Bride of Grendel 2: Night of the Bear Man: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 3) by Gwynn Jones Page A
Authors: Gwynn Jones
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happening, she only felt the huge, surging thing between her legs, rippling its way inside her. It didn't thrust so much as pulse, and that pulsing pressure, plunging ever deeper and stretching her ever wider, brought on massive, humming waves of orgasm.
Just when she was sure she could take no more, sure that she couldn't possibly come any harder or be filled any fuller, another tendril began its assault — gentle but insistent — on her ass. Just like the first, it slipped inside like the slimmest, most flexible of fingers. The tentacle wedged in her pussy remained exactly where it was, throbbing and pulsing, deep and thick, even as the second bore its way into that second hole, so much smaller and tighter than the amply-filled other. How could she take so much, from both sides, at once? And yet she thrilled at it.
This was usually the point when, her entire body alight with the friction of the sea beasts, she exploded. She was sure she must be imagining it, but the final orgasm made her feel as though lightning were shooting out of her, blazing out into the surrounding waters in a flash of brilliant light, a pulse of sexual energy so strong that it created shock waves. The dragons flew apart, instantly releasing her from their grasp. Then they returned again within a few moments, playfully twisting and nipping at her hair, caressing and nudging her back upwards toward the surface, or toward the mouth of the cave. Both spent and energized, she swam through the water with strong, easy strokes, often breaking through to feel the fresh air on her face, to see the sky and the sun above her. Swimming to shore brought her into the shadows of the dark, rugged cliffs that ringed the water and were almost always shrouded in a foreboding mist, but at the center of the lake the sun blazed through clear and warm.
Sometimes she did swim to shore and climbed up the rocks, taking long walks in the surrounding wilderness. She felt a strange freedom in the stark openness of the wind-blasted moors. Then there was the deep, eerie hush of the forest, thick with twisted trees whose tangled limbs made it almost completely impassable. These were the sorts of woods that held deep secrets, and she often felt that if she only stayed for long enough, the trees might begin to share them with her. She loved these explorations. She stashed clothes in choice nooks and crevices in the rocks to have handy in such cases. Or, when she was feeling impish, she walked naked, with nothing but her hair to cover her. She was unlikely to be seen by anyone, anyway. And she generally stayed away from the human settlement, from Hrothgar's mighty and ill-starred mead hall. She had no desire to go back to that place. But she knew that Grendel still visited it. Grendel had taken to visiting it with troubling frequency.
This time she stopped only briefly at the surface, treading water for a minute or two and enjoying the early morning light, before diving back down below. She had caught sight of Grendel coming down the cliff face and wanted to be ready for him when he returned to the cave. Some way beneath the surface she caught hold of a passing sea dragon and let it pull her swiftly down to the glowing entrance to Grendel's lair. She gave the beast a pat as she let go, swam up through the opening and emerged from the pool into the subterranean hall. She stepped out, gathering her clothes up from the floor where she had left them, and walked over to the fire blazing in the massive hearth at the far side of the room.
She stared into the flames. The hearth was enormous, easily ten feet wide and nearly as high, flanked by elaborately carved stone posts. A twisting, knotted dragon adorned the arch that spanned the top of the hearth. The whole thing was large enough to be a gateway, and the effect was heightened by the fact that the
Just when she was sure she could take no more, sure that she couldn't possibly come any harder or be filled any fuller, another tendril began its assault — gentle but insistent — on her ass. Just like the first, it slipped inside like the slimmest, most flexible of fingers. The tentacle wedged in her pussy remained exactly where it was, throbbing and pulsing, deep and thick, even as the second bore its way into that second hole, so much smaller and tighter than the amply-filled other. How could she take so much, from both sides, at once? And yet she thrilled at it.
This was usually the point when, her entire body alight with the friction of the sea beasts, she exploded. She was sure she must be imagining it, but the final orgasm made her feel as though lightning were shooting out of her, blazing out into the surrounding waters in a flash of brilliant light, a pulse of sexual energy so strong that it created shock waves. The dragons flew apart, instantly releasing her from their grasp. Then they returned again within a few moments, playfully twisting and nipping at her hair, caressing and nudging her back upwards toward the surface, or toward the mouth of the cave. Both spent and energized, she swam through the water with strong, easy strokes, often breaking through to feel the fresh air on her face, to see the sky and the sun above her. Swimming to shore brought her into the shadows of the dark, rugged cliffs that ringed the water and were almost always shrouded in a foreboding mist, but at the center of the lake the sun blazed through clear and warm.
Sometimes she did swim to shore and climbed up the rocks, taking long walks in the surrounding wilderness. She felt a strange freedom in the stark openness of the wind-blasted moors. Then there was the deep, eerie hush of the forest, thick with twisted trees whose tangled limbs made it almost completely impassable. These were the sorts of woods that held deep secrets, and she often felt that if she only stayed for long enough, the trees might begin to share them with her. She loved these explorations. She stashed clothes in choice nooks and crevices in the rocks to have handy in such cases. Or, when she was feeling impish, she walked naked, with nothing but her hair to cover her. She was unlikely to be seen by anyone, anyway. And she generally stayed away from the human settlement, from Hrothgar's mighty and ill-starred mead hall. She had no desire to go back to that place. But she knew that Grendel still visited it. Grendel had taken to visiting it with troubling frequency.
This time she stopped only briefly at the surface, treading water for a minute or two and enjoying the early morning light, before diving back down below. She had caught sight of Grendel coming down the cliff face and wanted to be ready for him when he returned to the cave. Some way beneath the surface she caught hold of a passing sea dragon and let it pull her swiftly down to the glowing entrance to Grendel's lair. She gave the beast a pat as she let go, swam up through the opening and emerged from the pool into the subterranean hall. She stepped out, gathering her clothes up from the floor where she had left them, and walked over to the fire blazing in the massive hearth at the far side of the room.
She stared into the flames. The hearth was enormous, easily ten feet wide and nearly as high, flanked by elaborately carved stone posts. A twisting, knotted dragon adorned the arch that spanned the top of the hearth. The whole thing was large enough to be a gateway, and the effect was heightened by the fact that the
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