally Eirik graced her throbbing nub with a last, resounding lick, sending her across the bounds of an intense, incredible orgasm.
Astrid felt kissed by sol itself as her entire body reverberated in a rain of sheer erotic sparks; her pussy gushing and her heart pounding as an affectionate Magnus swept her up in his big strong arms and swung her back and forth. He cradled her in a tender embrace while lowering her body to the deck beneath them.
Laying her trim, hard body down the length of the silk woven scarlet rug that bore the image of her symbolic swan, Magnus joined his brother in rising to their feet before her. Both holding her gaze as they slowly and deliberately stripped away their gleaming suits of shining battle armor, their ultra-tight chain mail shirts, and their shiny black leather pantaloons—revealing at once their bronzed, massive chests, their long trim legs and rock hard hips, and long, hard shafts that seemed to salute the presence of their queen.
“Aye, I am a most fortunate queen,” Astrid beamed, lowering the straps of her silky white gown and dragging it down the planes of her sweat lined, lean muscled body; throwing her head back to bask in the rays of the sun as the cry of gulls overhead soothed her senses.
And as much as the queen savored the ethereal vision of the azure sky that loomed crystal clear above her, she savored still more the image of the carved, hard muscular forms that gleamed gold in the light of sol; her gaze lingering long on the massive pectorals, the carved abdominals, the rock hard hips, and the pulsating rods that defined their flawless physiques.
She also admired the way that their long, silken hair glowed in this same light, along with the brilliant smiles that showed their sweet “ast” for their lady.
Falling to his knees to join her on the surface of the ornamental rug, Magnus gathered her up in two strong arms and pulled her closer than close; sweeping her into a loving embrace as her breasts crushed the surface of his hard, firm chest.
“Tis my turn to celebrate sweet physical love, to the queen of my dreams,” he whispered, their arms and legs entangling as he stared deep into her eyes.
“Munuo,” Astrid said on a whisper, wrapping her sturdy arms around Magnus’ bulging shoulders as she entwined her fingers in the silken lengths of his fire hued hair.
Even as the lovers’ hips and thighs locked between them, his erect shaft rising higher still to tease her feminine cleft, Eirik joined them on the rug to lay at the queen’s back; bowing his head to kiss and lick her back as his taut, toned hips cradled her behind.
“My apologies, milady,” his deep, rich voice resounded deep in her ear. “I find that it’s difficult to be in your presence without touching you.”
“Apology accepted,” Astrid released on a hiss, reaching backward to grab and stroke his pulsating rod as he growled deep and low in approval.
Not to be outdone, Magnus buried his bronzed head in the queen’s tender neck and swooped his hand downward; stroking her planed stomach before reaching lower still to stroke open her feminine folds and finger her soaking wet pussy, smiling against her skin as she released her own aroused groan in response.
As Eirik leaned his head forward to touch his head against hers, he ran his fingertips like running water down the length of her back before laying a gentle squeeze on her lush derriere; all the while writhing in obvious ecstasy as an ardent Astrid stroked and kneaded the length of his pulsating, sweat-lined cock.
Reaching her free hand forward to enclose Magnus’ waist in a tight, loving embrace, she seized his full, warm lips in a passionate kiss as their bodies moved and writhed together.
Their tongues and hands both entangled between them as they submerged themselves in a cocoon of loving, their hips gyrating wild together as their nipples grazed to produce additional tension.
Grinning broadly, Astrid gasped outright as she found herself immersed in a cocoon of pure golden muscularity, with two gorgeous, powerful men writhing against and pressing themselves into her—seeming to imprint themselves onto her body as a symbol of eternal mating.
Finally an impassioned Magnus sealed the bond by thrusting his hips against hers and plunging his long, hard shaft to the depths of her soaking wet femininity; his member mirroring the motion of his tongue as it danced deep within Astrid’s mouth.
Wrapping her long legs around his trim waist and spreading her thighs to welcome him into her, Astrid admitted her lover to the soaking wet depths of her sacred feminine garden; all the while holding her connection to Eirik by continuing to stroke and knead his rod—relishing his every touch as he rained sweet baby kisses across the back of her neck and pressed his hard, massive torso against her back.
“My loves,” she whispered against Magnus’ sweet lips, sinking in his arms as his long, stiff shaft sank deeper to her core.
Both of her lovers hugged her between them as Eirik threw his head forward so that the silken strands of his angel blond hair drew soft against her skin, at the same time issuing a deep seated Viking howl of indescribable pleasure. His bulging shaft exploded and reverberated in her hand as Magnus exploded deep within her body, himself howling like a wolf as the ocean winds carried and amplified their cries of passion.
Joining her lovers in the heat of climax, an elated Astrid slithered wild between them as she reverberated from head to toe in an incredible, soulful climax.
In her mind’s eye she pictured the three of them seated at a long banquet table in the hallowed halls of Valhalla, the fabled feasting hall where the great god Odin was rumored to keep his favored warriors after their passing. She envisioned herself and her husbands sitting still and serene between golden columns as warriors fought free around them; clutching their hands tight as a beam of binding light enshrouded them in an eternal bond of love and serenity.
She saw this vision as a sign that she had chosen the right mates, that she was destined to marry and take as her kings both Magnus and Eirik.
She hoped only that the people of her clan and village would share her viewpoint; that they would accept the beloved Viking brothers, not only as their kings, but as her mates as well. She knew full well that their union was an unconventional one. Indeed, some of her people—including her sister Inga, her only living blood relation—had expressed discomfort with the fact that she’d taken both men as her lovers.
When she parted her longhouse every morn on the arms of her dual suitors, she always offered her people the good humored, beneficent beam that had become her signature trademark.
These days, however, a few of her followers did not return the gesture—a number that included her beloved younger sister. Indeed, the relation who always stood faithful by her side—filling the roles of friend, council member and confidante—rarely took the time these days to visit with her sister. And while she still offered her official opinion on matters of state and governance within the clad, she rarely conversed or socialized with her sister in the manner to which they were accustomed.
“And although Inga never has expressed her precise disapproval of my union, she certainly has withheld her blessing—as well as her affection,” she reflected now, cringing in spite of herself as she considered the marked and very recent change in her sister’s mood and persona.
She feared that her sister would hate her outright when she learned the news of her impending nuptials; and that, furthermore, some members of her clan might rebel when they learned that her queen would marry two kings. She worried that the same people who had stood beside her to build the Clan of Sigrid into one of the mightiest forces of Norse life, one heralded and revered throughout the world, would abandon their lands and revile her name. And her heart broke as she considered the possibility that the same dear gel she’d run and laughed with as a child—playing dolls one moment and ‘battling’ with paper made swords the next—would sever all ties between them. She feared that she would lose her dear, sweet Inga—the woman she someday hoped to crown queen of the clan. The woman she always hoped she could call a friend.
“I certainly hope that this is not the case,” she mused now, joining her lovers as they dressed and retreated to the helm of the Astrid’s Dream. “Yet even if it is, I cannot regret the union that I am about to seal with my two dearest and kindest friends.”
A part of her wished that she could stay out at sea in the company of her two lovers; sailing together to all parts of the world, accruing riches and spreading peace and good will as they did so. Perhaps, she mused, they even could find a region of the earth that accepted the concept of a powerful woman blissfully wedded to two stunning men if, indeed, such a place existed.
Ultimately, however, she knew that her place was with the people she had pledged to love and protect for the remainder of her days.
A good queen never abandoned her people. A good warrior never turned from a fight.
And, as it turned out, she was both.
“Warriors, onward!” Standing tall and proud at the helm of the ship named and heralded in her honor, Queen Astrid the Good issued her command in a strong, resounding voice. “Onward home!”
Soon Queen Astrid stood on the hard stone floor of her timber made longhouse; the official home base of the Clan of Sigrid, a noble and hardworking group of 100 Swedes that she swore upon her life to guard and protect.
Although she had not looked forward to this particular time of homecoming, she always did savor the glittering opulence of the grand feasting hall that headed and distinguished her royal longhouse. This meeting room and hall of celebration came adorned with expansive silk woven tapestries spread decorative across each timber made wall: murals that depicted scenes from nature in the form of emerald leaved forests and seas of gem azure—all captured in their most ebullient beauty beneath the glow of a bronzed sun.
She also well welcomed the sight of the sprawling fireplace that formed a complete wall of the longhouse, a blazing feature encased in stone, and featuring a mantle lined with shiny samples of glass and silver pottery--many of which has been crafted in her very own clan and village. Rivaling this fireplace in terms of radiance and nobility was the vaulted and expansive longhouse ceiling, a sheltering covering that she had hand painted with the likeness of a brilliant, ebullient rainbow.
And as her gaze now shifted toward the center of her feast hall, she saw yet another vision of beauty; this one standing among her most treasured and beloved.
Although the woman before her boasted wide dark eyes that mirrored her own, this sister of her blood bore otherwise no resemblance to Queen Astrid the Good. While her hair hung straight and shone cinnamon brown nearly to her waist, her sister boasted a golden fall of silky curled locks. This lustrous hair framed a carved, sculpted face that boasted high cheekbones and full, pearl pink lips.
The slender, delicate Inga looked every inch a Swedish princess. And regardless of whatever conflicts lie between the two of them at any given moment, Astrid had to admit that the sight of Princess Inga the Radiant reminded her of family, of childhood, of home.
It is for this reason that Astrid grinned broad as she traipsed the sturdy wooden floor that lined her longhouse; holding her arms open in warm invitation as her sister stepped forward to meet her beside the main feasting table.
This grin dissolved abrupt seconds later, as her sister charged her with a savage glare and slapped her full in the face.
Reaching on instinct for the hilt of the sword she always kept at her side, Astrid also noted from the corners of her eyes the brisk, pounding approach of her protective lovers; men who’d previously been enjoying a snack of ale and honeyed bread at a remote corner table.
Ultimately she swept her hand away from her hilt; then raising it to halt the approach of her furious fiancés.
“Tis all right, my loves,” she called across the feasting hall, all the while holding the gaze of her glaring, frowning younger sister.
“Welcome home, sister,” Inga snapped, adding as she lifted her delicate chin to full and proud effect, “I just graced you with the queen’s greeting that you full and true deserve.”
Astrid pursed her lips.
“Well thank ye, dear sister,” she voiced her relation, though not at this moment with the greatest affection. “Now would ye well mind telling me the reason for this outrageous outburst? Is it, perhaps, your time of the moon?”
Her fury newly stirred, Inga again swung her slender hand upward to slap her smirking sister; only to be thwarted as the queen grabbed her wrist in a hard, steely grasp.
“Enough, gel,” Astrid growled, adding as she squeezed Inga’s wrist, “I shall broach no disrespect from any citizen, not even the one who claims me by blood. Now I demand that ye tell me the nature of your complaint. Now!” She finished in a resounding thunderclap of a tone that brought silence over the room.
“Right love it when I do that,” she observed with a sharp nod, adding as she returned her gaze to the scowling face of her incensed younger sister, “Speak now, Sister.”
Wrenching her hand from her sister’s grasp, Inga shook her golden head from side to side as she declared, “Frankly, Astrid, I know not what to say to the woman I do not know.”
Astrid frowned, wrenching backward as though she’d been slapped once again.
“Inga,” she whispered, adding as her eyes narrowed in her sister’s direction, “Ye played alongside me as a child. We cried together when the lives of our parents were claimed in that wretched chariot accident. Ye joined me when we ventured outward to form our own clan, to carve our own home and kingdom from a pillar of nothingness. Ye stood by my side when I was crowned queen.” She paused here, adding as she braced her hands tender on her sister’s slender shoulders, “Ye know me better than anyone.”
She cringed as Inga wrenched away from her, tears falling the length of her chiseled cheeks as she declared, “Aye, I well know the sister I love and the queen I respect, more than anything. I do not know the brazen whore who would take two men to her bed.”
Her eyes flew wide as her sister met these words with a loud, rough chortle, throwing her head back as she guffawed outright.
“Well I ask ye, my sister, are ye are a virgin, as sure as ye are a maiden?” she asked, adding as she held up a firm finger for emphasis, “Before ye answer, please do remember—although ye claim not to know me, I most definitely do know ye.”
Inga snorted.
“At least I share my bed with only one man in an eve,” she snarled, adding as she pointed an accusing finger in her sister’s direction, “And I most certainly would not sail across the world on a lone boat, in the company of two warriors.”
The queen shrugged.
“Tis my boat, tis my guardsmen, tis my clan,” she reminded her sister, adding as she wagged a scolding finger sharp in her sister’s direction, “Ye of all folk should not hold your queen to different standards than ye would hold a king. We both well know of many a jarl who keeps more than one mistress, as well as a wife.” She paused here, adding as she lifted her strong chin to sharp, proud effect, “At least I plan to make honest men of both of my warrior lovers.”
Inga shook her head.
“Honest men?” she spat out, adding as she fixed her hands on what Astrid considered annoyingly slender hips, “Ye have ruined and besoiled both these fine young men.”
Astrid’s eyes flew wide.
“I assure ye, dear Inga, they were hardly virgins when I laid my hands on them,” she assured her, adding as she arched a caustic eyebrow, “And nay, I did not force myself on either.”
Inga sighed.
“Ye well know what I mean,” she insisted, adding as she gestured broadly in the direction of the men who still watched her like a hawk from their corner of the hall, “Now that ye have taken these men as your personal love toys, I am sure that no decent woman will take either of them as a wedded husband.”
Astrid nodded.
“Aye, this could be true,” she admitted, adding with a bright smile, “Tis a good thing then, I suppose, that I myself intend to take them as my dearly wedded husbands.”
It was Inga’s eyes that now flew wide; and as she sat down hard on the nearest bench and grabbed the nearest convenient ale horn, they flew wider still.
Astrid watched with some amusement as her stunned sister guzzled down a full horn of ale in one full swallow; besting the thirstiest men—and indeed the queen—who generally drank at this table.
Finally Inga rose from the table, letting loose with a most indelicate burp as she gasped out, “Of what in the hell do ye speak, Astrid?”
Astrid chuckled.
“I speak, dearest Inga, of my upcoming handfasting ceremony,” she told her, adding with a smile in the direction of her betrothed, “One that will pledge and bind me forever to both Magnus and Eirik.”
Inga stared at her for a long, silent moment; shaking her head from side to side as she considered these words.
“Shameful,” she said finally, adding as she waved a dismissive hand sharp in her sister’s direction, “Ye bring shame and scandal on to our clan, Astrid. The Norse god Odin is sure to condemn ye for your disrespect.”
Astrid shook her head.
“The love that I share with these two blessed men is pure and sacred, the deepest I ever have felt. They not only worship me as a queen, they love me as a woman—and, I am refreshed to learn, as an equal,” she insisted, adding as she lowered her voice to a soft, maternal tone, “I also love ye, my dear little sister. And I plead now for your understanding and blessings. I ask, above all, for you to stand at my side on the morn of my handfasting, to serve as my attendant.”
She cringed as her sister met her words with a sharp, rude chortle.
“Never!” she cried, adding as she turned away, “I wish no part of your devil’s errand. And as far as I concern myself, ye are no longer my sister.”
Astrid said nothing, only froze in her place and watched with wide eyes as her sister left the building; throwing a last condemning look in her direction as she cleared its arched threshold.
As a queen and warrior of the Viking people, Astrid never allowed herself the luxury of weeping. She considered this expression a sign of weakness, an expression that she could not afford to display before the people who followed and needed her.
In this rare instance, however, she allowed herself to let loose with a single sharp sob; an unbidden sound that brought her concerned future husbands immediately to her side—throwing their warm muscled arms around her and pulling her closer than close.