Chapter 7: Blessed Waters
The walk to the hot springs was a blur of towering pines and Astrid’s unrelenting grip. His muscles, which he hadn't known he possessed, screamed in protest with every step. Yet, despite the deep, satisfying ache that permeated his entire being, a different part of him remained stubbornly, almost painfully, alert. Astrid seemed to find this immensely amusing, her chuckle a low rumble as she navigated the hidden path.
“The springs will loosen you up, little prince,” she said, her voice thick with promise. “And the view… well, you’ll appreciate the view.”
They emerged into a cavernous grotto, the air shifting from crisp mountain chill to a heavy, mineral-rich warmth. Steam curled from several interconnected pools, the water shimmering with an unnatural, iridescent blue light that cast shifting patterns on the cavern walls. The sound of a distant waterfall provided a constant, soothing rush. And there, lounging in the water, were more Valkyries.
They were a vision of impossible proportions, each one a masterpiece of powerful muscle and lush, heavy curves. Water sluiced over broad shoulders, clung to the dramatic sweep of hips, and beaded on breasts that were both formidable and soft. Their wings, folded or lazily half-spread, glistened in the steamy air.
All conversation died as Astrid led her prize to the edge of the largest pool.
“Made it,” Astrid announced, her voice echoing slightly. “Though I’m not sure he’s entirely drained.” She gave him a little push, and Caius stumbled into the blessedly hot water, the heat immediately seeping into his sore muscles.
He sank onto a submerged ledge, the water rising to his chest, offering a fleeting moment of modesty. It was shattered a second later as Astrid waded in after him, followed by a half-dozen others who moved with the fluid grace of predators. The air, already thick, became charged with a new, focused energy.
The Valkyrie with the intricate braid—the one who had asked about his endurance—was the first to approach. “Let’s see this war-drum then, Astrid. The one you wouldn’t stop crowing about.”
Astrid just grinned, a sharp, possessive flash of teeth. She reached beneath the water, her hand closing around him, and guided him into the open. The iridescent light played over his length, making the already impressive seem almost mythical as it rose, thick and unwavering, from the steamy water.
A collective, hushed murmur went through the gathered women. It wasn’t just shock; it was a kind of reverence.
“By the All-Father’s missing eye,” Braid whispered, her clinical curiosity replaced by pure awe.
The freckled one, Ingrid, waded closer, her wide eyes fixed. “It’s… it’s like a tower. A really, really nice tower.”
Then the touching began. It wasn’t aggressive, but it was intensely curious. A calloused hand, surprisingly gentle, traced the thick vein running along its underside. Another, with long, clever fingers, gently weighed the heavy sac beneath. They were like master craftsmen examining a legendary weapon, their touches clinical yet laden with a palpable hunger.
“The heat makes the skin so soft here,” one murmured.
“Look at how it pulses. It’s like it has its own heartbeat.”
Astrid watched, her expression one of smug pride, as if she had single-handedly carved him from marble. “Go on,” she urged them. “Get a proper taste. He’s a fountain, remember? He won’t mind.”
Ingrid didn’t need to be told twice. She ducked her head, her bubble of pink lips parting, and took the crown into her mouth. Her tongue, hot and agile, swirled around the tip. The sensation, after the night of frantic, earth-shaking coupling, was exquisitely precise. Caius gasped, his head falling back against the rocky edge of the pool.
Another Valkyrie, this one with a shock of white-blonde hair, moved to his side, her massive breast pressing against his arm as she leaned in to lick a slow, wet stripe up the shaft. “Salty,” she declared, before doing it again.
He was surrounded. Hands were on his thighs, his stomach, stroking his sides. Mouths explored him, one focusing on the head while another attended to the base. Their wings rustled, creating small eddies in the steam. The sounds were lewd and wet, punctuated by soft, appreciative hums and whispered praises that went straight to his head, more intoxicating than any mead.
“So thick. Think you can take all that, Ingrid? You’ll split your pretty little jaw.”
“Look at his stomach, twitching. He’s already close.”
“Such a good little prince, giving us all a show.”
Caius was lost in a haze of sensation. The fear and embarrassment from the square had melted away, replaced by a dizzying, powerful thrill. These warrior goddesses, these legends of battle and song, were worshiping him. His curse. His body. His hands, which had been limp at his sides, now came up to tentatively rest on Ingrid’s head, his fingers tangling in her damp hair. She moaned around him, the vibration shooting through his core.
Astrid watched it all, her eyes dark with satisfaction. She moved behind him, her strong hands kneading his shoulders. “See?” she breathed into his ear, her voice a low thrum that competed with the waterfall. “This is what you are here. Not a scrawny book-prince. A god among legends.”
His breath hitched. The pressure was building, a familiar, terrifying, wonderful tension coiling deep within him. The mouths and hands worked him faster, their movements less curious and more demanding.
“Here it comes,” someone said, her voice giddy.
Caius’s back arched, his vision whiting out at the edges. The release was a seismic event, a torrent that shot forth in thick, relentless ropes, painting the steam itself with streaks of white. It splashed across shoulders, dripped down chins, and clouded the iridescent water around them.
For a moment, there was only the sound of his ragged breathing and the waterfall. Then, the Valkyries erupted into laughter and cheers, wiping their faces with a sort of triumphant glee.
Ingrid surfaced, gasping and grinning, a pearly drop clinging to her freckled nose. “A fountain! You weren’t lying, Astrid!”
Astrid’s hands tightened on his shoulders, a final, claiming pressure. “I never lie about important things.” She looked down at Caius, whose body was boneless against her, spent and shuddering. “Now,” she said, her voice cutting through the post-coital chatter. “Who wants to see if the heat makes him recover faster?”