Tabletops and Tablebottoms Ch. 01

"Aaaaghh!" He is practically half-crying at this point. "Please, I--I have to cum. Can I seed you?" You touch his face and nod, your desperation for both his cum and your own clear on your face. "Yes? Can I fill you?" His belly shudders; sweat drips off of him onto you. "I'll cum. I'm going to breed you. I'm going to breed my--agh! My good--boy!"

With renewed vigour, he picks up his pace, fucking you like a man deranged. Your tender hole barely gives any resistance to his rhythm. You hear the guttural sounds of words in his language drifting out of him as he fucks you hard and fast, his previous reservations gone. The warrior leans down and kisses you full on the lips. "I'm cumming," he groans. "I'm cumming in my good boy. My very good boy! My--ugh--ahh--my boy....!"

With a final thrust, he lets out a rumbling bellow against your mouth, and he pins his cock deep, deep inside you. It twitches as it thrusts, releasing pump after pump of cum into you. Your lower body shakes at the final invasion. The warrior involuntarily slides out of you, your loosened guts pushing both him and his thick load out past your hole. With a plop! he lays his cock against yours, still letting loose a weak spurt of his white, hot cum onto your erection.

Losing no speed, he is off the bed and is kneeling, diving onto your cum-covered tool. You let out a scream as he sucks you off ferociously, trying to squeeze your awaiting orgasm out of you. You put your hands to your face and scream as he moans around your dick; his deep voice rumbles gently against your aching muscle. You pat his shoulder frantically, indicating that you're close.

"Give me your seed," he says as he pulls off, kissing your leaking cock head while he strokes you furiously. "Show me how a good boy cums." At that, your entire body tenses, and you let your orgasm overtake you. Cum shoots heartily from your cock, arcing over your body and landing up at your chest with a soft splat! sound.

The warrior dives back onto you, swallowing your next few shots with an appreciative moan. His wide hand squeezes what's left in your shaft into his mouth, and he grumbles around your throbbing, tender cock head. "Delicious," he says, smiling around your meat. "You are...delicious." He is calm once again.

As you come down from what had been the most intense orgasm of all your decades of living, he is lazily stroking your deflated cock. You look, and you are startled to see worry cross his face. You touch his chin, thumb tracing his frown.

"I am worried I hurt you," he mutters. "It felt so amazing for me, but...I know I am prone to losing control. And...I am huge." He said it mournfully; not as a brag, but as a regret. Frowning, you reach your tired, spent body over to kiss him. Full on the lips. He tastes of the now-familiar herb concoction, and a tang which you can only guess is your own load.

You hold his face in your hands, stare deeply into those brown eyes you think could melt you if you let them. The warrior gives a timid half-smile. "Thank you," he says, kissing your palm. "You have been better to me than most. Now...ah...shall we eat?"

------

For the next two days after, you remain in the warrior's home, hunting, sledding and fucking the day away. Dimly in your mind you remember your adventure, but hold onto this thread of existence for a little longer. Just a little longer. But sooner or later, work comes knocking, as it does.

You understand almost as well as he does that the adventurer's life was not conducive to staying in one place, even though the prospect was crushing. Your last day together was spent preparing, and then shedding your clothes and fucking desperately one last time, before starting the rituals of departing all over again. That last fuck was full of wanting, and you held him tight to your body. But it ended, as all things do.

"Wait," says the warrior, standing almost naked in the door of his home as he watches you depart. "Before you leave...." He presses a smooth, humble stone into your palm. You turn it over to see an inscription; one you can't read. "My name," he says, tracing the lines of the runes on the stone. "I am Hrolf. May you remember these days on your journey. No matter who you may meet."

You squeeze the rock and his hand in yours, amazed by the tenderness of this massive man's conduct. You stand on the tips of your toes, and he meets you halfway for a kiss you won't soon forget, and you try to memorise the taste of him. Mint...thyme...juniper. You hold this moment for a very long second.

And when you part, he is already shrugging into a cloak, and you've pocketed the stone in your pack. Your mind turns to the lands that lay ahead as you depart, this time for the open road beyond the icy wastes.