House of Freya: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 1) (2 page)

              The large room was deliciously warm, velvety, welcomingly warm without feeling hot or close. The walls were opalescent, gleaming in the soft light cast by the torches and sconces that lined the room. Sigrun could see no smoke emanating from any of them. A pleasant aroma of apples and spice hung in the air. The entire effect was deeply relaxing, and Sigrun could feel the tension melting from her limbs.

              She took another step forward. Freya, her amber eyes sparkling
—
with expectation? With humor? With something else? She couldn't tell
—
seemed to be waiting for her to speak. But how to address a goddess? There was nothing to do, she decided, but jump right in.

              "Great lady, I've come to seek your guidance. I was sent here, sent by —
”
she faltered as Freya lifted a hand.

              "Hush," the goddess interjected. "I was just taking in the sight of you. And let's not be naming names. I have a good idea who sent you to me, and certain names are better left unspoken. His is one of them." She smiled, eyes glittering again. "Yes, I'm glad he sent you. The resemblance is quite uncanny; you look just like her. I'm astounded. He must have said so himself, didn't he?" She shook her head. "Poor dear, I'm sure he was quite taken with you."

              Sigrun felt herself blushing, uncertain how to reply. "Um, yes..."

              "Just look at those eyes. Ice-blue fire! I never thought I'd see them again in this life, and now here they are. Frostdaughter! But she disappeared so completely, none of us knew what became of her. Clearly you are a part of that. But she did not keep you with her?"

              "No."

              "And so her fate remains a mystery. And she hid you so well. So well, I wager, that even you do not know who you are?"

              "I didn't, not at all. And then things... happened. And now I am looking for answers."

              "And help? From me you seek help. You are bursting with power. I can feel it. But you do not understand it, don't know how to control it. But I do."

              "Then you can teach me?"

              "I can. But should I? That's another question."

              Sigrun felt a knot forming in her stomach. Was Freya going to turn her away?

              The goddess smiled. A wry smile, perhaps a slightly sad smile. "My dear girl, these are dangerous times. And it's true, you may have an important role to play in them. But your mother covered her tracks so well, none of us can tell you for sure exactly where you came from. And that means none of us can know for certain what your role is meant to be. Still. You are definitely your mother's daughter, and that is certainly something!" Freya sighed. "Oh, the times we had together, long ago. What a sublime creature she was! Exquisite. And devastating. You come from an ancient and powerful line, my girl. That is something. So for now, let me call you my guest. You cannot but have had an arduous journey to get here. There is no easy approach to Folkvangr. You need ministrations."

              Freya rose from her throne, beckoning Sigrun to approach. The leopards did not stir. She pressed on something, a button or latch hidden in the intricacies of the carvings, and a panel slid open in the wall beside her throne.

              "This way, my dear. And you needn't worry about your weaponry. I give you my word on its safekeeping."

              Sigrun disliked leaving her sword behind, but there was nothing to be done about it as Freya ushered her out of the throne room. They stepped out into a broad hallway with stairs at the end of it. Attendants, smoothly-shaven young men in crisp white tunics, stood waiting.

              "Hrolf, Lars, please see to my guest. Take her to the Rose Rooms and see that she has everything she needs." Freya turned to Sigrun. "I'm sure that you are exhausted from your travels. You need food and rest tonight, and we can continue our conversation in the morning."

              Sigrun would have preferred not to wait, but she had to admit that a certain languor had stolen into her limbs. The smell of crisp apples and spice seemed to cling to her, and the warmth of the room had so relaxed her that she felt disinclined to argue. Food and rest sounded good. She followed the attendants up the stairs and down another hallway to a set of doors painted with red roses, and they opened them onto what could only be described as a delightfully inviting set of rooms.

              The central chamber held a large, round table and heavy, cushioned chairs. A light pattern of roses and scrolls, in reds and pale blues, was stenciled on the walls. The red chair cushions and thick, white fur rugs on the floor were sumptuous and welcoming. A fire burned cheerfully in a hearth. On the same wall as the hearth, an arched doorway led into a smaller, tiled room that held a large bathtub. On the opposite wall, a larger arch led into a bedroom with possibly the biggest bed Sigrun had ever seen.

              The table held a pitcher, a goblet, and a bowl of fruit. One of the attendants
—
Lars, she believed
—
stepped forward, filled the goblet, and offered it to her.

              "Warm spiced wine. Please have a drink while we prepare a bath, after which we will bring a proper meal for you."

              Hrolf offered a chair, and Sigrun sank gladly into the soft cushions, taking a sip from her goblet. The wine was very good. It tasted amazingly good. It glided down her throat and sent waves of warmth from her cheeks all the way to her toes.

              Lars busied himself in the bathroom, and Sigrun could see clouds of steam rising from the tub. She caught the scent of spices again, mixed, she thought, with the smell of roses. She took another sip of wine. Hrolf knelt before her and asked if he might help her with her boots. She nodded lazily, and he set to work deftly unlacing ties and loosening buckles. He handled them with care, running his fingers over the unique dragonskin leather with a sort of admiration verging on reverence. She found herself admiring the gentle firmness of his grip on her calf as he slid the boot shaft down and pulled it from her foot. 

              Lars emerged from the bathroom. "My lady, your bath is ready."

              Sigrun was so comfortable in her seat, she was reluctant to rouse herself from it, but the thought of sinking into a hot bath after her long journey won her over. She stood up and began unfastening her various belts and cuffs.

              "Please, our mistress Freya commands that we tend to her guests' every need. We are here to serve you. Let us do that for you."

              The demure earnestness in her attendants' eyes convinced Sigrun that they genuinely meant to serve her. She was also no stranger to submitting, whether one wanted to or not, to the rules of one's host. At least this time she was a willing guest. And since she had sought this place out, she knew that she should accept whatever was offered to her, until she had good reason to do otherwise. She nodded and gave herself up to the able hands of Hrolf and Lars.

              Able hands indeed. Somehow in the process of unfastening armbands and unhooking clasps, they simultaneously rubbed her shoulders and massaged her neck. They handled the layers of her attire with the greatest of care and expertise. Soon the stiff protective pieces had been carefully collected and set aside, and they were peeling the soft, supple tunic and leggings from her tired limbs. With nothing but her thin undergarments remaining, they ushered her toward the bath.

              The smell of the perfumed water was nearly as intoxicating as the wine. Hrolf had brought her goblet along, and she took another sip. The taste and the smell combined in a delicious swirl that seemed to wrap itself in coils around and through her head. She sighed contentedly, though whether it was over the wine, or the feel of Lars's hands sliding her camisole off her shoulders, she wasn't sure. Lars and Hrolf had possibly the smoothest hands she had ever felt. Their hands were like velvet. Or cats' paws. She glanced at Hrolf's face. His eyes seemed to be glowing. They slid her out of her remaining clothes and helped her into the bath.

              The hot water felt exquisite. The weariness seemed to melt away; her entire body felt liquid, and as she soaked, it felt replenished and fortified. Lars tended to her hair, loosening her braids and brushing it smooth. The feel of the brush and his fingers running through her hair sent tingles across her scalp. Hrolf kept her glass at the ready. She felt remarkably relaxed and yet surprisingly alert. But her thoughts were entirely focused on the pleasure of these ministrations. Even when she tried to bring her thoughts around to Freya, her questions and concerns about the goddess slipped away.

              The water was only just beginning to cool when Lars, finished with her hair, brought a large towel, and Hrolf offered a hand to help her out. Enveloping her in its plush softness, they led her to sit in a cushioned chair opposite the tub. Lars knelt before her, producing a bottle of oil. He took her foot in his hand and drizzled a trail of oil from her ankle to her toes. It was warm and grew warmer as he set to work massaging it into her skin. Hrolf stood behind her, twisting her hair into fresh coils and piling them onto her head, baring her neck. He slid the towel down off her shoulders and gently began his own application of oil to her neck and back.

              Lars massaged one foot and then the other. His hands moved up to her ankles and calves. She stretched out one leg to allow him better access to her knee and thigh. Hrolf slid his hands down her arms and back up to her shoulders. Sigrun let her eyes drift shut and lost herself in the feeling of their soft, smooth hands and the warm oil on her skin. Hrolf's reach plunged down her sides to her waist. Lars caressed her upper thighs. Hrolf's hand circled her breast, and she realized that she was purring in response. And so were they.

              "The goddess has commanded us to give you pleasure," Hrolf murmured in her ear. "The House of Freya requires it."

              "Well," Sigrun sighed, "if it's a necessity..."

              Lars slid his hand from her thigh to her sex, so wet already that his fingers slipped between her lips with ease. He hooked his hand inside, massaging with his fingers, while with his thumb he rubbed circles around her clitoris. Hrolf cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples. She dropped her head back and arched her shoulders, tipping her pelvis to press against Lars's hand and tilting her breasts to receive Hrolf's caresses. It was dizzying to receive so much simultaneous attention. He pinched her nipples, twisting them slightly and sending a wave of pleasure rippling over the circles already radiating out from her clit and her pulsing cunt. Lars pressed harder, worked at her sweet spots until her sighs became ahs and ohs and gasps. Filling her with his hand, he focused his attention on her clit, bending his mouth to her, licking and sucking, bringing her closer and closer to climax. Sigrun's breath was coming fast and ragged now. The thought flickered through her mind that the two men were sure to cause her sensory overload, but they were working in perfect synchronicity, playing her body like an instrument, playing her to perfection.

              Sigrun came with a great, crackling orgasm that sent sparks shooting through her. It felt like her hair was standing on end. But before she'd even finished, as she buckled from the release, Hrolf lifted her from the chair. Lars stood up at the same time, still holding her. At what point had he removed his shirt? His chest glistened, smooth and bare and golden. Her towel had long since dropped away, and now as Hrolf lifted her into Lars's arms, she felt the charge of flesh against flesh. The fingers that had just serviced her so soundly made way for a stiff, well-sized cock that had also somehow freed itself from Lars's clothing while Sigrun had been distracted by her pleasures. These men were good.

              Her orgasm was still pulsing through her, was barely on its way to subsiding, when she slid, hot and wet, onto Lars's shaft and came all over again. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, and he held her by the hips, pulling her down against him. He hardly needed to thrust; the feel of him inside her was enough to send her charged body into waves of orgasm. Hrolf, having pushed the chair aside, now stood directly behind her, lifting and rocking her against Lars. He slid a hand, slick with oil, up her inner thigh and over her ass, running his fingers between her cheeks, spreading them, fingering her hole. Now she felt the head of his prick rubbing and pressing against her, pushing to gain entry.

              She welcomed it. Shifting slightly, still grinding against Lars, she tilted to receive Hrolf's offering. As another orgasm surged through her, he slid inside, and she took him completely. Now Lars held her so that Hrolf could bury the full length of his cock in her ass, and with both men filling her, orgasms pulsing through her from both sides, she thought she might simply explode. It felt like flames were licking the sides of her face. Lars held steady, his thick cock sheathed to the hilt in her burning cunt, while Hrolf fucked her ass, dipping in and out, slowly, teasingly. She quivered, strained to meet him as Lars held her transfixed, moaning when he pulled out and then gasping as he plunged back in again. Then Hrolf took hold, his rock-hard shaft embedded firm and deep, while Lars pounded her, fast and hard, finally tearing a screaming orgasm out of her. Sparks danced before her eyes. The blast radiated through her lovers, too, and both Hrolf and Lars cried out together in climax, pulling out and spraying her with creamy fountains of cum.