The wind screamed through Valthor’s jagged peaks, a merciless gale that carried the bite of frost and the sharp scent of pine resin. My crimson cloak snapped behind me, its frayed edges flaring like a war banner against the snow-crusted landscape. The blackened steel breastplate hugged my torso, its intricate Norse runes glinting faintly under the pale, cold sun, pressing against the full curve of my breasts. My reinforced boots crunched through the snow, each step deliberate, my muscular thighs flexing beneath a tattered leather skirt that clung to my rounded hips, its charcoal dye faded at the edges. Bronze vambraces, etched with geometric knots, gleamed on my forearms, cool against my sun-kissed skin as I adjusted the round shield strapped to my left arm. Its snarling wolf emblem glared back, a symbol of the strength I’d forged through years at the forge, hammering steel and swinging blades.
I was Liv, once a blacksmith’s apprentice in Valthor’s shadow, now a shieldmaiden of Clan Stormfang. My golden blonde braids, woven with leather cords, swung heavily down my back, brushing the fur-lined shoulder guards of dark bear pelt that added a barbaric flair to my armor. The Thor’s hammer pendant rested against my collarbone, its warmth a quiet anchor to my heritage, a tether to the gods who ruled these brutal lands. My hazel eyes, almond-shaped and piercing, scanned the horizon, catching the flicker of torchlight from a frost giant outpost nestled in the valley below. My full lips, naturally rosy, pressed into a resolute line, my oval face flushed with the anticipation of battle. Tonight’s raid would carve my name into the sagas—or bury me in the snow.
The seer’s voice haunted me, her words like gravel wrapped in silk. Three nights ago, in a tent thick with the smoke of burning herbs, she’d pressed the cursed pendant into my hand, its surface pulsing with unnatural heat. “You are chosen, Liv,” she’d said, her hooded eyes boring into me, seeing past my armor, past my skin, to the woman I’d fought to become. “The pendant will make you a legend, but its power demands a price.” I’d stood tall, my broad shoulders squared, my high cheekbones catching the firelight, skeptical but intrigued. As a shemale, I’d faced whispers and sneers—my cock and balls a point of contention for some—but my skill with a blade had silenced most. The pendant, though, felt heavier than my armor, its weight a constant reminder of her warning.
Clan Stormfang’s warriors gathered behind me, their breath fogging in the frigid air. I glanced over my shoulder, my golden braids swaying, stray strands clinging to my face. Ulf, a grizzled veteran in his fifties, stood closest, his scarred face framed by a beard like iron wool, his axe gleaming with fresh oil. His brown eyes held a grudging respect, earned after I’d bested him in a sparring match last spring, my sinewy arms proving stronger than his doubts. Sigrid, a wiry woman of thirty, her shaved head tattooed with runes, gripped her spear tightly, her flint-gray eyes scanning the outpost. She’d been my sparring partner, her quick wit and sharper blade a constant challenge, her smirk a sign of camaraderie. Then there was Jarl Ragnar, our warlord, his massive frame dwarfing the others. In his late forties, his dark hair streaked with gray, his weathered face carved with lines of battle, his dark eyes burned with a hunger I couldn’t place—a shadow that made my narrow waist tighten with unease.
“Liv,” Ragnar rumbled, his voice carrying over the wind, deep and commanding like rolling thunder. “You lead the charge. Show these frost-born bastards what a shieldmaiden can do.”
I nodded, my jaw clenching, the softly rounded curve of my chin tightening. “For Stormfang,” I said, my voice steady, though I felt the clan’s eyes on me, weighing my worth. My breasts, hugged tightly by my breastplate, rose with a deep breath, their curve accentuated by the armor’s fit, a testament to my transitioned physique. Some still whispered about the apprentice who dared rise above her station, a woman with a modest cock and balls beneath her skirt. I’d silenced those doubts with my blade, but Ragnar’s gaze lingered too long, his smile sharp and not reaching his eyes.
The outpost loomed closer, its wooden palisades studded with ice shards that glinted like jagged fangs. The frost giants were monstrous, their skin like cracked glaciers, their eyes glowing an eerie blue, their hulking forms casting long shadows. I tightened my grip on my short sword, its leather-wrapped hilt worn smooth by my calloused hands. My long legs tensed, my firm ass shifting beneath my skirt as I prepared to charge. “For Stormfang!” I roared, my voice slicing through the night like a blade.
We surged forward, a tide of steel and fury. My shield took the first blow, a giant’s club splintering against the steel wolf, the impact jarring my sinewy arm, my biceps flexing under my vambraces. I ducked, my thighs propelling me forward, my skirt riding up to reveal the faint scars on my legs, earned in countless skirmishes. My sword drove into the beast’s thigh, blue blood spraying hot against my high cheekbones, the warmth a stark contrast to the biting cold. The giant howled, its massive frame teetering, and I spun, my crimson cloak flaring like a storm, my blade slicing its other leg. It crashed to the ground, shaking the earth, and I was already moving, my powerful thighs driving me toward the next foe.
The raid was chaos—axes clashed, spears pierced, the giants’ roars mingling with our war cries. I fought like a tempest, my broad shoulders rolling as I swung my shield, my breasts heaving within my armor, their weight grounding me. A giant lunged, its claws raking toward me, but I rolled, my narrow waist twisting, my golden braids whipping across my face. I came up behind it, my sword finding its spine, the blade sinking deep, blue blood coating my hands, slick and warm. Sigrid fought nearby, her spear a blur, her wiry frame dodging a giant’s fist. “Liv, to your left!” she shouted, her voice sharp with urgency. I pivoted, my full lips parting in a snarl, my hazel eyes blazing as I blocked a club with my shield, the force rattling my teeth. I countered, my sword slashing the giant’s arm, blue blood spraying across my armor.
Ulf joined us, his axe cleaving a giant’s skull, his gruff laugh echoing. “Keep up, shieldmaiden!” he called, his brown eyes glinting with respect now. I grinned, my rosy lips curling, and drove my blade into another giant’s chest, my muscular thighs steadying me against its thrashing.
By dawn, the outpost was ours. The clan’s cheers rose, raw and victorious, as I stood amidst the carnage, my shield battered but unbroken, my skin glistening with sweat and blue blood. My breasts heaved, the armor’s weight pressing against their curves, my golden hair loosened from its braids, framing my oval face in wild strands. Sigrid clapped my shoulder, her grin fierce. “You fight like Thor himself, Liv. The skalds will sing of this for generations.”
Ragnar approached, his massive hand resting on my arm, his fingers brushing the edge of my vambrace, lingering too long. “Well done, shieldmaiden,” he said, his voice low, but there was a darkness in his tone, a possessiveness that made my skin prickle. My hazel eyes searched his, probing for intent, but he turned away, barking orders to secure the outpost. I watched him go, my full lips pressing into a thin line, the pendant’s warmth pulsing against my chest, a quiet warning.
* * *
Weeks passed, and my legend grew, carried by skalds and traders across Valthor’s frozen valleys. “The shieldmaiden who felled giants,” they called me, my crimson cloak a banner of defiance in their tales. But the pendant’s heat never faded, its weight a constant reminder of the seer’s words. I tried to bury the unease in council meetings, where I leaned over maps, my braids swaying, my fingers tracing routes through the mountains. My hips shifted as I stood, the leather skirt clinging to their rounded curves, drawing glances from warriors who dared not speak their thoughts aloud. My breasts, full and firm, pressed against my breastplate, a reminder of the woman I was, even as my cock and balls, discreet beneath my skirt, marked the journey I’d taken to claim my place.
Ragnar’s presence was a shadow over every meeting. He loomed, his broad frame filling the tent, his dark eyes tracking my movements like a predator. In his late forties, his human bulk was corded with muscle, his bear-pelt tunic stretched across his chest. Whispers spoke of his cock, thick and veined, a weapon as feared as his axe, but I pushed the rumors aside. His gaze, though, was a weight I couldn’t ignore. During one council, he leaned close, his breath hot against my ear, his hand brushing my narrow waist. “You’re bold, Liv,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “But boldness can be dangerous in these lands.”
I pulled away, my hazel eyes narrowing, my high cheekbones flushed. “So can betrayal,” I said, my voice low but firm, my full lips barely moving. Sigrid, nearby, caught my eye, her shaved head tilting, her gray eyes questioning. I shook my head slightly, my braids shifting, and focused on the map, but Ragnar’s smile lingered, sharp and predatory, a blade hidden in his words.
Valthor’s clans were fractured, each vying for dominance, their longhouses scattered across the valleys, their allegiances shifting like the snow-laden winds. The frost giants’ threat loomed larger, their raids growing bolder, their icy strongholds creeping closer to our borders. I argued for unity, my voice clear, my lips articulating each word with precision. “The giants will crush us if we fight alone,” I said, my hands planted on the table, my narrow waist accentuated by my stance, my breasts pressing against my armor. “We strike their strongholds together, or we fall.”
Ulf grunted, his scarred face skeptical, his iron-wool beard twitching. “And you think you can lead us, girl?” His tone wasn’t cruel, just testing, his brown eyes narrowing. I met his gaze, my hazel eyes steady, my cheekbones high and defiant.
“I’ve spilled their blood,” I said, my voice cutting through the tent. “Have you?” The room stilled, the air thick with tension. Sigrid smirked, her spear tapping the ground, a quiet show of support. Ragnar said nothing, but his dark eyes burned, and I knew I’d made an enemy, his ambition a coiled serpent waiting to strike.
That night, Ragnar summoned me to his tent, his voice low and urgent, the firelight casting shadows across his weathered face. “Liv, we need eyes on the giant’s northern pass,” he said, his dark eyes gleaming. “You’re the best for it. Take a small team, scout their movements.” His smile was too sharp, his gaze too hungry, but I nodded, my shield and sword ready, my boots scuffing the dirt as I followed him into the snowy wilderness, my instincts screaming caution.
The trap came swiftly, a betrayal as cold as the ice around us. Five of Ragnar’s loyal warriors emerged from the trees, their faces grim, their weapons drawn. Bjorn, a towering brute in his thirties, led them, his human frame massive, his beard matted with frost, his cold blue eyes glinting with malice. He gripped a heavy club, its wood stained with old blood, his broad shoulders squared for violence. Torvald, lean and sharp-faced, maybe twenty-eight, followed, his dagger catching the moonlight, his green eyes calculating, his movements quick as a wolf. The other three—two broad-shouldered men with scarred, cruel faces, their names unknown to me, and a younger one, barely twenty, with nervous brown eyes—closed the circle, their axes and swords gleaming.
“Ragnar,” I said, my voice steady despite the tightening in my chest, my hazel eyes narrowing, my full lips curling into a snarl. “What the fuck is this?”
He stepped forward, his axe resting on his shoulder, his bear-pelt tunic shifting over his muscled chest, his dark eyes gleaming with triumph. “You’ve risen too fast, Liv,” he said, his voice cold, cutting through the wind. “The clan follows you, not me. That ends tonight.” His gaze raked over me, lingering on the curve of my breasts, the flare of my hips beneath my skirt, his hunger raw and unmasked. “Strip her,” he ordered, his tone final.
My heart pounded, my lips parting in a defiant growl. I raised my shield, its wolf emblem snarling, but Bjorn moved first, his club slamming into my arm. Pain flared, sharp and searing, and I stumbled, my crimson cloak catching on a branch, tearing further. Torvald lunged, his dagger slicing through the straps of my breastplate with surgical precision. It fell, clattering to the snow, exposing my chest, my breasts full and heaving under a thin linen shift, my nipples hardening in the biting cold. “Fuck you all,” I spat, swinging my sword, my sinewy arms flexing, but the two scarred men grabbed my arms, their grips like iron, their faces twisted with cruel anticipation. My shield clattered to the ground, my sword wrenched from my hand, leaving me defenseless.
They bound my wrists with coarse rope, the fibers biting into my skin, tying me to a gnarled tree, its bark rough and splintered against my back. My skirt was torn away, the leather ripping with a sharp sound, revealing my thick, scarred thighs and the modest bulge of my cock and balls beneath my undercloth. Bjorn stepped forward, his massive frame looming, his blue eyes widening as he yanked the cloth down, exposing me fully. “Well, fuck me,” he growled, his voice thick with surprise, his gaze locked on my cock, modest but firm, my balls tightening in the cold. “The shieldmaiden’s got a cock.” His rough hand grazed my shaft, calloused fingers brushing the sensitive skin, and I flinched, my jaw clenching, my high cheekbones flushed with rage, my hazel eyes blazing with defiance.
“Touch me again, and I’ll fucking cut it off,” I hissed, my voice venomous, my full lips trembling with fury.
He laughed, a harsh bark, his hand wrapping around my cock, stroking roughly, his grip tight and unyielding, sending unwanted jolts through my body. “We’ll see who’s cutting what, bitch.” He shoved me to my knees, the snow soaking through my boots, chilling my muscular calves. My bound hands strained against the ropes, my broad shoulders aching as he unbuckled his trousers with a slow, deliberate motion. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, about eight inches, veined, the head glistening with precum, a blunt weapon in the moonlight. The sight twisted my stomach, fear and rage warring within me, but the pendant burned against my chest, its glow faint but growing, its heat seeping into my veins like a dark promise.
“Open your fucking mouth,” Bjorn ordered, grabbing my braids, his fingers tangling in the leather cords, pulling hard enough to make my scalp sting. I resisted, my lips pressed tight, my hazel eyes glaring, but he slapped my face, the sting sharp against my high cheekbones, a red mark blooming on my skin. My eyes watered, but I held his gaze, defiant, until he forced my jaw open, his fingers digging into my cheeks, and shoved his cock past my lips. The taste was salty, musky, overwhelming, filling my mouth as he thrust, the head hitting the back of my throat. I gagged, my throat tightening, saliva dripping down my chin, my full lips stretched wide around his thickness. His hips pumped relentlessly, fucking my mouth with brutal force, his hands gripping my head, pulling my braids, the pain sharp and unrelenting.
“Fuck, her mouth’s so goddamn tight,” he grunted, his cock stretching my throat, his thrusts deep and punishing, each one forcing a muffled choke from me. My lips, rosy and swollen, slid along his shaft, saliva coating my chin, dripping onto my exposed breasts. The pendant pulsed, its heat mingling with the pain, and my body betrayed me, my cock twitching, a bead of precum forming at the tip, my balls aching in the cold. I hated it, hated him, but the curse’s power stirred, a dark fire in my blood, whispering strength through my violation.
He pulled out, his cock slick with my saliva, glistening in the moonlight, and shoved me forward, my knees grinding into the snow, the cold biting my skin. My ass, firm and rounded, was exposed as he ripped away the last of my undercloth, the fabric tearing with a harsh sound. “Look at that fucking ass,” he said, his voice thick with lust, his hand cracking against my cheek, the slap echoing in the forest like a thunderclap. The sting burned, my skin reddening, but I bit back a cry, my hazel eyes burning with defiance, my jaw clenched tight.
Bjorn knelt behind me, his rough hands spreading my cheeks, his fingers probing my asshole, rough and invasive, one digit slipping inside, stretching me painfully. “Relax, shieldmaiden,” he mocked, his voice dripping with contempt, his finger twisting inside me, making me flinch. He withdrew, spitting on his hand, slicking his cock, and pressed the blunt tip against my hole, unyielding and merciless. “This is gonna hurt,” he growled, and thrust, forcing himself inside. Pain seared through me, a white-hot burn as my ass stretched around his thickness, the intrusion brutal and unrelenting. I gasped, my bound hands clawing at the rope, my thighs trembling, my muscular legs straining against the snow as he buried himself deep, his hips slamming against my ass, the sound of flesh on flesh loud in the quiet night.
“Fuck, she’s so fucking tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips, fingers digging into the soft curve where my waist flared, bruising my skin. His cock ground against my prostate, each thrust a mix of agony and unwanted pleasure, my body shuddering under the assault. My cock bounced with each brutal thrust, my balls aching as they swung, the cold snow beneath me a cruel contrast to the heat of his invasion. The pendant glowed brighter, its heat flooding my veins, and I felt a surge of strength, unnatural and raw, building inside me, a dark gift born of pain.
He shifted, pulling me upright, my back pressed against his chest, his cock still buried in my ass. His hands roamed my body, one squeezing my breast, his fingers pinching my nipple, twisting until I gasped, the pain sharp and electric. The other hand gripped my cock, stroking roughly, his calloused palm abrasive against my sensitive skin. “Look at you, fucking leaking for me,” he taunted, his thrusts slowing but deepening, each one stretching my hole further, his cock grinding inside me. I gritted my teeth, my full lips trembling, my hazel eyes watering, but I refused to cry out, my defiance a fire that burned hotter than the pendant.
Torvald stepped forward, his lean frame casting a shadow, his sharp face twisted with a cruel smirk, his green eyes glinting with malice. His cock was slimmer, about seven inches, curved slightly upward, the head glistening with precum. “My turn,” he said, his voice sharp as his dagger, cutting through the air. He knelt in front of me, grabbing my braids, forcing my head up, my bound hands still tied to the tree, forcing my back to arch painfully. My breasts, exposed and heaving, bounced as Bjorn continued to fuck me from behind, his cock relentless. Torvald ripped my shift away completely, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound, leaving my breasts fully bare, my nipples hard and aching in the cold. His fingers found them, pinching cruelly, twisting until I gasped, the pain a jolt that made my cock twitch despite my rage.
“Fuck, her tits are fucking perfect,” Torvald muttered, his voice low, his hands squeezing my breasts, his thumbs flicking my nipples, each touch a spark of pain and pleasure. He leaned in, his lips brushing my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, a sharp nip that made me flinch. “Let’s see how she takes two,” he said, his smirk widening. He positioned himself beneath me, his cock pressing against my already stretched hole alongside Bjorn’s, the curved tip probing, seeking entry.
“No, you fucking bastard,” I snarled, my voice raw, my hazel eyes watering, my thighs trembling as I tried to twist away. But Torvald ignored me, spitting on his hand, slicking his cock, and pushed in, the double penetration a searing agony that tore a scream from my throat. My asshole burned, stretched impossibly wide by both cocks, their lengths grinding together inside me, filling me to the breaking point. I cried out, my voice echoing in the forest, my bound hands clawing at the rope, my muscular thighs quivering as they forced my body to accommodate them.
Torvald’s hands roamed my breasts, squeezing, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, his thumbs circling my nipples, teasing them into painful peaks. “Fuck, she’s taking it,” he grunted, his hips thrusting upward, his curved cock hitting my prostate with each movement, sending sparks of unwanted pleasure through the pain. Bjorn kept pounding from behind, his hands spanking my ass, each slap a fiery sting that made my cheeks burn, my skin red and raw. “Take it, you fucking whore,” he growled, his thrusts relentless, his cock grinding deep, the friction unbearable yet igniting a dark heat within me. My cock leaked steadily, precum dripping onto the snow, my balls tight and aching, the curse’s power twisting my pain into something potent, something dangerous.
Bjorn pulled out suddenly, his cock slick with my body’s reluctant response, and Torvald shifted, flipping me onto my back in the snow, the cold biting my skin, my bound hands pinned above my head by the rope still tied to the tree. My legs were forced apart, my muscular thighs quivering, the scars on them stark against my sun-kissed skin. Torvald knelt between my legs, his curved cock pressing against my sore hole, and thrust in, the stretch less intense but still painful, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring my discomfort. “Fuck, look at her,” he said, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading them wider, his cock grinding against my prostate, each thrust a calculated assault.
Bjorn stood over me, his thick cock in hand, stroking himself as he watched. He knelt beside me, his hand grabbing my cock, stroking roughly, his fingers squeezing my balls, the pain sharp and overwhelming. “Let’s see how much she can take,” he said, his voice a low growl. He leaned down, his lips capturing my nipple, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, making me gasp, my back arching involuntarily. His other hand slapped my ass, the sting sharp, my cheeks burning as he alternated between spanking and groping, his fingers digging into my flesh.
The two scarred men took their turns next, their faces cruel and pockmarked, their eyes dark with lust. The first, his face scarred with old wounds, pushed Torvald aside and knelt between my legs, his cock shorter, maybe six inches, but thick, its girth stretching me as he rammed it into my ass without warning. I gasped, my hazel eyes watering, my full lips parted in a silent cry as he fucked me, his hands pinning my shoulders, his weight heavy against me. “Fucking take it, shieldmaiden,” he grunted, his breath hot against my face, his cock grinding deep, hitting my prostate with each brutal thrust. His hands roamed my breasts, squeezing, his fingers twisting my nipples, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the pleasure I couldn’t suppress.
He shifted, pulling me onto my side, one leg lifted over his shoulder, my ass exposed as he thrust deeper, his cock filling me, cum from the others leaking out with each movement. His hand slapped my ass, the sting sharp, and he groped my breasts, his fingers rough, leaving bruises on my skin. “Such a tight fucking hole,” he mocked, his hips snapping, his cock stretching me further, my body trembling under the assault.
The second scarred man, his hair a greasy black, his face sneering, took his turn, kneeling beside me as the first continued to fuck my ass. His cock was longer, maybe seven inches, and he grabbed my head, forcing my lips around it. “Suck it, bitch,” he snarled, his hands tangling in my braids, pulling hard as he thrust into my mouth, the taste musky and bitter. His cock hit the back of my throat, making me gag, saliva dripping down my chin, my lips stretched wide. He fucked my mouth in rhythm with the first man’s thrusts in my ass, their movements synchronized, a brutal dance that left me gasping, my hazel eyes watering, my cock leaking despite my rage.
They shifted again, the first man pulling out, his cock slick with cum, and the second taking his place, flipping me onto my stomach, my face pressed into the snow, my bound hands straining against the rope. He spread my cheeks, his long cock thrusting into my ass, the stretch painful but familiar now, his hips slamming against me, his hands spanking my ass, each slap a fiery sting. “Fuck, she’s still tight,” he grunted, his cock grinding deep, hitting spots that made me shudder, my body betraying me with every thrust. His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging into my flesh, bruising the soft curve where my waist flared.
The youngest, Leif, hesitated, his boyish face pale, his brown eyes wide with guilt, his frame slighter than the others, barely twenty. “I don’t—” he started, his voice trembling, but Bjorn shoved him forward, his blue eyes cold. “Do it, whelp, or you’re next,” he growled. Leif’s cock was average, about six inches, and he knelt before me, his hands shaking as he spread my legs, my ass sore and slick from the others. He took me missionary-style, his thrusts tentative, almost gentle, a cruel mockery of intimacy that cut deeper than the others’ brutality. His hands rested lightly on my thighs, his touch hesitant, his eyes avoiding mine as he fucked me, his cock sliding in and out, the rhythm slow but steady, my body responding despite my will.
He shifted, pulling me onto his lap, my legs straddling his hips, my bound hands forcing my back to arch, my breasts bouncing with each movement. His hands grazed my nipples, his touch soft, almost apologetic, but the sensation was overwhelming, my body raw from the others’ assault. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking, but he didn’t stop, his cock grinding against my prostate, my cock leaking, my balls aching as he fucked me, the contrast of his gentleness a torment in itself.
Through it all, Ragnar watched, his axe resting on his shoulder, his dark eyes gleaming with sadistic triumph, his bear-pelt tunic shifting as he adjusted his stance, his own cock hard in his trousers, a visible bulge. “Break her,” he said, his voice cold, a command that fueled my rage. The pendant burned hotter, its glow now blinding, a beacon in the darkness. My rage surged, a fire that consumed the pain, the curse’s power flooding me, my sinewy arms flexing as the ropes snapped, the strength unnatural, unstoppable. Leif’s cock was still in my ass, but I twisted, my fist slamming into his jaw, the crack loud in the silence. He staggered, blood trickling from his mouth, and I grabbed my fallen sword, the blade singing as it cleaved through Bjorn’s chest, blood spraying across the snow, staining my crimson cloak.
The others lunged, but I was a whirlwind, my braids whipping, my cloak flaring like a blood-red storm. Torvald’s throat opened in a spray of blood, his green eyes wide with shock as he fell. The scarred men charged, their axes raised, but I was faster, my sword slicing through one’s arm, then the other’s chest, their screams cut short as they collapsed. Leif dropped to his knees, his hands raised, tears streaming down his boyish face. “Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his brown eyes pleading. “I didn’t want this.”
I spared him, my blade hovering above his neck, my chest heaving, my breasts still exposed, their curves bruised and aching, my cock and balls dangling in the cold, slick with sweat and cum. “Get up,” I growled, my full lips curling into a snarl, my hazel eyes burning with resolve. “Run, or I’ll gut you.” He scrambled to his feet, stumbling into the trees, his footsteps fading into the night, his sobs a faint echo.
Ragnar was gone, fled like a coward into the snowy wilderness. The pendant pulsed, its curse clear now: each violation fueled my strength, but at a cost I couldn’t yet fathom, a cycle of pain and power that bound me. I stood, blood and snow clinging to my skin, my hazel eyes blazing, my body raw but unbroken. My ass throbbed, my thighs trembled, but I would find him. I would end this.
* * *
My breath fogged in the frigid air, blood and snow clinging to my sun-kissed skin, the pendant’s glow a faint beacon against my bruised chest. My crimson cloak hung in tatters, the bronze raven clasp barely holding it together, my breasts still exposed, their full curves marked with red welts from the assault. My cock and balls dangled in the cold, tender and slick with sweat, my muscular thighs trembling from exertion and pain, the scars on them stark against the pale snow. My ass throbbed, raw from Bjorn, Torvald, and the others, each thrust a wound that fueled the curse’s power. My golden braids, loosened and tangled, whipped across my oval face, stray strands sticking to my high cheekbones, my hazel eyes blazing with a fire that refused to be quenched. I was Liv, shieldmaiden of Clan Stormfang, and Ragnar’s betrayal would not break me.
I salvaged what remained of my armor, my fingers trembling as I strapped the dented blackened steel breastplate back on, its Norse runes pressing against my bruised breasts, the weight grounding me. My leather skirt was shredded, barely covering my rounded hips, but I tied it in place with a torn strip of cloth, my narrow waist accentuated by the effort. My reinforced boots, scuffed and crusted with snow, carried me forward as I tracked Ragnar’s trail, my long legs moving with purpose, my firm ass shifting with each step. The pendant’s heat pulsed against my chest, its curse a double-edged blade—strength born of violation, a power I both craved and feared. My full lips set in a resolute line, my softly rounded chin lifted, I followed the trail north, the seer’s warning echoing in my mind: it demands a price.
Valthor’s wilderness was a brutal expanse, its pine forests dense and foreboding, their branches sagging under heavy snow. The mountains loomed like silent sentinels, their peaks shrouded in mist, the air growing colder with each step. My crimson cloak billowed behind me, a blood-red banner against the white landscape, its frayed edges snapping in the wind. My golden braids, heavy with leather cords, swung against my back, stray strands whipping across my face, clinging to my high cheekbones. The cold bit at my exposed skin, my nipples still hard beneath my armor, my cock and balls aching in the chill. I hunted small game to survive, my sinewy arms wielding a makeshift spear carved from a broken branch, my narrow waist twisting as I struck a hare, its blood staining the snow. Each kill was a reminder of my strength, but the pendant’s heat was a constant shadow, its power a chain I couldn’t break.
Days blurred into nights, the trail leading me higher into the mountains. I met a lone traveler at a crossroads, an old woman wrapped in furs, her face weathered like the cliffs, her eyes sharp with wisdom. “The shieldmaiden lives,” she said, her voice cracked but reverent, her gnarled hands clutching a staff. “They say you felled four of Ragnar’s best, girl.” Her gaze lingered on my armor, my battered shield, the wolf emblem scratched but proud.
“Where’s Ragnar?” I asked, my voice low, my hazel eyes sharp, my full lips barely moving. My broad shoulders squared, the fur-lined guards bristling as I shifted my weight, my hips swaying slightly.
“North,” she said, pointing a bony finger toward the cliffs. “He’s holed up in a frost giant stronghold, allied with their chieftain. A place carved from ice, guarded by monsters.” Her eyes flicked to the pendant, narrowing. “Beware that thing, shieldmaiden. Its power ain’t free.”
I nodded, my jaw tightening, my softly rounded chin lifting. “I’ll pay what I must,” I said, my voice firm, though the pendant’s warmth burned hotter, as if answering her warning. I moved on, my boots crunching through the snow, my long legs carrying me toward the stronghold, the curse’s pulse urging me forward like a heartbeat.
The trail ended at a fortress carved into ice-crusted cliffs, its walls towering and unyielding, glinting with a cold, unnatural sheen. The frost giants’ presence was heavy, their massive footprints scarring the snow, deep enough to swallow my boots. I crouched behind a boulder, my firm ass brushing the cold stone, my muscular thighs tensing as I studied the stronghold. Two giants guarded the gates, their skin like cracked ice, their eyes glowing an eerie blue, their clubs as thick as tree trunks. My hazel eyes narrowed, my full lips pressing into a thin line. I needed a plan, but the pendant pulsed, its heat addictive, whispering for action, for violence.
Slipping through the shadows, I avoided the guards, my boots silent on the snow, my shield strapped to my back, my sword sheathed at my hip. The fortress’s interior was a labyrinth of ice and stone, its walls etched with crude giant runes that pulsed faintly, as if alive with dark magic. The air was thick with the scent of frost and decay, the cold seeping into my bones despite the pendant’s warmth. My breath caught as I heard Ragnar’s voice, deep and commanding, echoing from a central chamber. I crept closer, my heart pounding, my breasts pressing against my breastplate, their bruised curves aching with each movement, my cock and balls tender beneath my tattered skirt.
Peering through a crack in the wall, I saw Ragnar standing beside a frost giant chieftain, a hulking monster named Gorrim. The giant towered at least ten feet, his frame broad and muscled, his skin shimmering with frost, veins of ice running beneath its surface. His claws were long and jagged, glinting like blades, his eyes twin glaciers, cold and merciless. His loincloth, a crude wrap of hides, did little to hide the massive bulge beneath, a promise of brutality that made my balls tighten instinctively. Ragnar, in his bear-pelt tunic, looked small beside him, but his presence was no less commanding, his dark eyes gleaming with ambition. “The shieldmaiden comes,” he said, his voice laced with venom, his hand resting on his axe. “She’s stronger than I thought, but the curse will break her.”
Gorrim’s laugh was a low rumble, like ice cracking under a hammer. “Let her come,” he growled, his voice shaking the chamber, his glacier-blue eyes narrowing. “I’ll crush her, then fuck her into submission.” His words sent a shiver down my spine, my cock twitching despite my fear, the pendant’s glow flaring through my armor, its heat urging me forward.
I couldn’t wait. I stepped into the chamber, my crimson cloak flaring, my helm’s winged design casting shadows on the icy walls. “Ragnar,” I called, my voice steady, my hazel eyes blazing, my full lips curled in defiance. “Your trap failed. Now you face me.”
He turned, his dark eyes widening, then narrowing, his weathered face twisting into a sneer. “You’re a fool, Liv,” he said, his voice cold, his hand tightening on his axe. He gestured to Gorrim, his smile sharp. “Meet your end.”
Gorrim moved faster than I expected, his massive frame a blur, his claws slashing through the air. I raised my shield, the impact jarring my sinewy arm, my biceps flexing under my vambraces, the wolf emblem snarling as it took the blow. My thighs tensed, my tattered skirt riding up, exposing the scars on my legs as I dodged, my golden braids whipping across my face. Gorrim’s strength was overwhelming, each blow driving me back, my boots slipping on the icy floor. I spun, my sword slashing at his thigh, but the blade barely scratched his icy skin, sparking against its surface. He roared, a sound that shook the chamber, and grabbed me by the waist, his claws digging into my flesh, lifting me like I weighed nothing.
His strength was monstrous, his grip crushing, my narrow waist straining as I struggled. His claws tore at my breastplate, ripping it free, the blackened steel clattering to the icy floor, leaving my chest exposed. My linen shift was next, shredded in an instant, my full breasts bouncing free, their curves bruised but firm, my rosy nipples hardening in the frigid air. Gorrim’s glacier-blue eyes gleamed with lust, his massive hand groping my chest, his thumb brushing my nipple, sending a jolt of pain through me that made my cock twitch beneath my skirt. “Pretty thing,” he growled, his voice thick, his claws trailing down my side, leaving red marks on my sun-kissed skin.
He pinned me against the frozen wall, my back scraping the ice, the cold burning my skin like fire. My crimson cloak fell away, pooling at my feet, the bronze raven clasp glinting in the dim light. His claws ripped my skirt off, the leather tearing with a sharp sound, exposing my cock and balls, my modest shaft twitching despite my fear, my balls tightening in the cold. “What’s this?” Gorrim rumbled, his massive hand wrapping around my cock, stroking roughly, his grip tight and unyielding, his surprise evident in the narrowing of his eyes. He didn’t pause, his fingers squeezing until I gasped, my hazel eyes watering, my high cheekbones flushed with rage and shame.
“Fuck you,” I spat, my voice raw, my full lips trembling, but he laughed, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through the chamber. His other hand pinned my shoulders, my muscular calves straining as I kicked, my boots scraping the ice, my long legs flailing uselessly. He tore his loincloth away, revealing a cock that made my breath catch—easily twelve inches, thick as my forearm, veined and pulsing with unnatural heat despite his icy nature. The head was broad, glistening with precum, a weapon that promised pain and dominance.
He lifted me, my thighs forced apart, my firm ass pressed against the ice, the cold searing my skin. “No, you bastard,” I growled, my hazel eyes blazing, but he ignored me, his cock pressing against my asshole, the blunt tip unrelenting. The pendant glowed brighter, its heat flooding my veins, but it couldn’t stop the pain as he thrust, stretching me wide, the intrusion a burning agony that tore a scream from my throat. My voice echoed in the chamber, raw and desperate, my hole burning as he filled me, his massive cock grinding against my prostate, each movement a brutal mix of pain and unwanted pleasure. My cock leaked, a steady drip of precum, my balls aching as he fucked me standing, my legs dangling, my back scraping the ice with each thrust.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” Gorrim snarled, his claws digging into my hips, drawing blood, the pain sharp and grounding. His cock pounded me, relentless, filling me to the breaking point, cum leaking from his tip, slicking my insides. My thighs trembled, my muscular legs straining as I tried to find purchase, my boots slipping on the icy floor. He shifted, pulling me down onto him, my thighs wrapping around his massive waist, my scarred legs locking around him in a desperate bid to stabilize myself. My breasts bounced with each thrust, their full curves swaying, my nipples grazed by his rough hands, each touch a spark of pain that made me gasp, my full lips parted, my hazel eyes watering.
He leaned in, his icy breath hot against my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, a sharp nip that drew a bead of blood. “You like this, don’t you, shieldmaiden?” he taunted, his voice a low growl, his cock driving deeper, stretching my ass impossibly wide. I shook my head, my braids whipping, but my body betrayed me, my cock throbbing, precum dripping onto his thigh. His hand found my cock again, stroking roughly, his fingers squeezing my balls, the pain sharp and overwhelming, making me cry out, my voice hoarse.
He shifted again, spinning me around, my face pressed against the icy wall, my breasts crushed against the cold surface, my nipples aching as they scraped the rough ice. He spread my cheeks, his claws digging into my firm ass, and thrust into me from behind, his cock filling me once more, the angle deeper, hitting my prostate with brutal precision. “Fuck, take it,” he growled, his hips slamming against me, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing in the chamber. His hand slapped my ass, the sting fiery, my cheeks burning as he alternated between spanking and groping, his fingers digging into my flesh, bruising the soft curve where my hips flared.
I gasped, my full lips trembling, my hazel eyes watering as he fucked me, his cock relentless, each thrust a mix of agony and dark pleasure. My cock bounced, leaking steadily, my balls tight and aching, the pendant’s glow blinding now, its heat flooding my veins. He shifted again, pulling me onto my knees, my face still pressed against the ice, my ass raised high. He knelt behind me, his cock thrusting deep, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me back onto him with each movement. “Such a tight fucking hole,” he grunted, his claws raking my thighs, leaving red marks on my scarred skin. His other hand found my nipple, pinching cruelly, twisting until I cried out, the pain a jolt that made my cock throb.
He pulled out briefly, his cock slick with cum and my body’s reluctant response, and flipped me onto my back, the icy floor biting my skin, my hands pinned above my head. My legs were forced apart, my muscular thighs quivering, the scars on them stark against my sun-kissed skin. He knelt between my legs, his massive cock pressing against my sore hole, and thrust in, the stretch less intense but still painful, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring my discomfort. “Look at you, fucking taking it,” he said, his glacier-blue eyes gleaming, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading them wider, his cock grinding against my prostate, each thrust a calculated assault.
His hand found my cock again, stroking roughly, his fingers squeezing my balls, the pain sharp and overwhelming. He leaned down, his lips capturing my nipple, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, making me gasp, my back arching involuntarily. His other hand slapped my ass, the sting sharp, my cheeks burning as he alternated between spanking and groping, his fingers digging into my flesh. “You’re mine, shieldmaiden,” he growled, his cock pounding me, filling me with each thrust, cum leaking from his tip, my ass stretched to its limit.
Ragnar stepped closer, his own cock hard in his trousers, a visible bulge under his bear-pelt tunic, his dark eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Break her, Gorrim,” he said, his voice cold, his axe resting on his shoulder. But I felt the pendant’s power surging, my rage building, a fire that consumed the pain. I clawed at Gorrim’s arm, my nails drawing blue blood, the pain fueling my strength. He roared, slamming me harder against the floor, his cock driving deeper, my ass burning, my body trembling. The curse took hold, pain turning to power, and I twisted, my legs locking around him, my strength surging. With a cry, I snapped his arm, the bone cracking like ice, a sharp sound that echoed in the chamber. He howled, dropping me, his massive frame staggering back.
I landed in a crouch, my thighs quivering, my cock dripping, my sword in my hand in an instant. My braids flew, my naked body slick with sweat and cum, my breasts heaving, their bruised curves glistening in the dim light. I lunged at Ragnar, my hazel eyes blazing, my full lips curled in a snarl. He met me with his axe, the clash ringing out, his skill matching my fury. I ducked his swing, my narrow waist twisting, my long legs propelling me forward. My sword drove into his chest, the blade sinking deep, blood bubbling from his lips as he gasped, his dark eyes wide with shock. He fell, his massive frame crumpling, his axe clattering to the ice.
Gorrim roared, charging, his broken arm dangling, but the clans burst into the chamber, rallied by the travelers’ tales, their war cries echoing like thunder. They fell upon the giant, spears and axes flashing, their furs and armor a blur of motion. Sigrid led them, her shaved head gleaming, her spear piercing Gorrim’s thigh, blue blood spraying. Ulf followed, his axe cleaving into the giant’s side, his gruff laugh a stark contrast to the chaos. I stood over Ragnar’s body, my chest heaving, my hazel eyes burning with triumph, my body raw but unbroken. The frost giants retreated, their chieftain’s death a blow they couldn’t withstand, their roars fading into the distance.
The seer appeared as the battle ended, her hooded figure gliding through the chaos, her presence a shadow in the flickering torchlight. “The pendant’s power saved you,” she said, her voice soft but heavy, her eyes hidden but piercing. “But it will demand more. More pain. More submission.” Her words hung in the air, a weight as heavy as the pendant itself.
I touched the Thor’s hammer pendant, its glow fading but its weight eternal, pressing against my bruised chest. My body ached, my ass sore, my cock and balls tender from Gorrim’s assault, my breasts marked with bruises, their curves rising and falling with my ragged breaths. I was a leader now, the clans chanting my name, their voices echoing in the chamber, but the curse was my shadow, a chain I couldn’t break.
“I’ll master it,” I said, my voice firm, my full lips set in a resolute line, my hazel eyes steady despite the pain. “I’ll make it mine.”
She nodded, her hooded figure vanishing into the snow, her footsteps silent. I turned to the clans, my crimson cloak reclaimed, its tattered edges draping over my shoulders, my armor battered but whole. My golden braids swung, my high cheekbones flushed with triumph, my softly rounded chin lifted. My legend was sealed, but the pendant’s price loomed, a dark promise of battles yet to come. I was Liv, shieldmaiden of Valthor, and my story was far from over.
Copyright © 2025 LilMissNusrat. All rights reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment