Fated to the Viking Lord

But it also made me an incredible lawyer. It made me the best of the best. It also made me unbeatable. Even men trembled to think about taking me on in a courtroom. That was an asset. I was good at something, and I would be a fool to let that slip. But I wanted to do it on my terms.

I started to think about lecturing at a university to get more women interested in defending their own interests. I thought about branching off and starting my own firm, and representing women like the one that I had outed in court.

In fact, I thought so long and hard that when I looked up again, the sun was no longer high in the sky, but was waxing. It must be late afternoon. I looked oved towards Kristófer, to see him staring at a raven perched in a nearby tree. He had a silly grin on his face, like the raven had just told a joke with a poor punchline. The raven cocked its head at me, as if I was an interloper intruding on a private conversation.

"Well, are you ready to go? You seemed to enjoy the view. You lost yourself for an hour or two there," he said to me, while standing up and saddling his backpack.

He extended a hand to me, helping me stand up. When we were standing, he handed me a pastry and some fruit for the return leg of the trip, and we set off.

While we had made idle chit-chat on the first leg of the hike, on the way back we walked in comfortable silence. Until I broke that silence, as I was prone to do.

"I'm going to quit my job. I don't want to work for a manipulative, cheating asshole," I announced.

"I take it the lake had its desired effect. Good. You deserve so much more," he commented back.

It was true, sitting there and losing myself in one of the most breathtaking panoramic vistas that I had ever seen certainly mellowed me out.

"Yeah. I guess it did. It felt great to get outdoors and enjoy nature," I added.

"You only get one life to live, Lucille. It's your life. Nobody should tell you how to live it. You should enjoy every minute you're here," Kristófer said, in a voice that was half naïve young man, and half philosopher king.

We walked back to the spa, and arrived just as the sun was starting to set. We made pleasant, and sometimes even joyful conversation. I found myself laughing at his comments, and more than once, I saw him raise an eyebrow at me. He made remarks about my career, and was more than impressed at my accomplishments. I don't know if he was being polite, but he seemed genuinely interested in me, and he lifted my spirits greatly. By the time we arrived, I would say we had reached the point of open flirtation. It might have just been my imagination, but I could feel his deep blue eyes softening when he looked at me. He opened the solid oak door for me, and as I entered, I was overwhelmed by the smell emanating from the kitchen.

I was warm after our hike, and I took off Inga's boots, hat and sweater, and took a seat at the kitchen table. Inga placed some plates down with some open-faced sandwiches that only had one piece of bread, called a smörgås. Both Inga and Kristófer ate their sandwiches, making pleasant conversation with one another. I ate my sandwich in peace, having tuckered myself out from the hike.

Kristófer asked me a question just as I had just taken a bite out of the crunchy delight. Men were always so inopportune with their questions.

"Lucille, when we're done eating, why don't you head on up to the third floor. You've paid for a sixty-minute deep-tissue massage, but it's still early and you're our only customer this week, so I'd be happy to give you a two-hour massage if you'd like."

Even though my mouth was full, I smiled appreciatively. I will fully admit, I was looking forward to having a massage. I finished my sandwich and drank my glass of juice before heading on upstairs. When I arrived in my room, I noticed Inga had clearly been through. My bed was re-made, and my towels were laundered and folded. She'd also taken my clothing from the night before for a load of laundry. I'd have to thank her when I saw her. I sat on the bed for a few moments, savouring the feeling of knowing what I was going to do with myself when I got back to Montréal. After a few moments, I figured that Kristófer was probably waiting for me upstairs.

I had no idea what the dress code was for a massage, so I left my t-shirt and stretchy pants on, as I padded barefoot up the stairs to the third floor. As I ascended the wooden staircase, I passed some artwork of long dead people, and some antique maps in glass frames. When I arrived at the top of the staircase, I looked around at a gorgeous open-space area. There was a grand piano in one corner of the room, and an easel for painting in another corner. In the centre of the room was a massage table, with a countertop that had an electric hotplate heating up a pitcher of water with some stones in it, and hosted an assortment of oils next to it. Here and there an antique was hung on the wall. There was an astrolabe on a frame, as well as a sword hanging on a hook. The rest of the room was covered wall to wall with shelves that held hundreds of books, all leather bound or in varying states of disrepair. It was an impressive collection of oddities, and wouldn't look out of place in a museum or gallery.

Kristófer looked at me as I approached. He had shed his boots, and was standing before me in his tight black pants and brown peasant tunic. His blue eyes were boring holes into me.

"Lucille, I cannot exactly massage you if you're clothed," he said to me in a factual tone.

"We'll start with your back. If you want to leave your undergarments on, you may. Though I suggest that you remove your brassiere. It will allow me to access the muscles in your back to remove the most anxiety," he stated confidently.

Today had been great. I felt like a million dollars. My confidence was high, and after seeing him naked last night, I wanted to test the waters a little.

I removed my t-shirt in front of him, and draped it over a nearby chair. Bending over, I placed my hands into the waistband of my pants, and ran them down my legs. I kicked them off rather unceremoniously onto the chair where my t-shirt was located, then reached around and unhooked my bra. I took it off, and let my large breasts hang free. I left my grey panties on. I wanted to be free, but given my experience with men, I didn't want him to see me like that quite yet.

If Kristófer was turned off - or on - by the sight of my breasts, he didn't show it. He merely motioned for me to lay down on the table that he had prepared. I did as instructed, laying face down and letting my arms rest in the designated space. He spent a few moments washing his hands, and making sure that the oils that he would be using were warm. He placed a warm towel over my butt, hiding my granny panties from view. I chuckled silently to myself, wondering if he'd do the same if I had worn a thong.

It had been months since my last massage. Working for a prestigious law firm DID have its perks. However, my regular masseuse was an older Russian woman who was no nonsense, as she was a chiropractor as well. Having her give me a massage was relaxing, but it also always turned into a lecture on my posture and how I spent too much time at the office. Somehow, I just knew that today was going to be different.

When the oil was warmed up, I watched Kristófer soak his hands in the scented oil and rub them together. Consent was clearly on his priorities, as he asked me to touch me before we began. I guess me laying half-naked before him on a table was not an open invitation.

"Lucille, I'd like to start with your neck and the base of your skull, then work my way down to your shoulders. Once that's done, I'd like to do your feet, legs and thighs. Then we'll finish with your arms, hands, and pelvis? If at any point you want to stop, or you fall asleep, I'll stop. Sound like a plan?" he asked.

I breathed out a sign of acceptance, then put my head down onto the weird pillow for your face that all massage tables come with. I closed my eyes and waited to feel the stress ebb away. For whatever reason, I found his emphasis on consent to be sexy.

When Kristófer touched my neck and the base of my head it felt like an electrical bolt had been fired down my spine. His hands were soft and delicate, yet they held a deep pressure in them, like he was somehow holding back applying the strength he was capable of using. It felt divine.

He ran one hand from where my spine joined my skull to the middle of my shoulder blades, and began working his hands along my neck and shoulders. I had never experienced a massage with this technique before, and when he brought his hands together for the first time and pushed gently on my shoulders, pushing his thumbs into my body, I whimpered slightly.

"Are you alright, Lucille?" he asked.

"I'm more than alright. What is this technique that you're using?" I replied, hoping to glean a little more out of my enigmatic host.

"I don't know what it's called. I was taught this type of massage when I was in Russia. It was very popular in Novgorod."

"My masseuse back in Montréal is Russian and her massages feel nothing like this," I added, with a languid moan.

"Techniques change over time," was the only response he gave back.

Kristófer continued massaging my neck, moving his hands down to my shoulders and upper back. He occasionally added more oil from the hot plate next to the massage table.

His hands were incredibly warm, and deeply relaxing. As he dragged his hands over my back and pushed onto my shoulders and neck, my muscles felt like they were turning to jelly. I also felt warmth somewhere else. I had never, ever, become aroused by a massage in my life. Indeed, Luke had never even offered to give me one... though he certainly expected them. Trying to distract myself from the heat pooling between my thighs, I decided to probe a little more into my masseuse's life.

"So, why were you in Russia?" I asked him.

For the first time since I had arrived, I heard him hesitate before answering. "I was a student when I was there."

How did a twenty-two-year-old have time to study in Russia AND France while working at a spa? Was this before or after you did pastry school in France?" I asked, wondering if I could glean a little more information out of this young man who was becoming an object of my fascination.

"It was before I studied in France, but after I studied law in Stockholm."

"How the Hell did you manage that at your age?"

He responded by pushing one hand into my back while the other rubbed and pushed on my lower back. The effect was instant, and electric. I moaned wantonly as he pushed the tension out of my body. I resisted the urge to push my hips back up or to grind my legs together. This massage was absolutely incredible, and was hitting all the right notes. My question about his background forgotten, I let him continue to dazzle my senses with his massage.

When he shifted to my feet, I let out a small whimper at the absence of his touch on my back. The warmth of his hands was quickly replaced when he added warm oil to my feet and calves, and began to massage the oil into my skin. I sighed contentedly. I loved having my feet massaged, but Luke found the concept of rubbing my feet after a day in heels disgusting.

Having Kristófer lavish attention onto my feet and my calves was having an impact on me. My breathing was heavy, and I was letting out far more moaning and sighing that I had ever done in a massage before. When he moved from my calves to my thighs, exactly like he promised he would, I felt like I could climb the walls.

He was putting pressure on my inner thighs, and rubbing his hands up and down my legs. Surely, my tension was evaporating with this incredible technique that he was using. The oil smelled wonderful, and my body felt like it was on fire.

I wasn't at all sure how much of that was from the massage itself, or the fact that there was definitely a sexual tension between us. I mean, he had an erection last night in the hot spring when talking to me. And he looked at me in my soaking underwear like a wolf looks at its prey. Not to mention that just before this massage I flashed him my breasts when just last night I wouldn't even take my bra off to get into the hot spring. Was... was something happening? My mind was wandering when Kristófer asked me a question that would send my brain into overdrive.

"Lucille, I'm going to massage your thigh crease and lower back. I know you don't want to take off your underwear, but can I make some adjustments to them so as to not soak them in oil?"

Immediately, I regretted not being nude. Feeling his hands on a more intimate part of my body would have been heavenly. Instead, I merely sighed out a quiet "of course."

Kristófer dried his hands on the towel that was resting over my butt. Then he removed it entirely. I felt myself flush when my body was revealed to him. I gripped the armrests hard enough that I am certain that he could see my knuckles turning white.

He used his index fingers to gently tuck my panties into the crack of my ass. I moaned at his ministrations. I thought to myself that the next time I let this man massage me I would DEFINITLY not wear anything. Except, it might not end up in a massage. I don't think I had ever been as turned on in my life as I was right now. There was absolutely no possible way that he couldn't see the giant wet spot that had formed on my grey panties. I mean, I was practically dripping at this point.

I was breathing hard, and there were beads of sweat forming on my body. I could feel that my chest, shoulders and forehead were slick. It was not from the oil, and the room was not overly warm. I knew that if he kept up his ministrations, I was going to go off like a firecracker.

I was no stranger to orgasms. I had given myself plenty over the years. Hell, I kept a vibrator in the bathroom of the condo so that whenever Luke and I had finished having sex, I could always finish myself off. But this was new. It was very out of character for me to be on the verge of orgasm from a man. Let alone a man who was fully clothed, and who hadn't even touched my pussy.

When Kristófer put his hands on my butt and pushed down into my inner thighs, I loudly gasped, doing my best to suck in air to my overheating body. Surely, he knew what he was doing. I was practically writhing underneath him.

I lewdly spread my legs out, giving him as much access to my drenched pussy as he wanted. He had been absolutely right. Sitting on the escarpment looking out over the lake today had given me an epiphany. If Luke could fuck around on me, then why couldn't I have a little fun? This was positively harmless. Sure, I was here for another week, but this was honestly just a fucking hot massage.

Kristófer did not mention that I had spread my legs apart. Nor did he mention my arousal. It was unavoidable. I could feel myself dripping, and my panties were clinging wetly to my pussy. I could even smell my own arousal over the scent of the massage oil.

He reached one hand underneath my leg and gently traced his finger over the crease where my thigh joined my hip, while his other hand pushed downwards on my butt. Then he brought both hands together over my bum, joining them together tantalizingly close to my pussy. He pushed down on both butt cheeks, and spread my labia apart by then running his hands out and around, pushing my muscles towards my inner thighs.

The dam broke. I wailed, and my orgasm tore through me like an earthquake. I felt my pussy spasm, and my own fluid leaked out of me like a faucet. It soaked my panties thoroughly, and the massage table as well. I was positive that Inga even heard me.

My face was flushed red, and I could feel myself breathing heavy. I was not embarrassed. That was the best orgasm I had ever had. Looking back, I think that it was also the first that I had ever had with a man.

"It's been two hours," Kristófer declared. "I hope you enjoyed your massage, Lucille," he added.

I merely groaned in agreement. Then he left. He left me there. Honestly, I would have fucked him if he made a move. I had never, EVER, had an orgasm like that. I had a few boyfriends before Luke, but nothing more than a few dalliances in law school. This man had just ruined me for other men. His massages could get me off, who only knew what ELSE he could do?

Shit. I was covered in sweat, and was still riding a dopamine high from that amazing orgasm. I stood up from the massage table, and figuring that Kristófer had already pretty much seen me naked anyway, gathered up my clothing and walked in only my panties back to my room on the second floor. Thankfully, I didn't see anyone on the way. I was feeling more confident about my body than I had in a decade in only twenty-four hours. But I still did not want to test anything.

After putting on some pants and a blouse, I headed down into the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat. Inga was lounging in the kitchen, sitting at the table reading a magazine in comfy pyjamas. When she saw me, she motioned to a plate of fruits and some pastries that had been laid out as a snack.

It was lovely to see her, even though a half an hour earlier she had DEFINITELY heard me cum. We made idle talk for a few moments, before she told me that Kristófer was soaking in the hot spring downstairs if I wanted to talk to him. She never even looked up from her magazine, but I could tell that she was hiding a smirk. I laughed along with her, while grabbing some lingonberries and a pastry at the same time.

When I was done eating, I looked outside. The sun had set. I had officially spent my day hiking with a fascinating man and then letting him massage me to an orgasmic jelly. This was the vacation that I needed.

Deciding that I had absolutely nothing to lose, I thanked Inga for the food and stood up from the table. She nodded in appreciation, but otherwise didn't look up from her magazine. Padding along the hardwood floors, I made my way over to the stone staircase that led into the rocky basement below.

As I descended, I could hear a faint humming in the background. I wasn't wearing any footwear, as I had not wanted to go back outside after my orgasmic massage. Instead, I now found myself silently plodding along towards the stone room where the hot spring resided.

When I got closer, the humming grew louder. As I poked my head through the opening into the blue-illuminated room, I realized that Kristófer was the source of the humming. The tune was clearly old, and he hummed the occasional word in Italian or Latin that gave the tune an alluring, if frighteningly tepid, melody. I recognized it from when my parents would take me to Church when I was a child, growing up in rural Québec. My church still performed the Latin mass, and many of the songs were still in that language. I recognized it immediately.

I interrupted Kristófer's reverie with a question. I was simply unable to resist.

"Where did you learn that song? You don't strike me as someone who is a practicing Catholic," I said, in my best inquisitive voice.

He was sitting in the hot spring. His clothing was discarded in a pile next to the door, and he was clearly soaking naked, letting the warmth wash away everything.

"Funnily enough Lucille, you don't strike me as a practicing Catholic either," he replied.

"I'm not. But my parents were. I know Latin when I hear it. Even if most churches in Québec give mass in French now, it doesn't mean that they always did. So, where did you learn the song?" I asked again, letting my impatience show.

I wanted to know more about him. I wanted him to open up to me. I wanted this to be a vacation that I wouldn't forget, and after his touch on me during my massage, I wanted it to happen now.