The Frost Witch

Notes from the author: I wanted to give fair warning to the readers regarding the use of violence that has been written into this story. It's done with a purpose, to give the reader a feel for the emotional state the protagonist is in, and the desperation in his actions. I easily could have toned it down, but chose not to, and I figure with a warning in front of the story those who aren't open to the prospect of violence in erotica can simply skip this one and opt for another story from one of the other wonderful author's on the Literotica site. Furthermore, I'd also like to point out before the story is started that while there is violence in this story, it does not take place during the "steamy" moments. I do not condone sexual violence, forced sexual acts, or rape, and therefore will not extend the use of violence into the realm of my erotica. Those of you who do read it... I hope you enjoy the story, and if possible vote and/or provide feedback to let me know what you think :)

Bodies covered the hillsides for as far as the eye could see. The snowy hilltops were host to a great battle over the control of lands, and much like every other battle Kraigen had been in this one showed many losses on both sides. Everywhere he stepped were the bodies of friend and foe alike. Blood oozed from their mortal wounds, mixing with the snow to form a crimson slush which he now strode through.

It was a thankless job to wander the fields of such battles, seeking out the mortally wounded to ease their suffering. Kraigen stopped, peering over to see a kid no more than sixteen seasons, who lay among a heap of dead bodies, his arm severed and blood still pouring forth. He could tell the boy would not make it past the eve. With ease of stride, despite the many bodies at his feet, Kraigen walked over to the boy, and gave a solitary promise before bringing his broadsword to bare.

"You have suffered enough warrior of Tyr, may Valhalla welcome you with ale, wenches, and respect from the Gods." There was no bitterness in his words, no emotion at all. To the men of his lands it was honorable to die on the field, having spilled the blood of their enemies until struck down. Kraigen lifted his sword above his head, then brought it down square against the young mans neck. There was little resistance as steel met flesh, and in a fraction of a second the boy's head left his shoulders. His body fell flaccid, head rolling a short distance before coming to a rest.

Kraigen sat down, as if carrying a great burden. He himself had been injured during battle, having suffered several glancing blows about his body, but was none the worse for wear. Many times he had fought in such wars, and every time he had come out on top. He sat, thoughts wandering out of his current situation, to question if Valhalla even wanted him. He had fought well for his God's, to be sure, but all other aspects of life he had not achieved save for the unsatisfying life of a warmonger whose sword was getting too heavy to carry with the burden of sadness.

It was a good thing to spill the blood of your enemy in battle, but so many friends lost, so many battles fought in vain, Kraigen began to wonder if the broken, smashed corpses of the men beneath his booted heel were friend or foe. Certainly they had families of their own. Certainly they worshipped such Gods as he, perhaps even the same ones. And perhaps, even though such thinking was preposterous, the Gods were angered by his actions against the men who worshipped them. This was never the knowledge his father had given him before death, but Kraigen felt these thoughts to be at least partially true.

A noise rang from behind, and Kraigen's thoughts were broken as his senses brought him back to the battlefield about him. He wheeled around in the direction of the sound to find a short, stocky, bearded fellow, carrying axe in hand and stalking towards him. "Ah! Tis a foot soldier of the usurper who seeks to steal our lands from beneath our very feet. Know this young warrior that today you have met the axe of Fenra, and ye shall not be returning home this day!"

The man called Fenra lunged forward with frightening speed for someone of his stature, and Kraigen barely had time to recoil, even as Fenra's axe came at him in a sideways swipe meant to tear his torso in half. He parried the attack, returning with a sword lunge that glanced off his targets heavily padded arm, and as they brought their weapons about again the two came face to face in a showdown that would show one of them dead by the end of the skirmish.

"Surely Modi has given you a great skill in axe-use, but whether you spill my blood this day or not know that my people shall never stop until our flags are raised from the ground we now stand!" and with that Kraigen struck again, thrusting his sword forward in blinding speed to strike Fenra directly in the gut, then with a quick move of his arm the man's guts were spilled onto the field.

With a last desperate strike Fenra lifted his axe and struck Kraigen on his shoulder while the mans sword was still in his gut, and instantly both fell to the ground, the last breath of Fenra escaping his lips as he fell to his side. Kraigen let himself fall onto his back, having seen his enemy dead. Pain wracked his body, the injury on his shoulder deep and brutal. The blade of Fenra's axe had struck bone, but it did not feel broken.

Once again Kraigen drifted back into thought, wondering if he could survive the trip back to his home. Surely if he did not find a horse he would not make it with such an injury, and yet he felt that if he died where he laid that would be ok as well. He looked up to the sky, to see the dark, angry clouds that threatened to rain down hail or snow, and pondered on how their world had come to be made this way. It seemed as if kingdoms were always at war, and to be a mercenary was a sure profitable way of life if you had the skill in sword or axe. Kraigen began to despair, and for the first time in his thirty-six seasons questioned his Gods and the way of life in Eleysir.

Little time did he have to think on such thoughts, for as he glanced in the distance he could make out the frail shape of some person or creature. His vision was blurred with tears from the bitter cold winds, but as he watched he made note that the thing was coming towards him. He supposed it to be yet another of his enemies, one like him who had taken up the job of walking the killing fields and ending the lives of those who were mortally wounded. Kraigen wondered if his enemy, finding him here injured, would end his life, or simply go on about his way to leave him to find his own path to home or Valhalla.

The thought quickly left his mind, however, as he saw that the thing coming towards him appeared to be that of a woman, but not any woman he had ever laid eyes on. She was a vision of beauty, but her beauty carried with it an icy feeling of dread. Yet Kraigen could not look away, for he was entranced. Her skin was the gentle color of alabaster, blending almost perfectly with the snow. Her long, black hair flowed down her back, and she was naked, save for a thin wrap of lace, which left nothing to the imagination. Her eyes sparkled a cold blue, being the same color as the blue flame which burns so brightly in his homeland of Dumaria.

She stood above him for a long moment before Kraigen finally spoke. "What devil or succubus be you? Have you come to take away my soul to the old ones of Kurilia to be forever feasted on by the soul eaters?"

She did not answer, only stared down on him with her eyes of blue madness. The woman frightened him, and excited him all at the same time. His eyes met hers, and he could not look away. The woman gave a small giggle, as if in response to his questions, but there was no warmth or compassion in her laugh, rather the laugh filled Kraigen with a deep and dark haunting to which he could neither describe nor ignore.

She began to back up, slowly moving away from him. Kraigen looked on quizzically, wondering where a woman as naked and unprotected as a newborn baby could come from, or be going to. He forced himself to stand, and as he watched she continued to back up, and he followed, the pain in his shoulder and despair in his heart momentarily forgotten. On he followed her, over the hillsides and scattered bodies of the dead, until the battlefield was long behind them and only a snowy horizon stretched out ahead.

The woman seemed to glide over the snow, her feet barely touching ground. Kraigen moved on with great difficulty through the heavy, deep snow. His armor was saturated with the water of snow and of sweat, but he paid no attention to his limbs, which burned with snow-fire. The woman continued on, just out of his reach, until she began to distance him. Kraigen doubled his efforts, his powerful legs treading through snow with steady, deliberate motion. He was consumed by the creature before him, and sought to wrap his arms around her to feel her soft body crushed against his chest.

So into the motions of walking through snow, and his own fantasies was Kraigen that he did not see them set upon a cave. The entrance lay before them, and as he watched the lithe figure of the alabaster woman strode into the mouth of the cave, then darkness swallowed her whole. He strode through the entrance, and found himself in a grand room made of ice and rock. Inside was a haunting light, though from the outside you could not see it shining. It was as if he had stepped not through an open cave, but rather a door leading into a roofed house containing light and warmth, and once through the door had closed behind him.

Kraigen fell to his knees and peered all about him, admiring the design to which the cave displayed. Long had it taken nature to make this grand and visceral cave, he thought, and at length turned his gaze back to the woman, who had now seated herself on a knee high flat rock, her legs spread invitingly. Heart and mind both screamed at him to flee, for something was amiss here, but he could not tear his gaze from her inviting image. He crawled over on hands and knees to stop directly in front of her, then with caution brought his head between her legs. She looked down upon him and smiled, and for the first time since meeting the mysterious snow wench Kraigen felt comfort in her presence.

He admired the soft curves of her sex, the gentle flesh of her body. His hands longed to touch her, but he did not know what this woman wanted from him. As if reading his mind she slowly nodded her head, as if responding to an unasked question. With both hands he grabbed her about her ankles, and felt how warm her skin was to the touch. She felt as if she had bathed in the fires of a hundred camps, and her skin had absorbed the heat. His hands wandered from her ankles to her calves, then sliding still, ever so slowly, up the soft feminine curves of her inner thighs. As his hands danced over her legs his face drew closer to her sex, and as his hands massaged and kneaded her inner thighs his lips moved to her sex. With great care he placed his lips upon her, instantly feeling the heat from between her legs. Kraigen parted his lips and his tongue slowly licked along the woman's pussy.

Her taste was that which he had never tasted. She did not have the look, taste, or feel of any woman he had ever met. She was no bar room wench, this was much was true. This woman electrified him, and for the first time in recent memory Kraigen felt alive with passion. His mouth danced about her pussy, his tongue snaking slow and deep inside her. She threw her head back and allowed him to have his way with her.

His hands gripped her thighs with great strength, and as he tasted all she had to offer he spread her thighs further to lick at the area all around her sex. He tasted her smooth, salty skin with his tongue, moving back to her pussy every few seconds to lick and suck at her more, as if he were a man drowning who had finally found pockets of air for which to breath from. As he continued to pleasure her with his skilled mouth her hips began to move in motion with his tongue, until the rhythm was interrupted by Kraigen's finger, slid with great care and deliberation into her pussy.

He could tell the beauty instantly felt what he felt-insurmountable passion and wanton lust. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy, but if he could have seen her face Kraigen was sure she'd be in the throes of passion. His finger continued to invade her pussy, sliding deep inside her even as his tongue traced circles around her clit. He clamped his lips down upon her clit and sucked greedily from it, reaping the reward of ego as he felt her body twitch and convulse from the assault from his hand and mouth.

In that instant she pushed him away from her body, and Kraigen looked on about her confused, until she stood up and dropped to her knees. It was then that he realized. Standing up he walked over and stood before her. She clawed at the leather armored pants he wore, rending them free from his body in a series of quick, deliberate pull of strings, buckles and fabric.

Kraigen unlaced his leather hauberk, discarding it carelessly and allowing her to look up at his hulking, barbaric frame, which was beset with scars from years of warmongering. Not taking any time to relish the moment the woman took his cock into her hand, stroking it to full life, and then with a single, fluent motion slid his entire length into her mouth. She sucked on him with great skill, using her hand to stroke at his shaft as her mouth moved skillfully over his engorged cock.

Kraigen lifted his head and gave a guttural moan, having never felt such a skilled mouth as the one that now occupied his manhood. She continued to suck at him with great skill, alternating between hands, and some times using both, while every few minutes she'd reach down to massage his balls. It was almost too much for him to take, and with a swiftness that would catch a fox off guard Kraigen pulled his cock out of her mouth and snatched her up by the arms and pulled her to him. He crushed her against his chest, feeling her supple breasts pressed against him, and kissed her hungrily.

Their tongues met in a fiery embrace of passion, each kissing the other as if they had not had human contact in ten lifetimes. So intense was the feeling that Kraigen had to break the kiss. Every desire he had ever felt for a woman was a lost memory, and all that mattered to him was feeling himself thrusting inside the snow devil which stood before him. He whirled her around quickly, so that her back was facing him, and motioned for her to bend over the rock. She complied, lifting one knee onto the rock and spreading her legs to give Kraigen a good angle. He grasped his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly, still feeling the woman's saliva on his shaft, which seemed to heat his skin as if it were some devilish liquid creation.

He pressed the end of his cock to her pussy, and with equal disdain for slowness that she had shown earlier Kraigen thrust his entire length inside her. She screamed out in pleasure, her moan a stark contrast against the stillness of the cave. It was the first sound she had made since she had laughed at his words back on the battlefield.

He thrust inside her with animal lust, feeling his cock sliding inside her with great force. Yet with every thrust he brought forth she matched it with an equally fierce return. Kraigen felt as if he was making love to a Goddess, the walls of her sex like the smoothest living velvet made in all of Eleysir. His hands gripped her at her sides, half pulling her into him, half guiding her return thrusts home properly.

Sweat poured from Kraigen's body, despite the cold extremes. The woman, however, emanated no sweat, and for all his excerption she seemed to have an unquenchable appetite. He thrust against her now with unbelievable force, having never wanted a woman so badly. Had this been any normal woman she surely would have passed out by now, he thought. But this woman's voracious appetite was beyond satisfaction. Stopping momentarily she stood, and with a display of strength he did not think imaginable of one so lithe she swung him around.

His legs ran square into the rock, and he tripped to fall on it so that he was seated. The woman straddled him and reached down between them to take his cock into her hand. She stroked his cock furiously, until he was near orgasm, and then sat full force onto him. She let out another loud cry, and began to move her hips over him with great speed. Kraigen sought to hold out as long as he could, but the woman's skill of body movement proved to be too much for him to endure. Grabbing her sides he thrust up and gave a deep growl, climaxing inside her with as much force as a man stretched beyond his sexual limitations could endure.

The woman peered down at him, glassy eyed and smiling, her appetite apparently satiated. They both came to lie upon the icy ground, which did not seem cold at all. He held her in his arms, and drifted off to sleep. No nightmares haunted him this night, no men of old that he had slain in battles past. His rest was peaceful and deep.

He awoke alone and bewildered. The snow stung his skin, bit at his nerves. He peered about in disorientation, and noticed a large pool of blood at his shoulder. This was a fleeting discovery for him, though, as he saw the object of his desire at the mouth of the cave. Her back was turned to him, her head turned to the side and down, eyes closed. Her hair whipped and swayed, as if carried by some unfelt wind. From her cheek rolled a solitary tear, and in an instant she vanished into the snow, as if she never were really there, but a figment of some wild imagination, or born of dreams.

It was then that Kraigen remembered the blood, and looked over to his wound, which proved to be much worse in its naked form than when he was wearing his hauberk. Blood poured from the wound, and his body grew colder by the second. He ventured to stand, but his vision was blurred and there was a sickeningly empty feeling in his gut. With all his strength fleeing him he relaxed once again into the snow. In his last thoughts before drifting off to endless sleep Kraigen remembered a story a merchant had told him about a witch cursed to haunt the snowy battlefields of distant lands, and her lustful gift to the dying warriors who were worthy of Valhalla and all the Gods acceptance.