Ægir’s Bride

Kirsty bit her bottom lip and watched Bjorn in the mirror. Their eyes met and held, something about the way he looked at her stole her breath as surely as his hand on her throat ever did.

He smiled as he lifted it and ran its long strands softly across her shoulders and back. It was like he had grown extra fingers...dozens of them. "I had them all made just for you. I wanted something that would never touch the skin of another. I picked them up while we were in your country. There is a man there that is a true artist, do you not think?"

He ran the smooth wooden handle across her bottom lip as he held her gaze. "Tell me they please you. Tell me you want them to caress your tender flesh as much as you want my hands to," his whisper was intoxicating.

The fact that he knew this was among her deepest fantasies, something she had wanted to try from the moment she read about it in her first book. The fact that he had bought them just for her...hand crafted. "Yes, Master," was all she could choke out.

"This one will be thuddy. He has over a hundred falls of softest suede. Over twenty-eight inches long. See how they are even tapered at the end. That gives it more impact, makes it feel even heavier. The man called him super chunky. I call him Thor. The god of thunder. We shall begin with a gentle warm up with him first," he said as he ran his short nails slowly down the length of her spine.

She watched him in the mirror as he stepped back. She had seen a couple of videos of flogging on that site. They had thrilled and excited her. Done funny things to her tummy. But nothing like this. With only the towel cinched about his waist, he began to slowly twirl Thor. She thought perhaps he had the name wrong...he was Thor and the flogger was Mjolnir. She could almost picture it.

But when his mighty hammer connected at last with her back, it was not pain which she felt but pleasure. He was right. It was intensely soft...a gentle but firm caress on her skin that seemed like his massages to relax muscles which she did not even realize were tense. She moaned and smiled. This was better...so much better than her fantasies. Better than the videos. Better even than those fucking books.

Her eyes were glued to the mirror. He was beautiful. Abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous in nothing but that towel, the wooden handle seemed almost to be an extension of his arm as he moved it with no more effort than the gentle flick of his wrists. He might think the maker of the flogger was an artist, but he was the true one.

She arched back to welcome and greet the next blow. It was a bit harder but still more of the kneading touch of a masseuse. The next came quicker but remained just as gentle. "So fucking beautiful," he smiled at her in the mirror.

She chuckled, "I was just thinking the same thing about you, my love."

His grin widened and he shrugged, "I am known for my skill with floggers, yes. From the first time I watched it in the clubs, it was what I wanted. I bought my first pair the next day and have practiced ever since."

He landed four blows then in quick succession lower this time. She bit her lower lip to stop from moaning at the sensual caress of heavy leather fingers on her bottom. "I am no sadist. I do not like pain for pain's sake. I prefer the subtle mind fuck of pleasure laced with just the slightest touch..." the next blow landed squarely across both cheeks of her ass.

She jumped, "Touch of pain. Pleasure," he whispered with a smile as he returned to solid but gentle strokes across her shoulders and upper back. Her eyes glazed over a bit as she watched the flogger dance from hand to hand, it never stopped its sensual dance even in mid-air, the exotic rhythm of wood and leather in his hands.

She could not move, she simply stared into the mirror fascinated as blow after seductive caress warmed her upper back, bottom and thighs. He was beautiful...he always was. But the look of concentration, the way he moved at one with the flogger. It took her breath away.

"Pain," was the only warning she got as another blow hit, this time her upper thighs. The leather and wood stilled for the first time in his hands as he turned back towards the bed. She saw him lay Thor on the top of the quilt. She stifled a whimper. The damned thing had been so fucking amazing...he was amazing.

Then he returned, this time he held another in his hand. The handle was almost identical, only thinner. There were way fewer falls too. Probably a dozen or less. And they looked shorter, thinner and thicker. He moved it over her bare back as he spoke, "This is Hermóður. He too is a son of Óðinn. A hero who died trying to save another. Do you know why I call this one Hermóður?"

She shook her head as he once more ran his finger nails down her spine. This time she moaned just a bit at the more intense sensation of them scraping along her flesh. "No, Master. Why?"

His large body covered hers as he leaned in and softly kissed her cheek, "Because, my sweet Freya," his next words were almost lost as her whole body tensed and hung right on the edge of another powerful release. "Because Hermóður is very stingy. I will not break the skin but I want to see the red welts he will leave on your pure white skin. Can you do that for me, Kirsty? Can you be my very brave girl?"

He ran the falls along her arm. They were rougher. She could almost feel their sting and he had not even hit her with it. She swallowed back that tendril of fear as she whispered, "I will try, Master."

He kissed her shoulder just above the stiff leather, "That is my good girl. But I do not want to hurt you. You know what a safe word is, yes?"

"Yes, Master. Red," she replied.

He chuckled, "Is so unimaginative. Hlín, she is the goddess of protection and consolation. You will call on her...and I will be there to offer you those things, my beloved wife. Say it, Hlín."

"Hlín," she whispered with trepidation.

"Are you ready?" he asked as he stepped back. It was not the pain which she feared but his withdrawal again that left her feeling bereft.

"Yes, Master," she nodded...and waited.

She saw him smile in the mirror, "Watch me, Kirsty. Remember it is not the pain. It is who gives it to you." He drew his arm back and flicked his wrist. She jumped and squealed as the very rough falls connected with her upper back across her shoulder blades. She flinched, it might not be a tawse, and her back was not her cunt. But pain was pain. And it fucking hurt. She felt tears cloud her eyes, but still she watched him.

He was so fucking gorgeous. Not just his looks, but the way he moved was so damned graceful. The intensity in those eyes held hers as another one landed across just the right shoulder this time. "That's my good girl," he smiled at her as another hit her left shoulder. She danced a bit from side to side on her toes. He had said stingy, but he had no idea. This hurt. It fucking hurt, but still she held his gaze in the ancient smoky mirror.

He once more walked back to her. His fingers traced the lines that he had drawn upon her back. She knew because she could fucking feel it. Each stroke burned and stung. "So fucking beautiful," he whispered as he bent and softly licked the one between her shoulder blades. He sighed and kissed her cheek. "Can you manage a few more, my love? Across this gorgeous bum? Can you do that for me?"

She should have said 'no.' She honestly meant to but the need she saw in those green depths had her whispering, "For you, yes."

He kissed her once more softly upon the lips, "Always for me, my sweet..." Her body came instantly alive and when he stopped it just hung there. Hung over the edge of the whole fucking universe, alive and in pain. "Soon," he whispered as he stepped back.

She stared directly at his handsome face in the mirror. He was not smiling now, the intensity, the darkness that she has always sensed was all there. He was still just as beautiful...perhaps more so. Somehow she knew. This is him. Who he really was. It intrigued her. He intrigued her.

Then there was no time for thinking as the blows began to fall on her bare bottom and a couple across her upper thighs. She truly danced then. Until his voice caressed her mind through the pain, "Do not move, Kirsty. Hlín if you need to, but do not move."

"Yes, Master," as those words took on a new depth. In that moment, this man was her Master as the pain clouded her mind even as she craved it and him.

"Spread your legs wide for me." And her obedience was instant.

Two more blows landed across her upper thighs, this time they angled from the side and wrapped around her legs. The rough sting tickled and tormented the tender flesh just centimeters from her dripping wet pussy. She was certain that its moisture only intensified the pain just as the water in the shower had his barehanded slaps on her bottom.

Her mind was still trying to process that pain when another blow landed. Straight between her legs. The end of the damned thing seemed to actually bite into her clitoris itself. She cried out and slumped against the wood but she did not close her legs...and she did not say the word she knew he was waiting to hear.

She hung there...just hung there. It was not just the ropes that suspended her. But time and space themselves somehow seemed to bend and warp. Everything was brighter and darker at the same time. She would have sworn she could even hear the pounding of his heart. Or was it hers? Perhaps it was both as loud as it was. And the gentle whoosh of his breath caressed her as he came to stand behind her once more.

Then she was falling and only his strong arm about her waist kept her from crashing to the ground. She felt her arms lowered as he turned her in those strong arms. His mouth covered hers and he pressed her tender back against the hard wood. Its coolness soothed the sting and its unyielding lattice imprinted themselves over his art work. His kiss, his taste though were all that registered in her befuddled brain. She knew that she had found her drug...and she was instantly addicted.

His lips still caressing hers, she felt her arms once more lifted out to the side. She felt the tug as he tied them once more to those rings. She was even forced to stand on her tippy toes just a bit by the way the rope twisted and shortened in her hair. Especially when he leaned in and cupped her face, "Look at me, sweetheart."

She smiled as she stared into his eyes, "Yes, Master?"

"Hlín?" the single word hung between them.

She tried to remember what that was. She knew it was important. But all she knew was him...submission...and pain. Oh, so fucking delicious pain with her back pressed against that wood. She shook her head. Whatever it was, it was not as important as this. As him.

***

He shook his head as he stared into those wide, glazed eyes. He debated calling it quits. This was her first time. And honestly, she had taken more...far more from Hermóður than most subs could have. They could continue another time.

Then she arched against him. She moved as far forward as the ropes allowed as she rubbed against him. He felt the wetness caress his thigh as she wrapped those stunning legs about his. She was so hot, so fucking hot and wet. He could smell her need. And he wanted to bury himself as deeply inside of her as he had in the shower. That should have been enough, or at least taken the edge off of his hunger for her. But it did not. He wanted her just as badly now. But he would not. Not yet. And not like that again.

He reached for the end of the towel which was tucked in at his waist. He loved her watching him, but as far gone as she was right now as deep into her pain as she was...she could not be trusted to follow instructions. He still was not certain about this. It made him uncomfortable...intensely so. But her need was not his.

"I am going to put my towel over your head, sweetheart. Just lightly, ja? But I cannot risk your head falling forward...Loki striking your face. Do you understand me?" She nodded and smiled though how much she truly comprehended he could not be sure. He was careful of her hair as he draped the towel over the top of her head and across her shoulders.

He moved back slowly, uncertain if she could actually stand on her own. For a moment she did titter but then she found her footing...those legs once more spreading wide apart. He sighed as he walked back to the bed. He picked up Loki and cleared most of the rest of the stuff to the side. Only the few items that he would need remained where he could easily reach them.

Was he delaying? Procrastinating? Hoping that she would come down? Wishing for that word? Not that Doms could not safe word too. And honestly, he was damned close. He fucking hated hurting her. Oh, he loved seeing those stripes, his marks raise proud and bold on that unmarred fair skin. But the pain itself was not his thing. He loved her too fucking much to want to hurt her. Control her, hell, yes, but not hurt her.

But being her Master was not just about what he wanted. It was even more about what she needed. And she needed far more fucking pain than he was comfortable with. That though was the price of owning her, seeing to her needs above his own.

He walked back to her, she remained exactly as he had left her. He lifted the towel. She had that lazy smile on her lips as she looked up at him. Once more her body arched against him. This time though her legs remained open, which only made things worse. He was completely naked now. His cock painfully hard and the way she moved against him, brushed her swollen pussy lips across the head of it, coating his cock in her need. He was not sure if she spoke or if it was merely a voice in his head, "Please."

He brushed a tender kiss on her cheek knowing it was the answer he needed. Then he lowered the towel once more. "Loki is...well Loki. A troublesome...mischievous...little shit." He chuckled, "Pretty much exactly like me as a kid. He is my darkness."

He said as he began to twirl the much smaller version of Hermóður. Loki had more falls but they were shorter. He was lighter to handle, but required far more precision than Thor. Lots of precision as he moved forward just enough that the ends of the falls would catch on her hard nipples as they twirled in circles. She moaned and he knew that the light sensation was reaching her befuddled brain.

He stepped back and brought the whole of those falls down hard over the gentle swell of her breast. He watched another red stripe rise viciously across that virgin skin and his cock twitched. He might not enjoy the pain but he fucking loved the power. The power to make her dance on those cute toes, maybe he would even get around to sucking them during after care, but he doubted it. Not now...maybe in a few months...a few years.

He returned to lazily teasing her other nipple with the twirling falls. He alternated between her breasts. Watching her dance, hearing those soft moans had him incredibly hard. This was so much more than one of his 'performances' in the clubs. This was her. And that alone made it special. So fucking different than anything before.

He lost himself in her moans. He fed upon them. Each blow was carefully aimed to elicit another. Her nipples hardened and turned the most delightful shade of red as the falls worked them as surely as his mouth and teeth ever could. He landed more solid blows across the sloping swell of her tits until the red welts formed a lace like pattern over them. Beautiful was not sufficient to describe it.

Then he moved slowly downwards. Unlike her back, there was not need to worry about really harming her, avoiding the mid back over the kidneys had been one of the first thing that Uncle Andreas had taught him. But on her front he could draw a complete map from those tantalizing tits across the soft slopes of her stomach.

Fuck, he could almost hear that soft whisper, 'I'd like that.' Feel her arms about his neck pulling him closer in welcome. In a few months, he hoped like hell there was a good reason to avoid this region as well. His...thrummed like a ballad in his brain. His baby inside of her.

But he forced his mind away from that too as he moved lower still. "Open wider, Kirsty" he demanded. Even through the haze of subspace, and he knew damned good and well that was where she was right now, even through all that she obeyed instantly. He wanted to pound his shield with a sword like one of his ancient ancestors celebrating a battle victory.

The first blow on her bare pussy made her jump. A loud whimper greeted his ears. He stepped in just a bit closer. He removed the towel from around her head. There was no need to worry about her pretty face being accidently struck when all of his attention was centered much further south.

Her eyes were dilated and glassy, but the way she smiled told him that she was not too far gone. He used his body to brace her as he landed more, lighter blows across her mound and the inside of her thighs.

He smiled as he made certain of his aim. The first blow landed right over her clit. The sound she made then was half scream and half moan. The next one he aimed lower and the falls almost disappeared inside her wet cunt.

The smell of her was fucking intoxicating, stronger than the vodka that his father, uncles and brothers had given him that first time to celebrate his coming of age. But truly she was that more than some birthday ever had been. Every last moan, whimper and cry that he wrung from her whether by pleasure or pain...made him a man as nothing else ever could.

The last one was perfectly aimed to use all of Loki's power...his playful mischievous evilness. It covered the whole area from clit to cunt as he whispered, "Come for me, my sweet Freya."

She screamed loudly as she collapsed fully against him. So loudly that he swore the giants in Jötunheimr could hear and quake. Her body shook and she stared up at him. His mouth covered her and captured the power of that scream, of her release. It fed the darkness inside of him. He did this. He gave her that. He and he alone.

He untied her hair first, his mouth never leaving hers. It was quick work with all of the knots. His legs between her thighs braced her as she collapsed into his arms. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He cradled her against his body. Her head fit perfectly into the crook of his arm as he brought the bottle of water to her lips, "Drink."

She sputtered a bit at first but she obeyed quickly. He was able to get a good deal of the water down her on that first try. She shook her head when he brought the chocolate to her mouth, but he was not having it. He bit off a small piece and leaned down. What she would not accepted from his fingers, he gave her no choice as he kissed it into her mouth. Even that sweetness could not overpower the taste of her though. He forced a bit more of the water down her.

Having made certain that she was partially re-hydrated and that her blood sugars would not crash before he was done, he turned his attention to the next order of business...cleaning her wounds. Though he had been careful not to break the skin, so the risk of infection was low. Still the darker red ones could use cleansing. He had just the thing for that too.

He reached for the thick length of aloe that he picked from his mother's greenhouse that morning. He had stored it all day in the freezer so that even now, it was cool to the touch, would be soothing to her skin. Her skin...he knew that she would feel it either way he laid her. His marks criss-crossed most of her body. Though most were light pink and fading fast, a few were darker red and raised more against her pale skin.

He decided to begin with her back and laid her gently face down in the center of the bed. Her whimper as he did so did not sound like one of pain, but one of need. He would see to that too...once this was done. He began by using the cut end of the plant like a crayon to re-trace each of the red marks upon her thighs. He worked his way slowly up her round, soft, lush...