3. The Romantic #3
It grew in me again once we reached the village’s edge, and my knees quaked.
The device was the size of Thorsten now, and my cock was throbbing to have such girth within me without it moving.
Its jostling was somehow worse than a hard fuck, and I looked down to see wetness bleeding through my tunic where my cock tip was leaking through the layers of fabric.
How much more will it grow ? I wondered, for where we stood, the elevation dipped, and the path beyond wound down what would take many minutes to traverse to a large lake, far larger than the pool at the base of the Vanaheim waterfall.
Freyr urged me forward with an arm about my waist. Given my trembling gait, his presence beside me felt comforting. Peaceful, as the god of such things should feel.
“Do you have a home here?” I asked. “A hall? A throne to sit in and preside over court?”
“I do. I am taking you there.”
To the water? I didn’t see any buildings at its edge or anywhere in the landscape before us. I looked back, and to my lacking surprise, I saw Ravnur, still holding the reins of Gullinbursti, having followed us to the edge of town.
He and Freyr were close, enough so that Freyr accepted Ravnur’s informality and clearly thought of him as a friend. But not more, if Ravnur’s jealousy was anything to judge by. But if the reason was because Freyr only had eyes for his original love, why bed me?
“My lor—ah!”
The object grew again , enough that I stumbled, but Freyr’s hold on me kept me upright. Had I known a cock this large? How close was this to the size it would become?
I pushed on, not letting Freyr’s grinning deter my steps.
“M-my lord,” I tried again, “Ragnarok has passed, and you and much more have been restored. But how is it that you have your sword back with you? Was its loss not the reason you perished during Ragnarok, because it was given as the dowry for your Jotun wife?”
The floating sword might have kept Freyr alive during the ravages of battle, but because he had given it up, his fate was sealed.
The Jotun, Loki’s people, weren’t giants as I had heard some stories call them.
Loki alone was proof of that, no larger than me.
They were merely another tribe, like the Aesir and Vanir, hailing from the realm of Jotunheim.
One of Freyr’s best-known stories involved a Jotun woman, Gerdr. Freyr fell in love with her the moment he saw her and her ethereal beauty.
He had to have her as his wife and sent his servant, Skirnir, to present his proposal.
Gerdr turned him down. Skirnir proceeded to go from wooing and romantic promises on Freyr’s behalf, to threats and belittlement to ensure he didn’t disappoint his master. She accepted the proposal under duress, and the sword remained with her father as dowry.
I never liked that story, assuming Freyr couldn’t possibly have known how much his bride might loathe him due to Skirnir’s behavior, and knowing she could never have been happy when choice had been taken from her.
Her name literally meant “fenced-in”—trapped, imprisoned , like I’d felt all my life as a thrall.
“When a marriage ends,” Freyr said, posture stiff and voice cool and detached, “if a dowry was given that can be returned, it is. Simple as that.”
Then, after Ragnarok, she… “I am sorry. Truly, I—” I managed to cut off my next moan with a bite at my lip.
This newest stretch, this growth, almost felt like too much, most certainly larger than anything I’d had in me before.
“M-my lord… may I ask whether you will tell me when the stretch is at its greatest?”
“I will tell you. But no, you are not close to the end yet.”
Fuck . My quaking legs moved forward only due to the momentum of Freyr.
We reached the water’s edge, and from a different pouch, Freyr pulled out a miniature boat. Skidbladnir.
He tossed the small ship into the air, and it flew toward the lake as if catching on the wind.
As it floated, it began to unfold itself, each undone layer revealing a new ship, larger and more impressive in design, until it was so large and grand, it was like a great palace upon the lake, and a plank extended toward us so we might ascend to its deck.
Perhaps more than any other god, Freyr had so many treasures, had the most to be thankful for, and was one of the most beloved.
Yet his sadness, which I had heard in his voice and seen in his green eyes, was understandable if it was from the loss of a love that meant more to him than his own life but had never been returned.
I knew the story, knew Gerdr hadn’t wanted him, and yet…
The god of love without love seemed wrong.
It was said Skidbladnir was large enough in its full form to hold all the Aesir. Freyr led me to the very back of the stern, where up a set of steps was all cushioned and covered in fabrics and furs to make a bed fit for an orgy.
As we climbed the last step to reach it, the object grew within me again, and my knees buckled.
Only Freyr kept me upright and bore my weight, lifting me into his arms to carry me the rest of the way and laid me upon the bed.
The movement sprung tears to my eyes with how large the device was now, just as he’d promised.
“Mercy?” he asked.
“N-no.” I let myself shiver and shake, because none of the ache was discouraging the pulsing of my cock. “I… I can take it.”
“Shall we see?” Freyr knelt beside me.
He began to remove his clothing, slowly, while I adjusted to the intense stretch within me, watching his body become revealed and proving as beautiful as his face. He saved his trousers for last, and when he pulled them down, the immense prick that sprung forth was…
No seemingly over-exaggerated statue had ever done him justice.
Freyr shifted closer to me on his knees, bringing his immense tip to my mouth. How wide I had to open to take him in, even just the start of him, not even as thick as he got toward his base, made my eyes water further and my gut ache, imagining my hole stretched just as wide.
How wide was it now? I wondered, as I sucked him.
Freyr petted my cheek and traced his thumb around the edges of my straining lips. “Such a handsome lad. And no slouch with your tongue. Even if I do not get to sink between your thighs, your mouth is a sweet consolation.”
I sucked harder, faster, took his cock deeper, all as if to counter him, and promise that I would—
The object grew again .
I whimpered around the first third of Freyr’s cock.
If I got to half, I could easily choke, but I still intended to try.
I took him deeper. Deeper. It was gratifying to hear moans spill from him too.
Just as he began a subtle rocking between my lips, I pulled away to take a breath.
My feet were so tingly, they felt numb, and my face was flushed.
“N-Now is it—”
“Not yet.” Freyr bobbed his tip back toward my lips.
I licked it, but the barest shift of my hips made me groan. “ F-fuck …”
“Do you still choose to continue, Oli?”
“ Yes .” I licked his tip again before swallowing him down and willing my throat to loosen.
I had almost forgotten I was still clothed, until Freyr began to disrobe me.
I had taken nearly three-fourths of him down my throat, uncertain if I could handle more—at least within this cavern—when he stopped me.
He pulled his impressive prick from my lips and moved between my legs.
He propped my legs up with my feet flat and spread my thighs to look at me.
I whined from the motion, but also felt a need to hump the air, to find some friction or reprieve, with how hot he made me feel by staring at my hole and licking his lips .
“I know you cannot see for yourself,” he said, lifting one of my limp hands, “but would you like to feel?”
I nodded feverishly, thighs trembling, as he brought my hand down and traced my fingers all along the outer ring of my hole. I could feel how large the object had grown, and how impossibly gaping I was because of it.
“I am impressed, Oli. You have done very well. Are you enjoying it?”
The ache in me was so great, it surprised me how readily the answer was, “ Yes .”
“But it’s not easy, is it?” He traced my fingers around my hole again.
“N-no. But worth it.”
“May I ask… for what? What does Loki offer if you fulfill his request?”
“Freedom,” I answered.
“From?”
“I’m… a thrall.”
“Ah. Then perhaps you can handle me if your want to be free of that life is great enough. But want alone does not always gift us what we crave.” Freyr used my fingers to circle my hole again.
“I-I want nothing more than my freedom,” I asserted, “but what is being asked of me to acquire that is a boon too.”
The sadness in Freyr returned, as he once again petted my cheek. “What a consort you would be if I could love you.”
The object grew in me again , so much so that no sound left me, barely a squeak. Surely, this was the end, but Freyr comforted me with more pets of my cheek, not voicing any sign that we were finished.
I had to steer my thoughts elsewhere if I was to last.
“M-my lord… have you ever loved?”
“I thought you knew that story.”
“Yes. You were enamored with something you thought perfect. Something beautiful. But is adoration love? Is lust and wanting love, when that love is not returned?” Like how I knew Thorsten could never love me. “Or can one find connection, friendship, kindship first, and there allow love to blossom?”
Freyr set my hand aside, shifting closer between my legs. “You ask for yourself?” He traced my raw lips with the prerelease left behind by his cock.
I tongued his fingertips. “I ask for you. And one who might already love you.”
Freyr’s eyes darted away, and I knew then that he was aware of Ravnur’s affections but hesitated to return them. Why? They could be together. There was no master and thrall between them, even if Freyr was Ravnur’s king.