The Valkyries

But I hadn't forgotten how I used to arouse my wife when we were older. I used my lips, my hands and my fingers to caress Britta's body. Despite my insistent erection I played with her for over an hour, raising her again and again to squealing ecstasy. I was pleased that we were in a solid stone walled building or she might have disturbed the whole of Valhalla.

Eventually my mouth was against her lower lips with my tongue exploring between them. Britta suddenly rolled us over before her mouth claimed my erection. Seconds later she was spluttering as my cum spurted into her throat. She swallowed it before slowly sucking as my prick subsided. Remembering how long it used to take before my wife could get me aroused again I was startled to find that I had another erection within minutes.

Britta swung herself around, straddled me, and eased my growing erection inside her. She clamped herself gently around me before gradually moving up and down. Above me her breasts bounced delightfully, her hair was lashing around, and she was smiling down at me as if I had produced a miracle.

Soon I was lost in the fury of our coupling. Britta was pounding hard. My hands were kneading her breasts before she brought her head down to kiss me full on the lips. I had never been with a woman who could kiss me while I was inside her. I would have been very grateful that Britta was so tall, if I had been able to think about anything except our bodies locked together.

Eventually I couldn't hold on any longer. Britta had experienced several orgasms before I came into her. I was suddenly very tired. I was barely conscious as Britta eased me around so that my head was on her shoulder.

"Sleep, Eric," she said. "You need it. There are only two things that make us tired here -- dying and having sex. You died only a few hours ago, and you've given me more than I expected. Sleep."

Her hand gently stroked my head. I was aware that a beautiful blonde woman was holding me as my eyes closed.

-o-

When I started to wake I was aware that I was very comfortable. My face was gently resting against the side of Britta's breast. Her arm was across my body. It took me some minutes to realise where I was and who was holding me. I was in Valhalla in the arms of my shield maiden. Or was I hers? Her arm seemed to demonstrate that she owned me. Did I want to be owned by Britta?

I stirred slightly. Britta's arm gently pulled my face back against her breast. I dozed again.

I woke to the smell of a cooked breakfast. I looked for a toilet. There wasn't one. I remembered. Britta had told me I wouldn't need to use one. I felt my chin. I didn't need to shave.

Over breakfast Britta tried to tell me more about being in Valhalla. I wasn't concentrating. I was enjoying my young-again body and facing a beautiful blonde.

"You can choose your weapons here..." Britta was saying. She realised I wasn't listening.

"You want to make love again, Eric, don't you?"

"Yes, Britta. I'm not used to having the ability."

"Come to bed, Eric. I'm wasting my time talking when all you can think of is sex."

We made love again. I tried to ride her. She flipped me over easily and mounted me. I'm not that small but Britta is taller and possibly stronger than me.

Afterwards I began to take notice of our surroundings. Fixed to the wall opposite the bed was a large Labrys -- a double-headed axe. Britta saw me looking at it.

"That's my Labrys," she said. "It is a woman's weapon from ancient Crete, a symbol of their snake priestesses. They used it for human sacrifice, usually of condemned prisoners, but they could also use it in war. Mine is far larger and heavier than the ancient ones but I am skilled in its use in close combat."

"Why not a gun?" I asked.

"Combat between us and our foes has strict rules. We can only fight with weapons that were from the same period. If they attack as ancient Persians, we use ancient Greek or Persian weaponry. My Labrys is suitable for most periods before gunpowder. You'll have to learn how to use older weapons, Eric. I'll try to teach you the basics but there are professional instructors for all periods."

"So what period was I facing when I came?"

"They were all WW2 period arms. Why did our foes choose to be mounted Cossacks, armed with carbines? Perhaps they thought you were the other Eric Smith and wouldn't know how to ride a horse? But you were a shock for them."

"They didn't fire a single shot, Britta. Why not?"

"They were never in range. If the Valkyries had got closer? They might have fired, but the Valkyries are very difficult to kill. What they wanted to do was kill you so that you would be reluctant to fight them again. The Valkyries weren't their target."

"Why didn't they use armoured vehicles?"

"They can't. Neither can we. The fastest we are allowed is a horse. Neither of us can use artillery, nor aircraft. Handheld arms are all that is permitted -- until Armageddon when anything goes. Armageddon will probably be a very short exchange of nuclear missiles or whatever horrors humans have invented by then."

That evening we went to the mead hall. I was startled by the raucous reception. Everyone there raised their drinking horns and toasted the latest hero. There were many jokes about what I intended to do with Kara the Valkyrie.

Britta and I drank prodigious quantities of ale but I didn't need a toilet, nor did I suffer anything but a great feeling of slight lessened inhibition. Most of the time I had a substantial Britta on my knee.

But later was a disaster. I tried to ride Britta. I was in full flow, pounding up and down on her, when I suddenly collapsed into unconsciousness, flattening her.

When I recovered, Britta was holding me tight. Her tears were wetting my face.

"What happened?" I slurred.

"You died, Eric -- again." Britta said.

"I died?"

"Yes. You did too much, too soon. It's less than twenty-four hours since you died in life. You need time to get used to Valhalla. You're in no state to fuck a Valkyrie, nor even your shield maiden."

"Why are you crying, Britta? I'm back, alive again."

"I'm crying because you just slipped away, quietly and peacefully. When I die again I do it in agony, deaf, blind, dumb and after months of pain. It's the only thing that frightens me. Unlike you, when I'm killed it is awful. Watching you die brought back the horrors of my death."

"Then we'll have to make sure you don't die again, Britta."

"If we can. We have to fight. That's why we're here. Fighting has a risk of being killed. You have to train me to be a sniper. I have to train you in some of the older fighting techniques you don't know. We don't use protection when we practise. We use real weapons. If we fail in a bout against an instructor -- we die. Tomorrow, no, later today, you have to start training with a sword. I might watch you dying again..."

"Perhaps you won't."

"I will. You'll die. The instructors are weapon masters."

I admit it. I was concerned. The best swordsmen in Valhalla must be real experts. But when I started my tuition I think Loki must have been at work on the records. I had been number two in my regiment's fencing team, and we didn't just do the fancy competitive work with foils but with real heavy swords, cutlasses, sabres and almost any edged long weapon.

The man I was facing looked formidable. There were about thirty people watching us outside the marked area. He explained the rules of sword instruction in Valhalla. Put simply, there aren't any. We fight with real weapons to the death. The novice will die many times before he becomes competent.

He gave me a medieval long sword. He had a matched one. I swung my sword experimentally. It was heavy but well balanced, obviously the product of a competent swordsmith.

"Ready, Eric?" He asked.

"Ready," I replied.

He launched a ferocious attack. I went into automatic defence mode, parrying his thrusts and cuts easily although he was very fast. After about thirty seconds I was convinced that I was a better swordsman than he was. I didn't try anything fancy. I feinted a cut to his head. His sword lifted to block the cut that I changed to a thrust straight through his heart.

He looked startled as he fell down, his weight pulling my sword free.

"Well done," another man said. "You're better than we expected. Now face a real swordsman."

He picked up the fallen man's sword.

"Don't worry about him. He'll be back with us in a quarter of an hour, annoyed with himself for underestimating you. Ready, Eric?"

He lifted his sword in salute. I matched his salute, warily. Would he attack as quickly?

"Ready," I said.

He took a step backwards before starting his attack. His swordsmanship was much more measured, precise and tricky to read. I relaxed and let my muscles respond almost before my brain had analysed his latest action. My ancient skills were working as if I had held a sword yesterday, not many decades ago.

My opponent was good but not excellent. He was much better than the previous instructor but surely this couldn't be the best in Valhalla? He wasn't. It took me several minutes before I killed him too. By that time the people around the arena had become a crowd. Many of them were shouting their support of me. Britta looked shocked as I stood back and wiped my bloody sword.

An older man, leaning on a spear, spoke to me.

"Well, Eric. You have surprised us. Tomorrow we'll find you a better opponent, but I think you have done enough today. Someone wants to congratulate you."

He stood aside. Kara the Valkyrie rushed forward and kissed me.

"You were great, Eric. Maybe you will be good enough to fuck me. We'll see. But now? Britta is jealous of me. Give me the sword and show her what it is like to be fucked by a hero."

Kara took my bloody sword and vanished. So did the older man. Britta was white-faced as she led me away.

"Do you know who that was?" she asked.

"Kara the Valkyrie," I replied.

"Not her. The spear carrier."

"No, Britta. Who was he?"

"That was Thor, himself. We rarely see him. But he watched you fight today and spoke to you. Your status in Valhalla was already good. Now? You are recognised as one of Thor's chosen few. Your next instructors will be very wary. But that's for tomorrow. For the rest of today you have to start teaching me to be a sniper."

"What about Kara's suggestion?"

"Fucking comes later. You've got work to do."

Britta surprised me. She used a Krag-Jorgensen M1930 sniper rifle. Apparently she had been used to hunting with the earlier 1925 model before the war. Her rifle was slower to load than my Lee-Enfield but she was nearly as accurate on the rifle range as I was, but not when firing fast as multiple targets.

Her hunting skills meant that she could conceal herself but she had never faced game that might shoot back. I had to show her that choosing to be near cover that was rifle-proof was essential. Hiding behind a bush was a stupid tactic for a sniper except for a single shot.

By the end of the day I was convinced that I could teach Britta to be a sniper. It was unlikely that she could be as good as me within months. I had years of battlefield experience from North Africa to Germany. I had survived many encounters with enemy snipers.

But, maybe, if we had decades of fighting Valhalla's enemies? Who knows who would be the best sniper then?

That night Britta and I felt the point at which I would die if I continued riding her. I let her flip me over and relaxed as she rode me.

For the next few weeks my training continued. No swordsman killed me but a couple of duels ended in mutual exhaustion. I died when I first faced an axeman. That death was far more painful than my natural death as his axe cut through my right arm and shoulder. I survived against axes when I used a sword instead of an axe. I was no more than competent with a musket and a crossbow and useless with a bow. Archery needs a different kind of skill that takes years to learn.

Britta was becoming a passable sniper and after the first week I could fuck her as long as we wanted with no sign of imminent death for me.

Then Kara came. She wanted both of us to defend the lower end of Bifrost Bridge when the Valkyries returned with some new recruits. We would have an hour between the time the Valkyries left and their return.

I wasn't sure that Britta was ready enough. She was still frightened of dying again even though she knew she would be revived.

I chose our sites carefully because there was very little cover. I dug two slit trenches which took almost the whole hour. Britta's trench was slightly closer to the bridge and in better cover.

When we saw the Valkyries in the distance we entered the trenches and made ready. There were many more of the enemy riders. While some charged towards the Valkyries, a dozen of them rode towards Bifrost Bridge to cut off the access. We waited until there were no more than four hundred yards away.

"Now!" I hissed at Britta.

We opened fire. Britta's first shots missed. I missed a couple because I was watching Britta as well as taking aim. We had stopped eight. The other four were milling around shooting wildly with their carbines. That was pointless when on horseback.

What I hadn't thought was that this was a deliberate tactic. We were concentrating on those four and didn't see the other six coming from our left, closest to me. I should have been checking but I was still watching Britta. The six were within fifty yards before I saw them. I swung my rifle and fired fast, emptying the magazine. As I reached for the next clip I could see one of the first four charging at Britta with a lance.

I drew my Colt 45 and stood in front of Britta's trench. She was firing to her left.

I hit the lancer's horse but too late. As the horse's front legs collapsed the lancer stretched out. The lance went through my chest. Even as I felt it pierce me I fired the Colt again blasting the rider's face. I sank to my knees, leaning forward with the lance propping me up.

I heard Britta and Kara shout "Eric!" as I died.

The next thing I knew I was in Britta's bed. She was stroking my head. I was alive again.

"Why, Eric, why?" Britta was saying over and over.

I tried to smile. Britta kissed my forehead.

"He can't answer yet," I heard Kara's voice say. "But you know the answer. He was defending his shield maiden. He loves you, Britta, and would give his life for you. He just did. That is what makes him really worthy of Valhalla, not just his killing skills."

"But if he loves me, why does he want to fuck you, Kara?"

"He doesn't. Not any more. He wants Britta, not Kara. That's true, isn't it Eric?"

I nodded. I still couldn't speak.

"I asked Thor about fucking Valkyries," Kara continued. "Only demi-gods can, and survive. Eric would die, permanently. That's a shame. It was a nice idea but you need him more than I do, Britta. He's yours. I told you that you deserve him. Now he deserves you. Look after him. We all need heroes in Valhalla, male and female. You are both worthy. Thank you."

Kara was gone. Britta was hugging me as if she could hug me all her life.

She can. I can hug her too. And now we can make love all night, fight all day, drink all evening, and make love again.

Valhalla is our heaven -- until Gotterdammerung.