By Kendra Holliday | March 5, 2013 at 6:28 am
Have you ever read a historical romance novel? They’re such yummy junk food!
They feature flawless, gorgeous young virgins and gruff, virile men clashing and then having awesome sex where the woman ovulates and humps the guy even though he’s not clean and nice.
The woman pretty much transforms a bad guy into a good guy by being so sexy, feisty and sweet. And then supposedly, they live happily ever after and make gorgeous babies together. (More likely, she gets tired of him going off marauding all the time and cheats on him with the village priest, and of course his conquests include the teenage daughters of his enemies.)
The other day, my bearded man and I were enjoying intimacy in front of a fireplace. It was nighttime. The fire was a perfect blaze, all crackling and smelling of bonfire.
He was lying on his back, and it was my turn to service him.
The setting was so conducive to a fantasy that popped in my head – we were in Iceland. It was cold and dark out, and he had just been wounded in battle. I was a beautiful woman tasked to tend his wounds and heal this rugged warrior far from home in a cozy little hut.
I was a widow with a baby. My husband had been killed three months ago in battle. My baby was safe with my mother so I could be available to help with casualties.
I didn’t know the brute before me. He was barely conscious. I could do whatever I wanted with him. He was powerful, yet helpless in the moment.
I cleaned his wounds, wiped his brow, siphoned meat broth through his parted lips. His eyes were closed, but every once in a while he would wince and groan.
Suddenly, I was inspired to do something more for him, offer him the ultimate healing elixir. We were all alone, cozy in our tent on the tundra.
I pulled aside my fur cloak and pulled the laces of my bodice. One of my ripe, warm breasts sprang loose.
In the glow of the fire, I hesitated for just a moment before leaning close to his face. I let my breast rest on his bearded cheek. In his injured stupor, instinct took over at the feel and scent of a woman, and he turned and rooted for the nipple. I helped it to his mouth, and he latched on like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His suck was strong; it made me gasp. I braced myself over him with my arms, and closed my eyes.
He pulled the milk from me, working my breast and causing the nerves that led from my heart to my cunt to lick like flames all the way down me. I squirmed and almost pulled back, but knew I needed to stay put and allow him to drink his fill of the magic mother potion. I knew it was sweet and thin and would aid him immensely.
He breathed and sucked heavily, and I noticed the bulge in his breeches growing. As if in a trance, I strained and reached for it, rubbing it on the outside. He groaned.
Deftly, I unlaced his belt and released it from its confines. He was too weak to thrust it toward me, yet it was fully engorged and throbbing. I delicately stroked its steely, silky shaft, and danced my fingertips over the swollen head. All the while, he continued to suckle.
Then, I grasped it firmly and milked him back, moving my soft hand up and down, instantly slick with pre-cum. My heart was racing behind my ribcage – thank goodness it was contained.
It didn’t take him long to discharge – it spurt out hot and angry, landing on his tunic, and even a drop in his beard. As he came, he gasped, and I took that opportunity to pull back from his grip. Quickly, I swiped the drop from his beard and stuck my finger in my mouth, all the while putting away my wet and rosy tit. I’d use the other one to feed my baby later. I had plenty of milk. And I knew I only needed one drop of a warrior’s seed to enjoy the powerful benefits.
With one more wipe of his feverish brow, I hastily took my leave, leaving the errant cum to dry on his recuperating figure.
There was no doubt this Viking would live.
(Photo is from Southern Sizzle Romance blog. Of course!)