He began to move, rocking his hips in gentle motions against her. “Are you comfortable?”
Wide eyes looked over her shoulder at him. She gave him a nod.
“I am going to stay still. I want you to grind against me, work that ass. I want you to demonstrate how badly you want me.”
****
Freya felt stretched to capacity by the thick shaft impaling her. Oh, that pleasure-pain, the vulnerability of him deep within her, the fabric of his trousers abrading the tender flesh of her backside.
His words gave her hope. She would silently demonstrate her desire—no, her need—and this torment would end.
“I’m waiting.” The riding crop flicked against the underside of her bottom. “Don’t slack in your work, little slave.”
She worked her hips, back and forth, bracing herself with her knees on the newly-cleaned decks. His hands grasped onto the twin tails of her hair to steady himself. Her rewards were his grunts and groans. Somehow, he was not thrusting back. She sensed he enjoyed exercising his restraint, as well as watching her work for him.
“Faster.” His order was punctuated with another fiery lick of the riding crop.
She was in that same bowed position he had commanded in the wood, only now her supplication was on a new level, more intimate than before. She churned her hips, brow against the smooth decks.
His cock pulsed softly before jerking. His hands tightened on her tails. Finally, he gave into the urge to thrust hard into her. She bit her lip as he growled his release before collapsing atop of her, resting his head between her shoulder blades.
When his heart had stilled, he rose, and she looked at him over her shoulder, eagerly awaiting her release. He chuckled and gave her pussy a pat over the metal device. “You’ve done well. But there is still more work to be done.”
****
They were halfway through the next day when he decided to free her little snatch. The decks were clean, and she was again covered in sweat. Hope sparkled in her dark eyes as he touched the metal underwear. He knelt between her thighs, examining her pussy.
“You have been hungry for me,” he murmured. “All this desire, building, locked up until I wish it.” She gasped then whimpered. He grazed a finger along the swollen flesh between her legs. She would have tumbled backward had he not caught her. He laid her beneath him and rested on his fists above her.
He groaned, resting his head upon her shoulder. Gods, his cock was already hard for her. He tore the lacings on his breeches and rammed himself home. Her thighs were damp around his, not only with sweat. Her heat dripped onto his aching balls.
It dimly occurred to him that he hadn’t rinsed any of the salve from her.
He pulled out, panting. It had been so difficult to remove his cock from her.
“Master?” she asked, the sky darkening above them. “What the hell are you doing?”
He didn’t want to wait to have to clean her. He wanted her now. He tossed her over his shoulder, ran across the decks, and threw them both into the sea. Freya’s mouth melded with his as the brine surged around them, dark with the storm brewing above.
Her legs circled his hips, and he slammed his cock into her pussy. They both came, lightning flashing above.
“Master?” she said, holding him against her. He realized that her tail was wrapped around him. She’d shifted as soon as they’d finished.
“Aye, Freya?”
“You know, I was just starting to think, you’d hardly punished me enough.”
“What?” He stared at her in shock, her hair free of its bindings and billowing around them.
“If I had to do that all over again, I would have still gone back to Mimir.” She gave him that silly smile, made all the more endearing by her fangs. “But I would take you with me.”
Siegfried gathered her hair at her nape and brought her face to his, kissing her again, holding her in place until he was finished. “I never said your punishment was over. I only gave us both a reprieve.”
****
Avalon stole Freya’s breath away as she stood beside Siegfried at the helm of the
River Queen.
It was nestled like a green jewel atop the brilliant sea green water. The tops of small grass-topped huts could be seen amongst the palms. As they neared, scores of flying fish, their silver scales gleaming in the bright sun, escorted their ship.
Siegfried squeezed her shoulder. She wouldn’t be naked on her knees today, helping him with shipboard—that was
ship
board, not
boat
board—tasks. She’d miss the rounds of loving, all his delicious torments.
The white sands seemed to glow. Tall palms with long fronds at the top reached toward the cloudless sky. Mists surrounded the isle, and despite the lack of clouds, Freya would guess it had rained. A bright rainbow arced over the mountainous isle. Jewel-like flowers in every color imaginable peeked from the lush foliage.
When the ship had docked, they made their way along a path of blue tile, surrounded by all sorts of fountains. She restrained herself from drinking of the fountains, for though some offered water, others offered wine, mead, or ale. The ale smelled very good. It had been too long since she’d had any. Siegfried had wished her to stay well-hydrated during their voyage.
Flowers floated atop the surface of the wine fountains. Petals in all sorts of colors. What would that wine taste like? She giggled when she saw Siegfried was also ogling the wine fountains.
The people here moved about their homes and shops happily. They cast curious glances at Freya and Siegfried. Children ran through the shell-covered streets, their parents shouting to them. These people were all humans…the sacrifices. Yet, no one seemed to be suffering here.
Nestled into the side of a mountain was a palace that appeared to be carved of crystal, shimmering purple in the sunlight. She did not know if it was crystal or some fey equivalent of it, much like the difference between fey metal and human metal. Whatever it was, it was beautiful. Spires soared into the azure sky, casting glittering light upon the palms. The grand doors of silver were pulled aside by two men in silver and royal blue.
But the men never opened the doors all the way. The doors were kicked open, smashed. Siegfried pulled Freya aside, shielding her with his body as chunks of intricately carved metal whizzed above their heads. A loincloth-wearing man with a long, white blond beard trailing behind him flew through the air, shining spear blazing in the sunlight. The two servants poked their ashen faces from nearby shrubs covered in orange flowers with thick, waxy petals.
“Idiot,” shouted a familiar voice from inside. “This is Avalon—not Asgard.”
Freya was suddenly pulled from beneath Siegfried and swung through the air. She was face-to-face with the man’s single blue eye.
“Who won the Jotun War? Freya. Who killed Mimir? Freya,” the bearded man chanted as he whirled, holding her out from him. “Who took down that big, annoying tree? Freya. Who’s Asgard’s greatest war hero next to Woden? Freya.” He set her down and Siegfried steadied her. She was so dizzy and this man was so obnoxious. Who did
weird chants like that?
Siegfried caught her when the man released her. “That is Woden, Freya,” he said darkly.
“Why aren’t you happy?” Woden asked. “What can we do to fix that? Yes, Freya, I am your father. Your very proud father.”
She pointed her trident at Woden before he even thought of spinning her again. “Let me see, you could have stopped by any time I was with the Remi. I would’ve actually been happyish, sort of, to see you if you appeared when I was being chased by Druid assassins. You could have made an appearance when I was being Marked. Or how about while I was fighting off Vercingetorix’s men?”
Woden looked down at the trident, then continued to grin broadly at his daughter. “The ones you made explode? Because only Woden’s mighty seed can make men explode. Now you have tales, great tales of epic battles to stun the fabled warriors of the mighty Aesir. And, of course, to make lesser men piss themselves.” Pride shone in his blue eye. “My daughter.”
A delicate throat clearing drew Freya’s attention. Her mother glided down the staircase. She wore an irritated frown that turned into a smile as she neared Freya. “Daughter, I’m so glad you are well.” Hecate embraced Freya in a hug that smelled of things like night—a spicy aroma mingling with night-blooming flowers.
“Siegfried, again,” Woden said with a frown, seemingly just noticing Freya’s lover. “I’ve heard of what you did to the Jotuns. I never knew such a silly thing as panpipe playing could be that powerful. I’ve always preferred a spear myself.” He tapped
Gungnir
on the shell path. “A man needs a large weapon. Panpipes are so…pathetically minuscule.”
“A weapon is only as good as its purpose,” Siegfried said, meeting Woden’s gaze. “Panpipes they may be, but at least they’re not just ornamentation.”
“What are you implying, faun?” Woden said, raising his spear.
Freya looked from Siegfried’s Panpipes to
Gungnir
to her trident. “My trident is bigger than both of your weapons.”
“The obvious implication she is making,” Hecate said, louder than was necessary, “is that you sat in Valhalla, drunk in a loincloth, while your daughter was in no small amount of danger. All you’ve done is send birds.”
Woden grabbed Freya’s shoulders. “Rest assured, daughter mine, that I shall have Loki’s head, mount it on a pike outside of Sessrumnir—the hall I’m building for you. We’ll march upon Jotunheim together. I’ve already been to Jotunheim, gathered the skulls for Sessrumnir’s fence.” He patted Freya’s head, then turned to Siegfried. “What are you still doing here, faun? I figured this nonsense would have ended. Hecate, you said the Greeks are gone for now.”
“Romans,” Hecate said.
“Greeks. Romans. Same thing,” Woden said, waving off Hecate. “Freya is a hero amongst the Aesir now. She’ll have men fighting to wed her, even with Marks on her face. Yes, she can wed and buy whatever she wants in Asgard, even though it’s free for her. You can leave now, faun
.
” He turned back to Freya, bringing his face close to hers. “Don’t listen to anyone, daughter. You are Princess of Asgard, Freya Jotun’s Bane. You can make a fine match and live with your husband in Sessrumnir, the finest hall ever to be built.”
“Let’s go inside,” Hecate said calmly. “I have food and drink waiting for you.”
****
Siegfried set his goblet down, then lifted it and did it again. Must do everything in even numbers. It was now or never on this shady patio, surrounded by green fronds and bright birds. They sat on blue and silver pillows around a low, smoothly polished white table. “Woden, I know you dislike me. Vehemently. However, it seems you might be concerned about your daughter’s happiness.”
“Yes, and that’s why I want you to leave,” Woden said. “The longer you linger, the greater the chance of your faun-ishness corrupting her, making her weak.”
“I would press my suit to wed your daughter,” Siegfried said, leaning forward. He set his goblet aside, his hands gripping the edges of the rectangular table.
Woden’s mouth opened and closed several times, then he laughed. “Of course you jest, faun. And, of course, you make bad jokes.”
“Woden, Siegfried already has control over my powers,” Freya said. “I—”
“It doesn’t matter. Asgard’s might should not be controlled.” Woden’s voice was gruff, his expression turning grave. There was a passion in his tone that Siegfried had not expected.
Hecate rose. “Shut up and listen to reason, Woden.”
Woden’s face turned red, his mustache twitching. Siegfried would bet he had some sort of muscle tic hidden by his facial hair. “No. I said I refuse to let her marry the damned faun. He’s strange, Hecate. Haven’t you noticed he keeps setting down his goblet twice? What’s wrong with once? He was doing things eight times—every time eight in Valhalla. Setting down his dagger eight times. Cutting his meat into eight bites. It is unnatural. As unnatural for a man as panpipe-playing and jig-dancing.”
Freya met her father’s gaze. “I keep hoping you won’t disappoint me, but you somehow manage.” She tapped a finger on the table. “But it was nice that you considered going to war for me. Siegfried told me about that.”
“Don’t worry, daughter,” Hecate said. “I’m giving your father plenty of mead. When he has enough, everything sounds good to him, even Alien or Airgetlam. Eventually, Siegfried will, too.”
“Woden, Freya will be my slave and only that in Asgard? That is how you would have it?” Siegfried said, rotating his goblet twice. “I care for her very deeply, and I do not lie when I say she cares for me. We have been acting under the assumption that we were to be wed.”
Woden’s eye flashed silver. “What do you mean,
acting under the assumption?”
“Do I need to embarrass Freya with the details?” Siegfried took a slow sip of his wine.
“Are you saying she isn’t pure?” Woden was as pale as the white tiles of the clouds on the mosaic above the entrance behind them. “If you have used my daughter as your whore—”
“I’m a grown woman,” Freya said, only a hint of irritation in her voice.
“Why would you leave her alone with a faun?” Woden snarled at Hecate. “Fauns are like antlered rabbits with hooves. Only taller, with longer legs and shorter ears and playing
panpipes.”
“
So
not really like rabbits at all,” Freya said.
“You’re still not marrying him. Purity isn’t a requirement in the Otherworld,” Woden said. “Now, I’m going to find Balder, get Sleipnir saddled, and kill something.”
“Freya, let me take you to Hedwig,” Hecate said when Woden had stormed off in a red-faced rage. When Freya looked at her curiously, she elaborated. “It’s Berengar. She brought him back for you. But he isn’t well. We’re barely keeping him alive.”
“But, I thought you had healing magic,” Freya said.
“I do,” Hecate said. “But he’s…been badly abused with weapons of Oblivion magic. I cannot put this nicely. Odilia used him in some very…lengthy rituals.”
Freya and Siegfried followed Hecate a short distance down a few passages lined with more of the moving tapestries, fountains, and large windows. She hardly seemed to notice any of the splendor. Hedwig waited outside of a white marble door decorated with pearl scrollwork and shells. The Sea Witch lacked her normal cocky attitude.