Brynnan and the Sea Raiders

The Dire Guest

Night blanketed the mountains, and the snow-capped peaks were lit by starlight. Eldir had taken the captive, Hrafn, to the Snow God’s holding. Travelling the Shadow-ways, they arrived almost instantaneously from King Aegir’s court.

After his ordeal of being fucked by the four Kings, Hrafn had been bathed and fed by Eldir, the Sea King’s faithful servant. So he felt restored and eager to be with his missing friend, Geraint, whom he had found in the position of sexual tutor to Snær, the Snow King.

The Snow Lord himself greeted him. “My father’s sea-raven! Here is my abode where the snows cover these mountains perpetually. Geraint has won a night with you, and I will not disturb you, but we three will engage in the morning, and I expect it to be gratifying. My time with you will be short as my father expects us to his feasting hall in the evening, and I suppose my Uncle Logi will be there to criticize me if I am late,” he said as he led Hrafn to an opulent chamber with a wide bed covered in furs.

 Geraint was awaiting them, and he greeted his Lord with a bow. “Thank you for bringing Hrafn, my Lord. This night shall be instructive for him. I have things in mind that will work to your advantage and pleasure in the morning.”

“Then I bid you a good night, Geraint. Look after this mortal.” Snær turned and left them alone.

Geraint and Hrafn just stood and looked at each other before Geraint moved to wrap Hrafn in a great bear hug. Hrafn, struggling to breathe, returned the embrace.

“You found me, lad!” The old Warrior exclaimed. “Now, we will have to use our wits. We must still be careful how we talk. I don’t trust these gods.”

Geraint seated Hrafn on the bed and brought him an ice-cold wine. It tasted of frost-sweetened grapes. They talked of how they had come to the island and the problem of the sea-raiders.

“They must be stopped. The raiders were quiet for a while after our Warlord sent out his patrols, but now they have returned to ravage our coastlines, more savage than ever. They destroy so much!” Geraint shook his head.

“They have a reckoning coming, but I will not speak of it in this place.”

“I hope they do. The captain of the longship—the Mjothvitnir—that brought me, Arne, fucked me nightly while his men stood by with their axes ready. I owe him a turnabout. But I expect they treated you worse.”

Hrafn guardedly related what details he could of his own capture and treatment by the raiders. “Hardest for me was hearing the screams of their captives and being forced to observe some of their acts. You know I can’t help caring about people. I wish I could save them all.”

“I know, lad. But you will find a way. However, let us focus on the moment, the here-and-now. Come lie with me, and we will come up with something appealing to involve my Snow Lord in.”

Hrafn stripped and sank gratefully onto the bed beside Geraint, putting aside his concerns. They embraced each other and soon fell to kissing. Hrafn revelled in the feel of Geraint’s hairy, muscular, powerful body.

“Teach me how to suck and pleasure a cock when it’s too big to swallow,” whispered Hrafn.

“It’s all in the tongue-work, my lad. You didn’t do too bad today with my Lord Snær. But here, let me show you, then you can practice on me.”

Geraint began to lick Hrafn’s cock, using long slow strokes of his tongue up the shaft and paused to gently bite the sensitive flesh of the glans. He nibbled on it lightly, then sucked the head. Then he licked his way down to Hrafn’s ball sack and tongued it while lightly stroking the cock with his fingertips. He sucked each testicle into his mouth while grasping the cock and jerking it off, feeling the smooth skin slide back and forth over the firm flesh. Hrafn had done all those things before to other cocks in some measure, but Geraint’s touch and judgement were exquisite.

“Let your partner’s excitement build slowly but inevitably. Keep its flow steady. This is not the stage for edging but for arousal. You want to engage their passion, like this . . .”

Geraint played Hrafn’s body as evocatively as Hrafn/Brynnan played his harp, and he lost himself in the sensations. Before he could cum, however, Geraint stopped and grinned mischievously.

“Now you do me.”

Hrafn gladly obliged, delighted at last to have his old friend back in his arms and at his disposal. Geraint’s cock was large for a mortal and substantially thick, with a broad mushroom head. Hrafn devoted his entire mind to bringing pleasure to the old Warrior, licking as he had been taught and sucking off the salty-sweet pre-cum that dripped from the tip. He massaged his partner’s hairy balls before moving to kiss Geraint and suck his nipples. They took their time in this erotic play, and this time, Geraint let it continue. But then Hrafn thought of another question.

“How do you fuck a supernatural being who is used to enormous cocks if you don’t have one yourself, and still satisfy them? What if we were to fuck your King Snær?”

“Brynnan, lad . . .ah, I mean Hrafn. You should know by now that even the smallest prick can bring about an orgasm. Arousal is all in a person’s mind, anyway. If you play with your partner as you have been doing, I guarantee that the fucking part will be effective whatever your size. But there are other ways . . .like fisting, for example. I would like to give your ass a rest for the night, but you are more than welcome to take me if you desire.”

Hrafn paused to think. “I have held our mind-calling in check. But let me allow myself to sense if any listens to us after I fuck you. We still need to talk about our predicament and how to manage it.”

“That’s agreeable to me. I’ve missed mortal cock, if you know what I mean. Come, take me.”

So Hrafn resumed his erotic play, quickly bringing Geraint back to a fever of lust and finding his own excitement retaking hold of him. Geraint obligingly rolled onto all fours, and Hrafn mounted him from behind, introducing his cock in the muscular ass. He reached under and played with Geraint’s full and hot member as he fucked his ass, keeping steady, deep strokes. He could feel it when he hit that certain rhythm that would climb in inevitability to orgasm. He felt Geraint on the brink of cumming and gave free rein to his own lust.

“Now, lad,” Geraint gasped, “make me cum.”

After several more rapid thrusts, Brynnan felt Geraint’s cock spasm and pulse as the old Warrior’s cum creamed his hand. But before he could cum himself, Geraint whispered, “Stop! Hold back!"

Out of long habit, Hrafn obeyed, feeling somewhat mystified.

As he fell prone onto the bed and rolled over to embrace Hrafn, Geraint said, “I have a plan for tomorrow’s session. But I need you primed, not spent again. You’ve cum so much this past day your body needs time to build up more sperm again. Remember when our Warlord had your cock caged while you were healing before he fisted you?”

Hrafn remembered well that supreme frustration. He was indeed primed when the Warlord had finally engaged with him, deep-fisting Hrafn’s ass for the first time. He began to see where Geraint’s plans were heading.

But now, he tried a faint scanning of the aether to detect any possible listeners, but there was silence from the Snow Lord’s mind. The silence of sleep. If Snær had been aware of them, all he would have sensed was their engulfing mutual lust as they made love, which is what he would expect.

“Tomorrow night, at King Aegir’s feast, I will make my move, and it will depend on the Fire King,” he whispered, holding Geraint’s furry body close.

“But how will we escape this island, where the forces of nature are so controlled by these gods?”

“I cannot take us through the Shadow-ways right now. To get to my Father’s kingdom without his aid, I would need my torc, the collar he gave me. It is my key. But even if I could take you there, the consequences could be dire. It is the land of the Blessed and the Land of the Dead, both beautiful and terrible. We will discuss that aspect another time. But there is another Being that may aid us, a Being of ancient legend, whose locus of belief can bring it into manifestation. And the people in my country do believe.”

“You are as mysterious as ever,” Geraint complained.

“Let us rest now, my beloved friend. Sleep may bring us more benefits than talk. Tomorrow will be time for action,” Hrafn finished.

“Curl up against me, lad. May your dreams be totally boring and without adventure.”

Hrafn fell asleep, still smiling.

*    *    *

The next day, the Snow King gave them a tour of the ramparts of his great holding. Snow on the peaks surrounded them, looking pristine and remote. Below the mountains, the land began to change to tones of green and misty purple as it fell away, resolving into a mostly rugged coastline where it met the ocean. But to the north, a column of white smoke arose.

When Hrafn queried it, he was told, “That is the abode of my Uncle, King Logi. His fires burn deep in the earth. Occasionally, when his temper is roused, the peak over there erupts fire, melting my snows on the slopes and manifesting earthquakes that cause avalanches in the passes. My Uncle knows how much it annoys me, but he is hardly considerate.”

Hrafn was surprised at the vehemence, albeit restrained, in Snær’s voice.

“And what about Kári, Lord of Winds? Does he also interfere with your domain?”

“I seldom mind my Uncle Kári’s winds. He assists King Aegir in creating tempests at sea, and in my mountains, he creates blizzards of driving snow, which I find exhilarating.”

Hrafn wondered, not for the first time, at the strangeness of these elemental gods in this Shadow-realm. But their forces were reflected in the mortal lands, with real consequences.

Then Snær turned and looked at him with his ice-blue gaze. “Let us go inside. If we are to attend my father’s feast tonight, I still want time to find out what my tutor, Geraint, may have learned from you. I briefly checked on you last night, and the erotic sensations surrounding you both were intense. I look forward to experiencing the results.”

Hrafn glanced at Geraint, who attended his Lord silently and was glad the old Warrior had insisted on their lovemaking.

*    *    *

They made their way inside the hold to Snær’s bed-chamber. The great bed was set with white furs and silk draperies. The snow leopard lay beside it, purring as it saw its master.

Snær stooped to pet it behind its ears. “Go outside, Drifa,” he ordered. “This play is not for you.”

The cat obligingly stood, stretched luxuriously, and left the chamber. Hrafn was relieved.

They stripped off their garments, then Geraint served them goblets of the flavoured ice wine. It was potent, sweet and chilled.

‘So,’ said the Snow Lord, “today I have decided I am at your disposal in our erotic endeavours. I plan not to force my will upon you but rather let you both take my body in any way you wish. But if you want me to fuck you, just say the word.”

“My Master, we have decided how to give you an intense and pleasurable experience. Let me direct our actions. As I requested, you have made yourself deeply clean, so nothing may hinder us.”

Geraint brought out white silk ropes. He passed them to Hrafn, who tied the god using intricate knot patterns. Of course, Snær could free himself at any time by merely wishing the ropes to loosen, but he was happy to go along with the humans’ designs on him. They placed the Snow Lord on a divan and used ropes to raise his legs, tying the lines to protruding stone corbels, carved as eagles and wolves, on the silver-grey walls. It placed him so that his ass was open and available.

Then the two men stimulated the god’s cock in the manner Geraint had shown Hrafn the previous night. As his arousal built, Snær submitted to Geraint’s well-lubricated fist. As the old Warrior worked his hand and arm inside the god’s ass, Hrafn stood at Snær’s head and exchanged kisses with him. Then Hrafn pushed the Lord’s body back until he was semi-reclining, at just the right height to reach Hrafn’s cock with his mouth. The captive fed his cock to Snær, who sucked on it.

Hrafn tried not to submit too much to the magic that seemed to enfold him, eliciting his sexual responses. But the god was caught in his lust as Geraint sank his fist and arm deep inside his ass, gently twisting his hand. Snaer moaned aloud.

Geraint caught Hrafn’s eye and said, “Cum in my Lord’s mouth.”

Hrafn let Snær’s magic seduce him as his cock was sucked. He reached down, pinching and twisting Snær’s nipples simultaneously so that the Lord’s body was fully engaged.

Meanwhile, Geraint continued to deep-fist him thoroughly with his right arm, while with his left hand, he jerked off the massive cock, using yet more of the tingling lubricant. Finally, the God of Snows was overwhelmed by lust. He groaned aloud and ejaculated, shooting jets of cum. Geraint gently withdrew his fist and began to lick the head of Snær’s cock while Hrafn moved in to clean off the mighty shaft with his tongue. But Geraint was not yet done.

He freed Snær’s thighs from the restraining ropes and pushed him to the floor. The old Warrior positioned himself behind the Lord’s ass and plunged his own erect and hefty cock inside, pumping hard and thoroughly fucking him. Then he, too, ejaculated, filling the Snow-God’s ass with his cum. He collapsed over his Lord’s back and held him tightly.

After they both recovered, Hrafn untied the ropes from Snær.

Geraint spoke, “Is my Lord pleased?”

“I believe I am. I have never been fucked like that before. You have been hiding this from me.”

“No, my Lord,” replied  Geraint. “It merely needed the assistance of Hrafn, who I instructed in his part last night. There is much that can be done between the three of us.”

“I must ask my father to give us more time together,” Snær responded.

They spent the day pleasuring the Snow Lord, who had a lusty appetite. Geraint and Hrafn doubly penetrated the god’s ass, with Hrafn lying below him, driving his cock into the ass and only pausing when Geraint slid his own cock alongside Hrafn's. When King Snær suggested he and Geraint do the same to Hrafn, the captive turned pale. Geraint patiently explained the limits of human anatomy and even managed to distract the god by fisting Hrafn and describing how it could be done to the best advantage.

But at last, the time arrived for King Aegir’s feast. The handsome Snow King dressed splendidly in turquoise silk with a wolf fur cape.

Hrafn persuaded Geraint to forego his leather and furs in exchange for silk. Saying enigmatically, “Leather drags you down when it is wet.”

King Snaer wrapped his arms around them both, and they experienced a sense of displacement as they moved swiftly through the Shadow-ways. They arrived outside the great doors to the Sea King’s feasting hall, startling the guards. As the doors opened, a blaze of golden light bathed them from the great orb, Aegir’s Fire. Courtiers bowed before them, and Eldir himself approached the trio.

Eldir looked critically at Hrafn after greeting the Snow Lord. “I see you appear to be in good health. Be welcome, and taste the ale of my brewing.”

Then Hrafn was presented to King Aegir. This time, he was excused from serving and given a place next to Geraint and the Snow King.

Logi of the Fires started up from his seat when he saw this. “Is this sea-raven to be awarded to my nephew? What has Snær done to receive this gift when I have none?” His eyes flared red.

“Peace, brother!” said Aegir, looking none too pleased. “No true gift was ever coerced from a host. And I have not yet decided Hrafn’s fate.”

Logi subsided, but all could tell he held his temper only under duress. Geraint squeezed Hrafn’s thigh beneath the table: a warning.

King Aegir, however, turned his attention back to Snær. “Set yourself at ease and give us an accounting of what your mortal tutor has accomplished. Has he managed to surprise you, my son, whose power once froze the worlds?”

The Snow King smiled. “I gave both Geraint and Hrafn free rein to use my body to our mutual liking. Yes, father, I was pleasantly surprised, and my ejaculations were many. Let me tell you how it was . . .”

In measured tones, he recounted his sexual adventures of the day in explicit detail, making Geraint smile, but Hrafn felt uncomfortable, especially when he saw the expression on Logi’s face.

The guests, however, seemed engrossed in the account, but they waited, as was their custom, for King Snær to conclude his tale before commenting.

Kári said, “I can foresee another gathering with these mortals, but we had better let them continue their sexual explorations on us. This binding with ropes to enhance sexual pleasure is something to consider.”

“Who can bind the North Wind?” Rán said to Kári.

“No one,” replied the Lord of Winds, but I would like to let Geraint try!”

“There are no ropes that can restrain Fire, for that matter,” Logi interjected. “But I would be willing to learn the art myself if I could have Geraint and the sea-raven for one night.”

Hrafn thought that Logi’s attempt at guile was transparent, though Aegir actually seemed to be considering the suggestion.

“I think not for a night, but if Geraint stands before us and binds Hrafn, then you can attempt to bring him sexual pleasure in such wise that Hrafn begs to be your thrall.”

Several members of the court cheered this suggestion, and Logi answered, “I will accept your offer, brother, but it is I who must tie the ropes. Snær’s tutor might tie them so that he could escape.

Most of the guests present approved this course of action, and ropes were brought—hempen ropes, such as were used by sailors or fishermen.

 Geraint assisted Hrafn in removing his clothes once more. “I should forego clothes altogether,” Hrafn muttered. “It seems I just can’t keep them on.”

Geraint answered, “Be careful. Logi is up to something.”

Eldir cleared a table, and Hrafn was directed upon it. The Fire God brought the ropes to Hrafn and bound him securely. Then Logi began his experiment. He stroked Hrafn’s body and ran his tongue over nipples, belly and cock. He displayed a surprising subtlety, like the fire that can smoulder underground for long days and nights before erupting into flame.

Despite his resolve, Hrafn’s arousal slowly manifested. Logi continued, his mouth teasing Hrafn’s cock into a stiff erection. His actions differed significantly from the brutal, consuming rape he had done on the captive previously.

Although he felt incredibly aroused, Hrafn had no intention of becoming Logi’s slave, not even when the god climbed over him and took his ass, pushing his outsized cock into it. But his magic was strong, and once again, Hrafn felt his mind battered by that heated, raging lust.

“Submit to me now, sea-raven,” growled Logi, his patience at an end.

Hrafn stared into that handsome yet cruel face. With a gasp of effort, he replied, “I will not!” He heard the surrounding watchers exclaim in amazement. He had defied the god!

Logi reacted: a fireball exploded from him and engulfed his victim with a loud roar. People cried out in consternation. Ale was spilled. And King Aegir stood up and shouted his brother’s name in a voice that echoed the thunderous breaking of a large wave upon the shore.

Geraint found himself on his feet, attempting to reach Logi, but Snær restrained him. “He will destroy you also!”

The old Warrior forced himself to look, sure that he would see ash or charred bones. But to his shock Hrafn, Brynnan lay there seemingly unscathed except for the brands on his chest. They glowed as if formed of red-hot iron. Although the ropes had burned away, the table still stood, part of Aegir’s magic in his hall.

Suddenly, the great orb dimmed and changed colour from a glorious gold to a wavering green light. A mist formed near it, and a deep chill pervaded the hall. The fog dissipated, leaving a figure standing: a Being wearing a black cloak with the cowl partly overhanging his face, hiding his upper features.

The figure pulled back his hood, and gasps and exclamations echoed throughout the hall. The revealed Lord was tall and imposing, with long black hair and a closely bearded face. His eyes were pools of night and seemed without reflection so that those looking in them shuddered as if they had seen death.

“You have summoned me,” said King Arawn, “and I am here.”

The Lord of Annwn had entered the hall.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .