Divine Bodies

Strange music was sounding in the distance, the sort of music no instrument, no human voice, could hope to mimic or recreate, that once he left, Esben would never be able to recall, until he returned — trying to recall it would be like trying to carry water a mile in cupped hands.

You'd have to be mad to seek this out.

This was why Kottr had turned back, why anyone that tried to follow him would turn back long before they reached this point, because some squealing, desperate instinct in the very back of their minds, buried in the base of their spine, living in their blood and bone and heart, would tell them, "No. Not here. Never here. Not safe, never safe. Run."

Esben breathed it in, and let it fill his lungs.

He stood there for a moment, felt it permeate him like mist swallowing a longship's sails: like a ship in mist like that, he was swallowed in it, and sank beneath it as though beneath heavy waters. He raised up on his tiptoes, rocked in it a moment, toe to heel, toe to heel.

It filled him to the brim, sent him spinning blissfully, and then he kept walking.

The trees were so tall now, and so wide too, the canopy of leaves above his head so thick, that he walked in almost darkness: although he knew the sun was shining, he saw no sign of it and could not feel its kiss, and yet the air was damp and hot, caressed his skin with the feverish lust of a lover already thrice denied.

The grass was wet with nature's sweat beneath his boots, and the sweet, sweet scent of the air grew thicker, more cloying, until Esben felt a little dizzy with it, hypnotised and envenomed.

Only then did the trees begin to open out.

They were still too big, so unconscionably big no human mind could properly comprehend them — their boughs spread so wide across the sky as to span whole continents, and they were so tall that just glancing up made his spinning head spin even faster. Light was beginning to show through, but the light and heat that he felt from above was not the sun he knew — this light was older and its heat was less familiar, and yet it reached for him and curled about his body as though it owned him.

Throughout all of this, the path remained, straight and unerring, and Esben followed it as he had all the times before.

Great shadows moved on one side of the path, and then the other — these shadows were bigger than any elk he'd ever seen, any longship, any mountain even, and accompanying their swift movement was a distant sound of snuffling and growling, hooves on the ground, snouts thrusting into the dirt, even the creak and shift of trees uprooted.

When Esben came to a final fork in the path, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth open, breathless and easy as he was with the drugged perfume of this strange valley, a boar was waiting for him, and this boar was so massive a beast it could easily devour him whole.

Swaying slightly upon his booted feet, aware of the sweat that glistened on his skin, Esben met the boar's impossible eyes, its creamy-white tusks, looked at the bristles marked over its snout and brow, each of them heavy and wiry, as long as his arm. Some of them shone under the night as though they had been spun from gold.

The boar huffed out a sound, and Esben reached out, brushing the top of its snout, feeling the furnace-hot breath that snuffled out of its lips, its nostrils.

The boar turned and ran down the leftward path, and Esben, a staggering figure drunk on a godly philtre, followed its trail.

A part of him knew he ought be afraid.

This forest was not the one he had come from — this was an ancient place, magic thick upon the air, and that it left him so drowsy and so easily relieved of his senses was a warning in itself, but he had made this journey a hundred times since he was a boy of sixteen, and he knew well his way by now.

This was not meant for the likes of him, except that he was clothed in loaned divinity, and it let him make his way.

In anticipation, his nipples had become hard peaks under his tunic, and he felt his cunt grow fat and wet, his cock eager and stood to attention. The air felt even hotter and even wetter, the humidity all but carrying him on the air, it was so thick.

For all his mind knew what he ought fear here, this ancient and holy place not truly meant for the likes of him, his body knew that fear was a part of pleasure, and the pain of sacrifice a part of the divine.

When he came into the clearing, he could barely hold open his eyes, and he fell first to his knees and then upon his belly in the sprawling grass, dotted with bright buttercups and daisies, the ancient sun, far older than any sun he might be touched by elsewhere, beating down upon his back.

Many spectral hands began to pull and tug at his clothes before he had entirely fallen asleep, and he moaned softly, but made no protest: his limbs were so heavy not a one of them could move, and Esben made no attempt to lift his head as he looked up with drowsy eyes to his expected captor. He glimpsed a grin beneath a gold-burnished beard, saw the silhouette of horns poking out from a mane of thick hair. His breeches were pulled away from him, felt rough hands brush his sopping cunt, before he drifted wholly into pleasant dreams.

When Esben woke again, he was on his knees, and his arms had been tied behind his back, his forearms wrapped in twine and his hands gripping at each of his own elbows. He wasn't always tied up, only sometimes, but now he welcomed it.

The cold stone of the shrine would have been hard beneath his knees, but it wasn't, because the moss that carpeted it was very thick and wet with warm heat. Esben was tipped forward, his head barely raised, as though he were bent before an executioner's axe.

"Think I'm going to execute you, little priest?" asked Freyr. His voice was wonderful, deep and musical and thrumming with impossible resonance, the sort that didn't only make itself felt in only Esben's rib cage but in his very flesh, in his veins, the bare swells of what tits he had left, his bones, his cock.

Freyr was standing in the place his statue ought have been, his own cock erect and glistening with wetness that made Esben's mouth water.

"If you do, I imagine it will be via some method by which I'm quite happy to die," said Esben.

Freyr laughed, a big belly laugh that made his cock bounce and his heavy chest ripple, and Esben swallowed hard, looking at his god hungrily, wantingly, as he always did.

"You always were a hungry thing," said Freyr quietly, in a voice like hot butter, and it melted into Esben as though he were bread. As Freyr stepped closer, heavy feet moving over the mossy stone beneath them, his cock bobbed, heavy balls shifting against his thigh as he did, and as Esben watched, eager, he saw the eye of Freyr's cockhead wink, a pearl of clear fluid dripping down the crease of his frenulum and dripping down onto the ground. Esben's cunt clenched in sympathy. "My work sculpting this body of yours has only deepened that hunger, hasn't it?"

"I certainly eat more," said Esben in breathless agreement, and one of Freyr's broad, heavily muscled hands came to cup Esben's cheek, big enough that he could hold Esben's whole head in his palm, if he really wanted.

He was bigger than any mortal man, when Esben came to pay his dues, but Esben knew that he could be bigger, that he could be nine or ten feet at the shoulder, if he really wanted, cock big enough that Esben had to hug it rather than invite it inside himself. Freyr was a healthy-looking man, bulk and brawn together, like a boar was: he was fat with muscle and blubber alike, and his chest and thighs and arms were bristled with curling hairs.

His eyes were an uncanny green, blending in with the forest behind them, but Esben knew they could be blue at times, could be brown or purple or grey or red, and knew most of all that they could go the same honeyed amber as aged mead, and twice as likely to render a man drunk.

Freyr traced the line of Esben's jaw, harder than it had been, and his fingers were careful, gentle, as they stroked over the light, still-patchy growth of Esben's beard, thickest on the sides of his head and at the base of his jaw, over his lip, with balder patches in between, on the actual planes of his jaw.

"You know your nose has grown bigger," said Freyr. "Do you smell better?"

"I smell worse," said Esben. "I sweat more."

Freyr scrunched up his face, his own nose wrinkling, and Esben laughed to himself as Freyr's big thumb traced the line of his nose, began to play a ticklish, sensitive line over his lips.

He was so wet now he was dripping.

"I don't know if I do," said Esben, knowing if he didn't answer Freyr's questions, that he wouldn't get what he wanted, what he was desperate for: Freyr rewarded him by reaching down to his chest, taking each of his nipples between thumb and forefinger and tugging on them. His tits were more sensitive than they once had been, although they'd halved in size and flattened more against his chest, and Freyr twisted and tugged on them, sending electric thrills down to Esben's cock. "I think I notice scents more — I feel more alive than I did. I don't know if my nose is any more sensitive. Is there a reason you're asking me?"

"Are you ungrateful, little priest?" asked Freyr, and kicked him backward.

It was no hard blow — with how large Freyr was, his feet included, Esben knew he could kick Esben hard enough to set him coughing out his lungs, and this was little more than a nudge that shoved him back from the mossy steps and helplessly onto his back, hands trapped beneath him as he fell back into the perfumed bed of spring flowers awaiting him.

"No, lord," said Esben breathlessly. "Would you begrudge a priest who seeks to know his master?"

"It was my plan that I would be the one knowing you," said Freyr, and took Esben's cock between his thumb and forefinger, beginning to squeeze and tug on it the way he might his own in miniature, and Esben whined.

"You don't normally talk so much," he whimpered as Freyr squeezed tighter. "Have I displeased you?"

"Have you done something that should displease me?" asked Freyr, voice turning sweet and dangerous all at once, and grasped as Esben's cunt more tightly, taking a handful of him by his outer lips and massaging the whole thing between his hands, making Esben's cock jump.

"No," said Esben. "No, lord, always — always do as I ought by you. Heal in your name, help people carry their children, help seed take root, mmm — "

"Mmm," repeated Freyr mockingly, and laughed. "My little Ebbe, doing his duties. And what men have you fucked since last I fucked you?"

"None," said Esben, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and spreading his thighs apart: he was rewarded with a tighter squeeze that made him howl, which in turn made Freyr laugh, hairy belly jiggling with his mirth when Esben looked.

"And how many have you sucked into this godwhore's mouth of yours?" asked Freyr, pulling on his cock as he slid two fingers from his other hand into Esben's mouth, and Esben took them obediently, sucking them onto his tongue before Freyr pulled them back for him to answer.

"None," said Esben. "Godwhore says fairly clearly who I'm for."

"And how many men have you dreamed of touching you, hm?" asked Freyr, so that Esben went quiet. Freyr didn't force it, sliding his fingers over Esben's tongue again, pressing down on it and making Esben swallow around them, sucking them eagerly, tongue sliding over each heavy digit. "Hundreds, I expect — thousands. Is that what you want, little priest? Want a few cocks to satisfy you for every day of the year?"

"Mmmffmmm," said Esben.

"Say again?"

"Nnmmmmfmms," said Esben.

Freyr pulled his fingers back, looking at Esben in mock curiosity, heavy eyebrows raising.

"Not if I can have yours," said Esben for the third time.

"Says all the right things, my little priest," said Freyr amusedly. "I think perhaps he was Odin's before he was mine."

"I was never anybody's before I was yours," said Esben, and Freyr laughed.

"Don't lay it on too thick now, boy," said Freyr sternly, and slid three thick fingers into Esben's dripping cunt. They went in smooth and easy, slid inside him and stretched him pleasantly, and Esben let out a reedy, eager noise, spreading his thighs apart and begging for more. "Touched this often?"

"Only nightly," said Esben, and Freyr laughed.

"This fat little cock we've grown you needs to be satisfied," said Freyr, tapping hard against the shaft of Esben's cock with his thumb, and Esben shuddered. "What a little thing it was before, and how it's grown now, like a mushroom cap growing out from the grass."

"Please fuck me, lord," said Esben, and Freyr squeezed one of his thighs.

"Good meat on you," he said thoughtfully. "More muscle here, and on these arms as well — more on you in general. You'll grow fatter with age, I expect, have a body more like mine."

Esben felt a little ache inside him, a sort of wondering want. "Yes?" he asked.

"My priest," said Freyr, voice sounding with a humming praise that made Esben squirm: it was possessive and pleased all at once, and then Freyr took him by the hair and hauled him to his knees. "You want it?"

"Please," Esben said desperately, and Freyr grinned, and kissed him.

It was a biting, fierce thing, bruised his lips and threatened to cut him, and when Freyr pulled back from him, his eyes were a molten gold, his teeth sharper and longer, the bristles on his jaw thicker. Between their bellies, Freyr's cock twitched.

"I wait for you," said Esben. "I wait for your cock and only yours — and I do every deed I can in your name, and make my prayers, and the sacrifices I ought, blood and song and grain and chastity."

"Is that what you think I want from you, little priest?" asked Freyr dangerously, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, the whole of the glade going from humid to crackling like the heavy air before a storm, threatening lightning strikes to come. "Chastity?"

"Isn't it?" asked Esben, and Freyr laughed before he tossed Esben over the stone altar.

This stone wasn't cold either, because Freyr had put a pelt down for him to lie over, and Esben pushed his face into the soft elk hair, spreading his thighs.

"Want it little by little?" asked Freyr.

"Yesss," said Esben.

"Too bad," said Freyr: he shoved his cock into Esben's cunt in one heavy thrust, and Esben's scream wasn't the high thing it once was — it was lower, deeper, a wolf's howl instead of a pup's cry, and tears burned in his eyes as he was forced to stretch around Freyr's fat and heavy shaft, buried so deep inside him that Esben felt his belly bulge with the movement.

Freyr's belly, heavy and warm, rested weighty on Esben's back, and his great hands grasped and pulled at Esben's arse, dragging and massaging at the flesh, his thumb sliding over Esben's hole.

He'd fucked Esben in the arse before, but not often — he did it when he felt Esben wanted punishing, when he wanted to fuck him but not let Esben take his pleasure from it, when he wanted to leave Esben sobbing and begging for his orgasm.

"If you weren't such a handsome thing when you cried, priest, perhaps I wouldn't torture you with such glee," said Freyr, and pulled his cock back. He did it slow, dragging down so that Esben could feel it dragging against his inner walls, could feel himself trying to clench around it and keep it in him.

Esben opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was, it was dashed from his brains as Freyr slammed his cock home again, and he didn't pause this time. His great cock was dragged back and shoved back inside him in a hard, punishing movement again and again, the heavy sac of his bollocks slapping against Esben's own swollen cock with every thrust, his stomach bowing. Each hard movement of Freyr's hips winded him, made him whine, and Freyr's laughter this time made his cock jostle in his cunt, overwhelmed him and made him feel as though his brains would leak out of his ears, it felt so good.

"You wait for this, hm?" asked Freyr. "You watch that moon grow fatter and fatter, and think how I'll do that to your belly once I have you again."

Esben groaned, not even trying to talk, and Freyr continued bruising him from the inside. Each movement he made was an ecstasy in itself, and Esben felt the orgasm building within him, tension drawing tighter and tighter.

"Those are better too, since I started making a priest of you," said Freyr.

"I like that you sing your own praises," Esben managed to say, "but don't you think it's my job?"

Freyr laughed at that joke, seemed to like it very much, and rewarded him by lifting Esben by the hips and forcing his cock a final inch inside him, making Esben howl again as his cock pulsed.

It was like a waterfall within him, a gush of heavy seed, and Esben's moans were coming unbidden now, uncontrollable where they eked from deep within his throat.

"How long have you been mine, boy?" asked Freyr, raking heavy nails down his back and making Esben moan incoherently, clenching down around his pulsing cock.

"Always," Esben slurred out. "Always, always — "

"No," said Freyr, "since first you came to me, prostrated yourself on my cock, how long?"

"... Years?" asked Esben, not able to think in the moment, and Freyr chuckled.

"Long enough," he said with a tone of finality, and dragged Esben back off of the altar so that his belly hung more down. Heavy come gushed into his womb, glugging and shifting in him, and already Esben's belly felt heavy and tight and uncomfortable, but he knew more would come.

Freyr slapped the side of his belly, making Esben yelp: his hands grasped then at the swelling weight of Esben's fattening gut, his thumbs playing over the favourite of his stretch marks there, all of which he'd put there.

"Your body is mine," said Freyr. "You are mine, little priest — but this body is mine to play with, mine to improve, a vessel to spread my will. You agree?"

"Mmm," Esben assented immediately.

"How many women in your village are pregnant?"

"Six."

"You've spoken with all of them?"

"Four," said Esben. "Marta doesn't know yet, it's her first; Liv won't come to me until her husband returns from sea."

"Is it his?" asked Freyr, slapping Esben's belly more gently this time, enough to make it wobble, enough to make the come inside him slosh and bubble, and Esben whimpered, feeling the painful, aching stretch — it hurt, and it was good, a perfect pain.

"No," said Esben, laughing at the very idea, although it made his swollen stomach wobble. "One of their slaves is responsible, I expect, the Celt with the red hair, if I were to bet money on it."

"Tell him to fuck more women," said Freyr. "If his seed is good."

"Yes, lord," said Esben. Sweat was glistening all over him, his body wet with it, and Freyr smeared his thumb through the sweat gathered at his lower back, used it to lubricate it before he slid it into his arse. "Too much. You'll have me burst like a blackberry."

"Only if I squeeze you," said Freyr, and began to rock his hips again, still coming as he reached underneath Esben, forcing his swollen belly aside so that he could squeeze and tug on his clit. The other hand still working on his arse, sliding two fingers in.

Esben's belly was so heavy it hurt, swinging underneath him, and he let himself sink into that wonderful pain as he sank back onto Freyr's cock, felt Freyr's rough hand pull at him.

Freyr didn't stop until Esben had come, come whining and gasping on his cock, big enough that he looked ready to birth, let alone pregnant: all at once, then, Freyr cut the binds at his wrists and pulled his cock free, sliding a heavy carved plug inside him and flipping Esben onto his back on the altar.