Bride of Grendel: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 2)

by Gwynn Jones

  Sigrun was still shaking. She did not want to appear afraid, so she did her best to meet Grendel’s gaze, to show that she was not shaking with fear, that she was not cowed by him. He dropped his eyes, looking at her wet shift. She thought she saw him shrug slightly, and then he took the underdress in his hands and tore it open, pulling it off of her and freeing her from the soaking fabric. She immediately felt warmer with the heat of the fire against her bare skin, but she was still shivering. She wrapped her arms around her chest, both to help warm herself and to cover her bare breasts. Grendel nudged her closer to the hearth. He pulled off his sodden sheepskin vest and shrugged out of the chain mail, revealing a massive, muscular chest. He stepped away, disappearing into a nearby alcove, and returned with the skin of some large, furry beast — a very, very large bear, perhaps? Or a tremendously large wolf. It looked like the fur of a tremendously large wolf. He set it on the floor by the hearth and then lifted Sigrun off her feet and set her down on the pelt. It was soft, so soft, and felt unimaginably good against her bare skin.

  Grendel knelt beside her. She could feel his breath on her shoulders. It was warm and smelled surprisingly nice, like apples and fresh-mown hay. This was certainly not what she had expected. She had expected his breath to reek of carnage. And fish. Rotten fish. What was more monstrous than the stench of blood and rotten fish? No, Grendel’s breath smelled clean and sweet, not monstrous. Life was full of surprises, she guessed. He poked a finger at her hair, tugging at one of the braided tresses that now hung loose, wet, and disheveled at her ear. Yes, she realized, her hair was wet and would dry better if she took it down. She unwound the braids that she had carefully wrapped around her head earlier in the evening, back in her turf cell, and unbraided them. Her hair fell around her shoulders and down her back. To her surprise, Grendel ran his fingers through her hair, his claws working like a comb. He hummed appreciatively.

  “Hmmmm… beautiful…” his voice was deep, low, more growl than speech, but she heard the word clearly and was amazed. What was this thing, and what did he want? As a child, she’d heard stories of giants and trolls, beings as ancient and powerful as the gods, who lived in other worlds but sometimes crossed over to the realm of men. There were porous places, places where the borders were thin — the wilderness places that men were right to steer clear of. Places like the wild, beautiful spot where Hrothgar had built his hall. Was Grendel one of these beings?

  He bent his head toward hers, burying his nose in her hair at her neck. The feel of his warm breath on her neck sent an unexpected trill down her spine. He placed a hand on her back, cradling her, and lifted her arm, still held across her breasts, with the other. He was warm, very warm. His wet hair had dried quickly and felt downy soft as it brushed against her. Her shivers eased as her body finally warmed up. Her muscles relaxed, but her nerves still seemed to be in a heightened state. She had refused to be afraid, but there was no escaping the edgy rush of nervous response to everything that had happened. The excitement was coursing through her veins, and every sensation seemed amplified by it. Recovering from her hypothermia only made this other response more apparent. The tactile pleasure of the fire’s glow, the fur against her skin, and Grendel’s warm presence made her body feel like it was melting, even as her nerves were singing. When he bowed his head to her chest and ran his tongue — rough, warm, and catlike — between her breasts and up her throat, it sent a shiver through her body that made her hair stand on end.

  He pushed her down so that she was lying on the pelt, sinking into the thick, soft fur, and he ran his tongue around her breast. He circled it slowly, edging toward the nipple, and a sigh escaped her lips. He took her entire breast in his mouth — the thought flashed through her mind that she hoped he didn’t take a bite with those sharp teeth of his — but the feel of his huge, strong tongue and lips sucking and pulling at her made her forget her worries. His hand was wrapped around her back, his thumb resting beneath the curve of her other breast, the claws digging slightly into her skin. It was almost painful but also felt strangely good. It sent another thrill through her. He pulled back from sucking her breast and ran his finger, pressing lightly with the curved claw, around her nipple and then down her belly. She just about jumped when he reached her mound and twined his finger in her soft hair. He traced a line across her pelvis, from one hip bone to the other, and she couldn’t help moaning. Was this monster teasing her? And her body was exploding in response, aching for something more.

  He pushed her legs apart and bent his head to taste her juices. She caught a sweet smell — was that her? She believed it was — like she was gushing ambrosia — what was this creature doing, to make her react this way? He dragged his tongue along her lower lips and all the way up — that rasping tongue, it sent charges through her! Then he plunged his tongue into her. It was thick and long, filling her like a cock, but it was more agile, too.

  “Oh! Ahhh!” she gasped and moaned as he twisted his tongue inside her, pulling it out and plunging it back in, probing her with it, finding out the most sensitive spots and then lingering on them. His lip grazed her clitoris all the while, adding to her mounting frenzy until she was sure that she was going to come at any moment. As though sensing that she was on the verge of climax, Grendel pulled his tongue out of her and began lapping at her clit. His rough tongue pressing directly on her sweet spot was too much to withstand, and within moments he had her. A loud cry tore from her lips. She would have doubled over with the strength of the orgasm that swept through her, if his hand had not still been firmly holding her chest. His grip on her added something to the intensity of it. She was hardly done coming when he sank his tongue back into her, working the interior wall behind her humming clitoris and sending her into spasms all over again. He pulled away and paused for a moment, watching her panting and gasping for breath.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, and he turned her over onto her belly. He looped a hand beneath her stomach and pulled her ass up. She felt his finger parting her cheeks and then his tongue running the full length of the crack. She was too spent to tense up over this particular intrusion; her body was still crackling with the aftershocks of the last orgasms, and there was something so immensely pleasuring about Grendel’s tongue, it had the same effect here as everywhere else. She sighed as he pressed the tip into her small, tight hole, and gasped as he pressed a little further in. He stopped there, flicking his tongue in and out, in and out, until she felt a sudden need to feel it go deeper. She pressed her knees into the floor and pushed her ass upwards to meet him. He responded by sinking much of the length of this thick tongue into her.

  “Ohh! Ohhh!” She dug her fingers into the fur as a shudder ran through her body. He held her firmly and delved his tongue even deeper. He pulled it out, teasing the rim again, and then pushed it, all of it, in. She felt herself wracked with spasms of pleasure. He held his tongue inside, twisting it, pulsing it. Her body was out of her control, responding entirely on its own, orgasms radiating through her from deep inside her. He pulled out his tongue and flipped her back over, her face flushed, her body bathed in sweat.

  “More,” she panted, “give me more!”

  He was kneeling over her, breathing heavily, looking down at her with hungry, glittering eyes. She could see the muscles of his chest and abdomen rippling beneath the thick hair. He pulled off the skirt of skins that circled his waist to reveal his stiff, throbbing member. She gaped at the size of it. It was longer than her forearm, and thicker. The swollen head was the size of her fist. She realized now in a flash why Grendel kept stealing Hrothgar’s queens. He wanted a bride for himself. And if the icy plunge to the cave didn’t kill them, then getting fucked by his massive, inhuman cock did. That thing would split a woman in half, would tear her apart.

  Well, there were worse ways to go.

  It was better than getting eaten. Or maybe that came later.

  These thoughts barely had time to cross her mind — and she must have been giddy, because they did not particularly
bother her, either — before Grendel was rubbing the head of his gigantic prick against her. She was incredibly wet, slippery wet. She wondered if there was an aphrodisiac in Grendel’s spit, because all she wanted was for him to penetrate her again. She was certain that it could not but destroy her, and yet she wanted to take that enormous thing into her — but how could it possibly fit?

  She lifted her knees, opened them wide to accommodate Grendel between them. It was a good thing that she was limber. He pressed, and she opened to him. The tip of his cock pushed past her lips and into her. She groaned at the feel of its massive girth, but she took it. He paused, moaning — hesitant, perhaps, to impale her completely? She wondered if he stopped fucking his brides once they were dead, or if he made a gory mess of them until he was satisfied. She hoped that he would go with her until he came, and that she would survive long enough to feel it.

  “More,” she whispered, “more!”

  He caught up her ankles and held them together in one hand, holding her legs against his chest. Then he pushed himself deeper into her. He went slowly, inch by inch. She felt herself widening, stretched, straining — it hurt, felt dangerously like her flesh might split, but also felt so good she could barely stand it, the pain and pleasure intertwined in a single intense sensation. He let go of her ankles, spread her legs again, her feet resting on his shoulders, pressing her knees toward her chest as he penetrated further. How deep was he? She looked at his monstrous cock between her legs. He was only halfway in, at best. He pulled out a few inches, and then pushed back in. He did it again, slowly, and then faster. She felt a gush of silky wetness as her body responded to the friction, as her cunt opened to his massiveness and took him in. She cried out with every thrust, as he began pumping harder and deeper.

  She felt like she was losing herself in the feel of Grendel within her. Like that first time with Unferth in the sea cave, when that strange, twining, pulsing presence had taken her so completely that it was as though she had become one with it, or like the strange dream she'd had just before Grendel's appearance, she felt herself opening and expanding beyond herself. It did not hurt now as he pushed deeper and spread her opening ever wider. She felt like she could take him completely, could take anything. She felt transformed. She thought she heard the whispering voice of the sea again, inside her ear, inside her head: "the lost one, the lost one is found," it said. "The lost one is the bride, the only one..." Yes, she thought, she had been lost, lost in a world where she had never truly belonged. And now she was found.

  Grendel had very nearly penetrated her completely, but a few precious inches remained. He pulled out and turned her over onto her hands and knees, then took her again, from behind. He pressed her shoulders toward the floor, so her face and chest rested against the fur, with her ass still tilted up to meet him. He plunged into her, deep, so deep that she let out a cry. She could feel his pelvis against her, his gigantic balls swinging against her thighs. He sheathed the full, tremendous length of his shaft in her, thrust once, twice, and then held himself inside, held tightly to her hips, while her body exploded into an orgasm that seemed to make the walls shake around them. As she reached the peak of her climax, he began thrusting, hard, extending her orgasm and raising it to inexpressible heights. He let out a roar, shooting his seed deep inside her and then covering her back and legs with cum as he pulled out, still ejaculating.

  After his last spasm, he sank back on his knees and lifted her into his lap. He was shaking — so was she, but she felt a rush of tenderness for her spent beast. He licked her cheek, pressed his nose against her face. With clawed fingers he caressed her hair. She fell asleep in his arms.

  Sigrun had never given much thought to who she was, or who her parents were. She knew only that she did not know, and that therefore she had never quite fit. And in most respects, she knew no more about her identity now than she ever had. But she felt different, somehow more certain of herself now than ever before. She did not know where the voice had come from, and yet she trusted what it said. She strongly suspected that no normal human woman could have survived her encounter with Grendel. She wondered if any of the previous Wealhtheows had even survived the water. It was an almost impossibly deep plunge, the more she thought about it — and she could well imagine that any woman who had taken the drugged cup would not have had her wits about her enough to even hold her breath. But Grendel had persisted. And she had survived.

  She had not merely survived. When Grendel took her, she felt a change, felt herself expanding into something she had not known that she was. She had felt a sort of quickening. She felt stronger now, more aware, more alive, more powerful in every way. And it continued. Every time she mated with the monster, she expanded further, grew in strength, became what she truly was — whatever that might be.

  In the early days of Hrothgar's hall and Grendel's terror, witnesses sometimes caught sight of the massive, misshapen-seeming figure stalking across the moors. Then things changed, right about the time the monster lost interest in taking Hrothgar's queens and returned to terrorizing the king and his men. Now the occasional viewer who dared to venture that far into the wilderness saw not just the monster, but sometimes a female figure by his side. Who was it, they wondered? His mother? Who else could it be?

  But they were wrong. It was his bride.

  Keep following the adventures of Sigrun Frostdaughter

  in the Viking Lore Erotic Tales!

  Sigrun’s romance with the monster Grendel has transformed her, but now that Grendel has taken to attacking Heorot and killing Horthgar’s warriors, he is undergoing a transformation, as well. Her beloved beast has become a danger to everyone, himself included, and Sigrun will find that her time with him is destined to be only the beginning of her path.

  Find out what happens next in Bride of Grendel 2: Night of the Bear Man!

  by Gwynn Jones