Divine Bodies

Esben looked dizzily up at him, watched Freyr's face as he grinned down at Esben's belly, smile a heavy curve of sharp teeth. The little antlers poking out from his thick swathes of gold-brown hair had strengthened and grown out like tree branches, now showing strong and obvious on each side of his head.

"My fat little priest," said Freyr with satisfaction, pressing and pulling at the taut, stretched flesh of Esben's belly, making him sigh. "You have pleased me, you know, Ebbe. Since first I saw you, I knew you would."

"I'm glad, lord," said Esben, already thinking of his walk home, the way his clothes wouldn't fit him, the way he would waddle — and he thought, too, of the walk through the village once he got there, the way everyone would want to look at him, and pretend to look elsewhere.

The men especially. The men —

"Want to fuck you," said Freyr in a low rumble, and Esben blinked up at him.

"I wouldn't," he promised. "I wouldn't — "

"You can," decided Freyr.

Esben blinked.

"Lord?" he asked.

It had been years since he had first come into this strange glade, over a decade — it had been at least five since the first time Freyr had fucked him, more than that, even, and never, never, had he been permitted even to touch another man, even to kiss him.

A handful of times, men had tried to touch him, had thought to touch divinity by fondling its mouthpiece, and of those men, all of them were now dead — and had died badly. It always frightened Esben somewhat, those rageful "accidents", but it thrilled him too, made him feel...

"I have well-ploughed this furrow now," said Freyr, patting his swollen belly. "No seed will grow here. Fuck as you please."

"Men?" asked Esben.

Freyr blinked at him, looking curious. "You like women now?" he asked, and Esben shook his head. "Then yes, men. Fuck them, have them fuck you. Touch and be touched indiscriminately — this body is made for pleasure, to be pleasured. This cock," he said, tugging on it and making Esben hiss, "is made to be sucked. You would be ungrateful? I give you this body, I tell you to use its splendours, and you would tell me no?"

Esben hurriedly shook his head, and his eyes fluttered closed a moment as Freyr began to play with the wooden cock stuffed in him, tapping its end, shifting it in its place. Esben felt weighted down by all the come bloating him, his full and heavy womb, and even more, he felt pinned by Freyr's golden gaze.

"I wasn't going to have my priest made pregnant," growled Freyr in a way that made Esben shiver, "by some mere man, Ostman or Celt — and nor have I filled this womb with child myself, hm? My seed had served another purpose — and it has taken effect enough, now, that no other's seed might plant itself in this cunt of yours, and undo all my work."

"Not chastity for chastity's sake," said Esben blearily.

"You want some prick from that village of yours to plant his baby in your belly, priest?"

"No, lord."

"You want those pricks, though," said Freyr deliberately. "You want them to fuck you, toy with you, make a game of you — you want to show them how your god has taught you to take a cock, how to suck one."

Esben felt hot all over, even more than he already had done, and he nodded.

"Good," said Freyr, and then leaned over him. Freyr's heavy belly pressed weighty against Esben's own, putting pressure on it and making him whine, but in the same moment Freyr's hand was gripping around his throat, tight enough to make his breath hitch. "But you don't fuck them until their women are pregnant. Understand? You don't tip them to you 'til their seeds are sowed, 'til their farm work is done, 'til they've performed their duties as they ought, yes?"

"Yes," said Esben hurriedly. "Yes, yes, lord, yes — "

"This is a gift I'm giving you," went on Freyr, heavy cock sliding against Esben's well-curved belly, his thigh, "a pleasure you might take for the work I do for you — and you still come to me, each month, still take me. Yes?"

"Yes, yes — "

"And if I find your work has suffered, little priest, if I find that you have bewitched any man away from a fertile cunt with this handsome thing of yours, much as I do like it, I shall make you fill the gap," threatened Freyr, and the skies were darkening above them now, their red and gold turning to heavy purples, and Freyr's eyes were purple too, the little antlers a wide elk's spread now, a frightening pair of branches either side of Freyr's wild head. "I shall fuck every child you ought have been encouraging about you inside you, priest — I shall make you pregnant a dozen times over, until you are so gravid you cannot move but to cry and say your prayers, understand me? Until these tits of yours are fat and heavy and leaking milk like udders, until this belly is larger than I am, until your cunt is raw and open and desperate to labour — and if I find a dozen isn't enough, I shall breed you some more. Yes?"

This last word thrummed with unspeakable power, made Esben feel like his heart was leaping into his throat, and he squeaked, voice cracking in the middle, as it sometimes still did.

He fervently nodded his head.

"You are mine before you are yours, priest," said Freyr. "Let a thousand men play at fucking your sleeping body before the lake, if it suits you — but you will still be yours before you are theirs, and mine before that. I'll fuck you pregnant if it suits me — I'll use you as I wish."

Esben came a second time, and when Freyr realised his cock was jumping, his cunt clenching around the plug Freyr had been playing with, he laughed, and the skies about them turned pink again.

"My favourite little mortal," said Freyr warmly, abruptly jolly once again. "I would remind you not to forget what I can do to you, but it seems you wank yourself off to the recollection."

"I can always use new material," said Esben dreamily, and Freyr chuckled, pulling back.

"Very ripe," he said, pulling Esben to sit up.

Freyr liked this part, Esben thought. The first time, he had tried to protest, argue that he ought not do so, that if anyone should help the other dress, it should be the other way around, but Freyr would hear nothing of it, and wouldn't even now.

Freyr left the plug inside him as he pulled Esben's shirt over his head, and laughed when it was tight around his middle — his tunic was a little less so, at least, but Esben did look ripe, even before Freyr pulled his trousers up to his waist, forcing Esben's swollen belly up to belt it into place.

Freyr began to string him with bells, then, and Esben, embarrassed and heated with it all at once, lifted his arms to help Freyr wrap them around his arms, his waist, his ankles.

The string around his neck did not hold a bell but a carved boar, Gullinbursti, and Esben stared down at it, held the carved wood in his palm and stroked his thumb over the gold-painted bristles on its brow.

"You like it?" asked Freyr.

Esben nodded dumbly, aware that he was smiling, and Freyr tied the last of the bells in his hair.

"I have my own bells," said Esben. "I could have worn them, if you wanted."

"Now you have more," said Freyr smugly, "and everyone will know you are arrived home, swollen with your worship's reward."

"I'll tell them Gullinbursti fucked me with his own Gungnir," mumbled Esben, and Freyr kissed him again: his mouth was half-animal, teeth large and sharp, tongue heavy and thick and dexterous.

"Want me to fuck you once more before I send you on your way?"

"The bells won't jingle if you have to roll me home," said Esben, and Freyr laughed.

"I shan't use my cock, then," he said, and pushed Esben back onto the altar, legs in the air as he bowed his head.

Esben's whining cries mingled with the bells, and made strange music that carried on the air.

* * *

Svend averted his eyes from Esben's swollen belly as he sat beside his fire, his whole body aching from the walk — his thighs and his calves from carrying all that weight, from waddling, and his belly itself aching wonderfully. They had all come out to see him when they had heard the bells jingling song, the more keen of their ears no doubt hearing the slosh of his belly like a half-full skin of water. Drunken and satisfied, he had walked past them all, but Svend had come to bring him some cured meat and buttered bread.

Kottr was sitting at his side, wagging his tail with his head on Esben's knee, had rushed up to him as soon as he had heard Esben's bells, and danced around him as he'd staggered home.

Wholly unhelpful, but adorable in its way.

"Your pilgrimage was a success, then," said Svend.

"Always," said Esben. "Thank you, Svend — kind of you to bring me a meal."

"My wife thought you would be tired," said Svend stuntedly. "You — you often are. Is there anything I can do to... to help?"

"If you see him," said Esben, scratching Hundr's head as the cat came to butt his head into his over side, "send over Troels' brother, would you?"

"Which one?" asked Svend.

"Oh, it doesn't really matter," said Esben, unable to keep the smile from his face. "Either will do."

FIN.