Page 12 of Last Thrall of Asgard

It twitched the moment I gave the order. An order. Of a god. And he obeyed! Heimdall tore my belt away, lifted my tunic, untied my trousers, and once they fell, he tore my undergarments down too and took my plumping cock in hand.

“N-Now… run your thumb up and down the vein to bring me to hardness.” I was half-hard already, but Heimdall’s hand, impossibly soft like the sleekest of silken fur, made my cock leap in his grasp.

Having his rainbow eyes upon me, while he stroked my shaft with the feathering of fingertips up my underside and his thumb grazed my vein, made me feel freer and more powerful than any delusions with Thorsten.

I had wiped myself clean from that encounter, but I was far from washed. Some of Thorsten’s release was still in me. Being soiled, even with my clothing more pristine from that wave of Loki’s hand, made this somehow more thrilling, having my already spent cock stroked while still smelling of my last encounter.

No fear, no hesitation, I reminded myself, as I reached for the back of Heimdall’s head. His hair was as silken as his skin. “It is said you are well-versed in the blowing of horns.” I cast a glance at Gjallarhorn to my right. “Is that true?”

Heimdall licked his lips before his eyes flicked up to mine. “I can blow with the best of them, my lord.”

Oh, what a wonder to be given that title. “Show me.”

Heimdall batted his eyes and took me into his mouth.

I staggered, becausefuck, his heat felt good, and his tongue up my underside where his fingers had feathered. Maybe doing this standing had not been my best idea. I steadied my footing and kept hold of the back of his head. His eyes never left mine as he swallowed me down.

Had he done this before? When? With whom? How many times? I envisioned him on his knees like this, with a line of other gods taking their turns with his mouth. I wanted his lips to look just like that, reddened and spent, practically swollen from overuse—on me. Wanting and servingme. Even a buzzing fly couldn’t have discouraged me from my determination to see that.

Heimdall held my base, while his other hand fondled my sac. I started rocking between his lips. Thorsten never looked at me like this while sucking me, submissive and thankful to choke on my prick.

Minutes passed, and I wondered how long I could last. I had come recently, and I did so want to draw this out, to take my time, to finally be the one who set the pace.

A sharper thrust struck the back of Heimdall’s throat, and he gagged and coughed, forced to pull off me.

“How disappointing,” I said, and thrust my hands out, striking him in the chest to sprawl him backward on the floor. Like a master would. Like had been done to me.

Heimdall waited like a good thrall should. I descended, straddling his prone legs, unabashed of my nakedness, and jerked him upright by the edges of his tunic. I kissed him, all teeth and possession, tasting myself on his tongue. Hereciprocated but did not try to take over. He didn’t dare. BecauseIwas the master here, and he was my thrall.

I reached between us to undo Heimdall’s trousers, yanking them and his undergarments to his ankles. Every part of him was mine to touch. Up his calves and thighs and between his legs to feel his length. He was hard and leaking like I had hoped, but I gave his cock only the barest brush before I moved my fingers away.

Still sucking his tongue, drawing whimpers from him that sounded like pleading, I would have torn Heimdall’s tunic in two to get it off him if I had the strength. I didn’t. But perhaps…

“If you capable,” I whispered, “tear your tunic down the middle so it bares you to me.” Then I lifted to watch.

Heimdall gripped the top of his collar and did as I’d commanded as easily as if his tunic were parchment. To witness such power, his true strength as a god, did not diminish my power here, because his was mine to wield, and I would not hesitate or risk losing that for even a moment.

I fell upon him again, hoisting his naked hips to meet mine. I plucked off his boots and pulled his trousers and undergarments from his ankles to better wrap his legs around me. That, finally, gave me the friction I wanted. I grinded into him, prick against prick, and latched onto the side of his neck, sucking the sinew to leave my mark there.

Heimdall moaned, low and deep, his body limp in my hold and accepting of all I offered him, while I thrust and thrust, holding him by his hips and around the curves of his ass.

It felt so good, so new and wonderful to be the one leading. But now, my equally leaking prick colliding with his wanted to be wetted within a better cavern, sweet as Heimdall’s mouth had been. I didn’t want to rush. I could have him however I wanted, and I was going to enjoy this, knowing how unlikely it was that other gods I’d be sacrificed to would be as obedient.

Like Heimdall was. My thrall,mine, and he was enjoying it too with whimpers and wriggling. It reminded me of my own performances, because so long as I enjoyed it, so long as I told myself I liked it, it hadn’t felt as much like slavery.

The faltering that thought brought was enough for Heimdall to catch his breath. “My lord…?”

I hoisted him closer, shifting on my knees, and—

One slipped off the edge I hadn’t realized we’d gravitated so close to, meeting nothing but air, and I toppled. I loathed that freefalling feeling, leaving my stomach on the platform, but no harsh landing followed. My fall was broken by the plush softness of the furs on Heimdall’s bed.

A body landed beside me, and I found him at my left, naked save the destroyed tunic hanging from his shoulders, like some pale ravaged prince.

I reached for him, pulling him in by the back of his neck to redden his lips with another kiss. I was going to rut inside him until I filled him with my seed. Or perhaps I would write my name upon these lips with it.

Because a thrall was to be used. That was all one was good for—according to every master I’d known.

I rid myself of my remaining clothing and roughly flipped Heimdall onto his front. As I pulled his ass up and spread his thighs, his ruined tunic fell forward, pooling across the back of his neck. I was angry now, though I didn’t know why. His ass was made of sculpted mounds with a perfect pucker between, yawning in wait for me, and I wanted to fill it. I deserved to.

---