SHELDON AT SOLSTICE

Feature Writer: RacyAndAwkward

Feature Title: Sheldon At Solstice

Published: 03.01.2023

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: Gryla, the legendary Yule troll, covets Sheldon’s latkes

Sheldon At Solstice

CHAPTER ONE

December 10, 2022, Earth-reconciled time

Yub-Shnagshoroth perched on a frosty ledge beneath a vast, dark sky filled with glowing green curtains. But not really.

The Astronomer had finished taking notes on his regular scrying, and now saw fit to pass some time in the Halfway Room. Here, he could visualize anything and everything his instruments and personal logs had recorded; but just as importantly, he could go anywhere he wished in the mortal dimension, with the caveat that he was out of phase. His surrounding environment would not be entirely solid to him, nor he to it. Still, it was the closest he could usually come to being back on planet Earth. And he cherished it.

Out there, on the frigid island of Spitsbergen, Svalbard, it was deep into the polar night, a season of darkness lasting nearly four months. Overhead, the soft carpet of a billion stars felt almost as vast as it truly was. Off to the north where he was presently looking, the aurora borealis danced slowly. He’d seen it only once during his captivity on the island of Hokkaido, but since returning to the Yokai ergosphere it had become one of his favorite things to spy upon. And there was scarcely a better place from which to spy than Svalbard.

On this particular evening, however, the near dead emptiness of his favored hilltop vantage was broken by a familiar presence. He’d felt it once before, in 1922, at this same time of year. It was … frankly, a soiled kind of presence.

He wasn’t entirely sure until he felt the half-solid ground quiver beneath his leather bench. Then he knew.

“Hallo again, my lady. I suppose I know what it is you want.”

2:00 pm, December 21, 2022

For Ithaca, NY, the night of the twentieth had been a disgusting mess of lake effect snow, amplified by a polar vortex. By early afternoon of the twenty-first, the three or so feet of snow had finished falling. The sun was out, and the day was just about warm enough to start to melt the snow before sundown. Which, of course, only made shoveling that much more essential, and that much more arduous.

Josefina Torres, my long distance girlfriend, was pooped, and was seated on the porch bench having a nice daydream about elves, when a shudder in the boards beneath her feet snapped her out of her reverie.

At first, she could identify no cause. Then she saw it in her peripheral vision. Something moving, far down the driveway, though when she turned to look in that direction it was too obscured by snowfall to make out.

Gradually the something drew closer, until it had a clear outline. Bipedal, roughly human-shaped, and enormous. Then she could make out that they had hair, albeit grossly unkempt, and clothes, however atrocious and ragged. And as tall as they seemed to be, they’d have been taller still were it not for an extreme case of hunchback. This was a monster alright.

Somehow unsurprisingly, they were moving with a purpose toward Steinmetz Farm.

“Shit,” Jo said under her breath.

She cupped her mouth in the general direction of the door and hollered, “Sheldon?!”

I didn’t hear her over the hum of the kitchen hood; when I came running soon after, it was because by then, the whole house was shuddering.

Turning back to the driveway, she saw that the hulking, troll-like creature was now coming up on my pickup truck. She gasped. They were over eight feet, probably closer to nine.

And a woman, unless Josefina missed her guess.

She folded her arms and made her best resting bitch-face.

“What business do you have here, monster?”

The giantess’s eyes went wide; they were far more expressive than one might expect from such a creature. She looked vaguely affronted. In answer, she reached into a leather satchel hanging from one massive wrist, and produced a sealed Pyrex dish full of baked goods. She smiled, evidently pleased with herself. And then, in a voice that was at once cheerful, and like a chorus of snarling hounds, she said,

“Is this not the huset of Herr Sheldon? I bring julekake and skolebrød, fur studen.”

It all looked and sounded delicious. But Josefina didn’t let up.

“That’s kind of you, I’m sure, whatever it is you’re trying to teach. But listen up Frau Farbissina. As Herr Steinmetz’s girlfriend, I’d know if we were expecting company. This farm is a sanctuary for troubled monsters, not a Shell station for every swamp thing with blue balls. We have a Google Calendar for chrissakes! I’ll ask if he can make some space on Monday, but Hanukkah is my time to get demon dick …”

She stopped talking when she saw the giantess’s expression change. Suddenly, she didn’t look so deferential. She looked like Kali, contemplating some smiting.

“No one defies Grýla,” she growled softly.

Just then, the screen door flew open and I stuck my head out into that shit storm. The apron strapped to my chest declared, “Shtup the Cook.”

“Did I hear my na — oh holy sh — hello there! I’m Sheldon! Did, uh, did The Astronomer possibly send you?”

I felt immediately sheepish. Josefina, as expected, was rolling her eyes. But at least the visitor’s scowl vanished.

“Ja! Yub-Shnagshoroth told me that this year, I might spend the first night of Yule with Herr Sheldon. You know, in lieu of murdering a score of innocent families in some remote village to replenish myself for the next century?”

Damn that ass-faced manipulator, I did not give my informed consent for this.

But aloud, I said, “First of all, we certainly do appreciate that generous reprieve for humanity, and I’m, uh, I’ll certainly try to help. That said … Yub-Shnagshoroth really didn’t explain the situation properly. I thought I might have just dreamed the whole thing. Like a regular dream, not a ‘visitation from the 10th dimension’ kind of dream.”

I shot Josefina a helpless look; she glowered, shrugged, and finally nodded slightly.

“Alright,” I continued, “Why don’t we … I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“Grýla. Grýla Juletrollet.”

“Well, Grýla, why don’t you come inside and have a seat, and we can sort this out over some hot tea?” I gestured towards the door, then added, “And do watch your head, the ceilings are quite low.”

I was turning to duck back inside when the ground began to shake again, even more violently than before. And I could clearly see the cause: following its master up the driveway was, impossibly but unmistakably, a cat. A house cat the size of a house.

This was certainly fine and dandy and normal.

“Don’t worry,” the monster said with a wry smile, “Jolakotturinn can stay out here, he is outdoor pussycat.”

As if in response, Stilgar appeared momentarily beside me, flattened his ears back, hissed loudly, and turned and sprinted back down the hall. A bemused Grýla ducked through the doorway after him. Josefina and I just gazed blankly at each other for a moment.

“What did I get myself into this time,” I said softly.

“That’s my line, Squiddy.”

CHAPTER TWO

Half an hour, a tea and a whisky later, we were all warming ourselves by the fire. Out of an abundance of caution, Grýla was seated on the floor rather than the couch, leaned up against the wall, a short stack of pillows compressing itself into diamond crystal beneath her mighty ass. I was licking my finger approvingly after tasting some julekake.

While it was absolutely true that she had the smell of a troglodyte, what Jo and I had initially taken for a near-dead ensemble of ratty clothes was in fact a heavy coat, and snow-pants with an abundance of patches. Unbound from these, Grýla seemed … maybe not more aesthetic, but certainly more comfortable and friendly, maybe even a bit flirty.

“A Yule monster?” I repeated, “Kind of like Krampus?”

“No,” she said testily, “I mean yes, but no. He works with the Christians, though they have a testy relationship. I don’t. Also, I hate him. He’s a drunken ass, and when he’s not terrorizing kids, he’s the most useless creature on this Earth … save perhaps my husband, Leppaludi.”

As she said this, Josefina emerged from the kitchen with a plate of homemade petit fours — and yes, I am aware how lucky I am to have found a mate who not only tolerates my absurd life, not only treats me like a prince, not only sucks my soul out in the bedroom, she can fucking bake!–and took her place on the couch beside me, after handing a tiny lemon cake to Grýla, who stared at it in bemusement.

It had officially become one of those holiday parties where all the guests bring baked goods and no one brings a main. Fortunately, I always planned to feed an army on Chanukah. If only because it meant leftovers for a week.

“Ah, delicious. Your Josefina is a keeper, you do know that, right?”

I grinned from ear to ear.

“Definitely.”

The troll smiled absently.

“I can see it in your eyes, you truly love each other. Much like my Leppaludi when we first met. Alas, things change … and if all you have is love, it isn’t much.”

She then turned to my sweetheart and asked, absolutely deadpan.

“Tell me, dear, is Herr Sheldon as good to you as you are to him? Does he make himself useful in the kitchen? Does he steke your kotelettene properly in bed?”

Josefina is a hell of a woman, and we’d been through a lot in the ten months or so we’d been a couple. But damn if her cheeks didn’t flush nearly to the color of a shoggoth’s skin, being put on the spot like that. Hell, I blushed a bit myself.

“First of all,” I cut in, “If you want to know how well I cook, you can judge for yourself. Just as soon as dinner” — and just then, I heard the beep — “Ah, perfect timing.”

As the scale of our celebrations had increased over the years, I’d given up some years back on frying latkes fresh on demand for multiple nights. Instead I’d make one giant batch of slightly under-cooked pancakes a couple nights before Hanukkah, using as much as ten pounds of potatoes and half a dozen eggs, and stash them on the hastily emptied bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Thus I was freed from my station in front of the stove. So long as we didn’t unexpectedly run out, which we never did, I could take out latkes a dozen at a time, finish them in the convection oven, and throw them on a platter with a big mound of labneh or tofutti.

I continued talking from the kitchen, hoping to keep the giantess occupied.

“Not to brag, but you’re in for a treat. This is the old Steinmetz family recipe. Do you want some salmon roe, Grýla?”

“Ja.”

“Alright, that’ll be just another moment here … done.”

I returned bearing two plates of six pancakes each, one topped with mounds of red caviar for her, one with just the labneh and scallions for us. As is my custom, I stood by eagerly and watched her bite into one like a complete geek. The satisfying crunch resonated loudly in her big mouth; I winced a bit as her lips smacked and her tongue audibly worked within.

She grunted approvingly, and I felt it vibrating in my chest.

“Deilige! I can only compare it to the raggmunk the Swedes make, but this is a hundred times better.”

Josefina and I exchanged relieved glances. We certainly hadn’t planned on a house–guest of the monstrous type, but it was going about as swimmingly as anyone could hope.

“Takk,” I said, literally the only word of Norwegian I knew, “You should know, two things we Jewish men take very seriously are food … and pleasing our women. And speaking of that, I have a few questions.”

It was a messy situation anyway you looked at it, and Grýla’s answers weren’t exactly to our liking. But we reached a compromise. She and I would spend the night down in the living room, where we piled up two spare mattresses. My pal Misha Betzalel, who was also queerplatonic cuddle buddies with Jo and one of the handful of people who knew our secrets, was fortuitously available. Or he was once he dropped everything.

In his words, “This is far too fucked up, I can’t in good conscience not come over and involve myself.”

As to the program of activities, Grýla claimed no particular interest in cuddling or anything else extraneous. But she was insistent that I be available to her all through this, the year’s longest night, from sundown (about four-fifteen in the afternoon less than two hours from now) to sunrise (about seven-fifteen in the morning). And she couldn’t make any promises I would be unharmed, yet another thing I could reluctantly accept as a demi-demon.

I accepted a lot because of my particular duties as the primary human representative of Morai-sa, the enclave of extra-dimensional demons who had turned me into what I am. It was an important role that I was glad to be able to serve. But it often felt like an unpaid second job; specifically, prostitution. I say this not to convey lack of honor or dignity or validity. Sex work is real work. I say it because, like actual sex work, being a fuckdemon is difficult and often thankless. It takes focus, skill, compassion, and a certain set of people skills that I’ve honestly been making up as I go.

At about three-ten in the afternoon, I ushered our guest to the barn out back, which had a veterinary room where she could safely and privately wash herself off. Josefina got a fire going. At three-fifty in the afternoon, Misha arrived. We three humans went up to the master bedroom. I made sure they’d have everything they needed for the night, and also a way to get through to me if they needed a clear path to the kitchen or exit. At four-ten in the afternoon, I hugged and kissed my girlfriend.

“So, um. Good night, my love. I’m sorry we have to be apart. It isn’t fair to you, but …” I just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about that now, sweetie,” she replied, her eyes scrunched up in a sunny grin, “We have the white noise machine. Just remember: look smart, be kind, and be careful. That witch weighs like four times what I weigh, she could fucking crush you.”

Past times, I’d have argued this, and reminded her of how much sketchy shit I’d already survived by the time I ascended to half-demon, or how much abuse a demon body could take and still heal in moments. But I knew that would be specious and unhelpful. So instead, as I dug quickly through the closet for a shirt, I simply said this:

“I promise I’ll be very careful, love. And in the morning, I’m going to take a very thorough shower, so that I can get right back to snuggling you.”

I took a deep breath, cleared my thoughts, and slowly descended to the living room. Grýla was there, lying on her side, with the oversized yet too-small bathrobe still on. It had fallen away from one side to expose most of her right breast, along with her right leg and a bit of her hip. It all honestly looked not bad for her stocky build and inestimable age.

Seeing her in such a humanizing light, I had to re-evaluate a bit. She was still a wrinkled old woman with a hunchback and a misshapen nose, sure. But also: her lips were ample. Her pose, slightly vulnerable. Those big expressive eyes betrayed a gnawing absence, like the Hunger I knew all too well. And behind them, I sensed a mind that was utterly trained on my person, and on the rare treat of a night spent sober, awake, giving and receiving pleasure. In short, a giantess cougar.

I smiled warmly, gently, almost stupidly.

“Hey,” I asked, “do I have a few minutes? I’d like to brew some coffee, so it’s there when I need it later. You asked for a full night. So unless we collapse first from exhaustion, that’s what you’re gonna get.”

CHAPTER THREE

Chanukah celebrates a Jewish military victory, but more importantly, our resistance to cultural obliteration. In modern times, it brings many of us joy to gather with goyishe friends and share in each other’s wintertime festivities. That being said — it was surreal and vexing to be imposed upon by someone akin to Grandfather Frost or Santa. Josefina and I had had these eight days set aside for each other all year. The resentment was still bubbling up in quiet moments like this one. I acknowledged it. Then let it go.

I hazarded the small extravagance of using my demonic energy to boil water for coffee, and set to work grinding and measuring beans for the French press.

“I’m curious,” I called back to the living room, “How much did ol’ Assface tell you about me?”

“What’s to tell?” she replied, “He said you were handsome, good in bed, and nearly indestructible. All good qualities in a man.”

As much as I knew how Yub-Shnagshoroth knew things — that scrying bowl, the one he used to keep tabs on Earth’s timeline — I still couldn’t get over the casual confidence with which he asserted things, sight unseen. For example my being good in bed.

“Not untrue,” I said as I filled the chamber with water heated to a precise eighty-eight degree centigrade, “But there’s something else you should probably know. I’m a shapeshifter. And while I am a man, I wasn’t born with the same parts your Leppaludi might have. Do you … understand what I mean?”

“Yes,” said Grýla, rather flatly, “You’re like that scoundrel Loki. You can choose to have a kuk or a fitte.”

“Um. Basically, yes.” I finished pressing and set aside the rig to rinse out later.

When I came back in, the giantess had a raptor’s smile and her tits fully out. I definitely felt something stirring in me.

“You have something else that’s far more important to me than your face or your kuk. You have nerve. Most humans would see my body and run screaming. You’re standing there looking right at me, with interest.”

I chuckled to myself as I approached her and got down onto my knees at the edge of the mattress.

“Didn’t he tell you? That was the very first qualification: I fuck monsters. In fact.”

And here a quartet of rubbery brown octopus arms erupted from the white button-down, ripping it to pieces and sending a half dozen wooden buttons skittering across the room.

“As a demi-shoggoth, fucking other monsters is a special treat.”

It was a power move, one that Josefina had suggested I lead with when I wanted to make a dramatic impression. I’d set aside a little fund for new linen. Every so often, she and I would gather the salvaged buttons, bust out Bubbe’s old Singer, and make some new shirts.

“You see — oh, can you sit up just a little?”

I reached out two of those long sucker-clad arms, and slid them under Grýla’s rolls of flesh, simultaneously tipping up her chin slightly with my human left hand.

“— with humans, I’m usually holding back.”

Our faces were rather mismatched in size, so I planted my kiss square in the middle of her lower lip. French was out of the question; I just let it linger, while my finger ran slowly down her neck and onto her shoulder.

Our faces only inches apart, she nearly whispered her reply, “No need for that.”

I got a grip on her hair, and tipped her head the rest of the way back so I could neck her. Ah, yes, there you are. I felt her across the empathic skin-to-skin connection, albeit faintly. A curious presence. Hunger mingled with little drips of relief.

Her skin was tough, but her nerves, sensitive. Silently she mouthed the word, “Ja,” repeatedly as I trailed kisses and bites down to her collarbone, then her left breast.

As I crouched there straddling her torso, fondling her, I felt a sudden bulge in my boxer briefs. The space dick, as I called my demonmade cock, would sometimes appear on instinct. But this one was extra-large. I had to wrest it free before it needlessly destroyed another article of clothing.

Grýla, a bit startled, reached out with calloused fingers to get a better feel for what was poking her belly. She seemed not to believe her senses.

“Faen. You really are a monster.”

She reached out to gather her enormous tits, which were trying to slip under me or sag onto the mattress, and pressed them forward and together.

“Of course,” she continued, “It’s what you do with it.

And Leppaludi does nothing, all day and all night. You ever stick your pikk in a pair of pupps?”

“Not on this scale.”

I smiled despite myself at the absurdity of it all as I produced a tentacle pod, and wrung out lubricating slime that splashed over her tits and ran down her cleavage.

It ran off onto her neck, down the sides of her belly, and onto my crotch while I shimmied into position. With long, unhurried strokes, I stuffed myself between the giantess’s breasts while she shut her eyes beatifically. The caress of her soft skin had my full attention at first. Then, I spared a thought to send one of my sucker-clad arms down her pants to graze her bits. Rubbing there yielded the first of several surprises that night: a seductive melody of pleasured moans and sighs. Pitched, seemingly improvised, flawless, and across at least a two octave range.

I’ll tell you two things about the monsters of Spitzbergen. First, they get freaky in their caves up there, and second they’ve got some serious pipes on them. In singsong, Grýla was absolutely mellifluous.

“Faen,” she cried, “I don’t know what you’re doing to my fitte, but keep doing it.”

As a queer man, I’ll admit, I’ve never taken titfucking all that seriously. I hated having it done to me as a teenager with barely sufficient boobs; I certainly had no grievance when HRT made my chest far too small to bottom the activity. But after Josefina’s recent breast augmentation, I discovered topping it can be goofy fun. With Grýla’s absurd knockers, and me with the extra-large space dick and a tentacle slithering into her cunt, it was doubly absurd and still pretty damn fun.

So when the giantess’s eyes went as wide as a pair of softballs, and she began to cry out in enraptured soprano and dribble wetness from between her legs, I was already rather invested; and I was a bit bummed when she said she needed a few minutes’ intermission.

“Creation,” she said, winded, her voice assuming its usual old-as-the-hills timbre, “I could do that a dozen times. How about you, Blekksprutgutt?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

I was standing over the mattress now, stretching out my limbs.

“It means, ah … Octopus Boy.”

“I love it. Can I grab you some water before we go again?”

We didn’t spend the whole night titfucking, but we went again a couple times, each time trying something slightly different. Me facing away, towards her feet, while she teased my asshole with a wetted fingertip; her looming over me while I sat at the couch, as I treated her to a reacharound with octopus and squid tentacles. When I slid my eager cock against her chest, the tip nearly reached her chin.

Her proportions were such that that didn’t seem quite possible. But she could roll out her tongue like a red carpet to greet it, like nobody I’d ever met, save perhaps my mentor Kaesalpinnix with their bear snout.

Grýla tongue was soft and slick and warm. And it had a little canker-like bump that I could distinctly feel as it grazed my tip, slid past the tender bit of flesh that lovingly recreated circumcision scars of some of my partners, and halfway down the shaft.

Oh, fuck.

I looked into her eyes, which were nearly level with mine despite her kneeling position. They spoke volumes, on top of what I could already feel from her empathically: thrill, delight, and an aching desire to take things further.

“Grýla, I …”

“You want me to suck? I can tell, you’re curious. This maw has swallowed baby seals whole, it is quite tough.”

I grabbed my dick with both hands. Not so much to beat it off as to try and gain control of what it was trying to do. The giantess looked untroubled. Me, not so much.

“You’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you. How much of it could pass my lips before you’re shoving my uvula aside and sliding into my … heh.”

Oh. Oh shit, here we go. She stuck her tongue back out expectantly as the first spasm rippled through me.

“Shit!”

Warm cum, made sticky and briny and masculine by years of HRT, surged through my demon plumbing and erupted. Some of it hit her chin and tongue, some of it plastered the faint bit of peach fuzz above her upper lip, and some of it hit her neck and ran onto her chest. The rest dribbled down my cock and balls and left hand.

Grýla smiled from ear to ear, and she hummed a little ditty in that absurdly melodious singsong voice, as she wiped the jizz around and into her skin.

“This stuff’s marvelous for my wrinkles, you know.”

I somehow doubted my cum was the reason, but actually, after going a few rounds, the giantess did look a bit younger. She was still a tubby nine foot troll with warts. But her skin was a bit more like leather, and a bit less like tree bark. And her head didn’t hunch over quite so low.

“I’m, uh, glad you don’t mind,” I said, “I try to ask folks first if they want it, and where.”

“Relax, my little Blekksprutgutt. You’re doing fine. If I could get my Leppaludi to do a quarter of what you do, I would never leave the mountains. I’d say fuck it, let’s be fat lazy sex pigs together. Let my boys handle Yule by themselves, they’re old enough.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I went to the kitchen to grab my now-cooled coffee. I took a few sips on the couch.

“So,” I asked as I set the mug down on a coaster, “You and he don’t fuck anymore?”

Grýla shrugged and gritted her teeth.

“A few times in a century, nowadays. When I get my taste of outside sex, or bathe in the blood of a dozen children, I come home and … then he’s attracted to me. ‘My dear prune,’ he’ll say, ‘What became of you? You look daisy fresh. Come to me.’ And I let him fuck me, right then and there. I’m not needing it again so soon, but it’s nice to have his full attention. But two hours later, it’s over, and then it’ll be a week before he feels the need. And then a month, a year, a decade, and I dry up and shrivel all over again. And the cycle repeats.”

I reached down to where she was sitting, and stroked her enormous head of hair. I didn’t know how she managed it, but she’d gone into the shower that afternoon looking heavily matted, come out looking decent and mostly detangled, and now, her head was an avalanche of shiny, arrow-straight white and straw-blonde strands.

“That, my mighty spruce tree of a woman, is tragic. If I could summon the dudes from Queer Eye, I’m sure we could fix your situation. But they’re busy defending pink sauce, so fuck it. Assface and I will think of something. Did he tell you about the time we saved the planet?”

That seemed to lift her mood a little.

“Spruce tree, I like that. You can call me your Grantre.”

“Grantre? Okay, sure. Come here, Grantre,” I said, and I let my pants and briefs drop to my ankles, “I would love to see how you suck a cock.”

Which brings us to the second big surprise of the night.

Her eyes had that inscrutable predatory look as she leaned in close, gave the dick a confident stroke or two, pursed her lips and slid it between them. Her mouth was hot and cavernous; save for those powerful lips and tongue, I didn’t feel much, until she had taken half of my length and I brushed against something.

“Oh, that’s nice. What is … that?”

I could feel her swallowing, but it was distinctly inhuman in more ways than just the scale of our body parts. She seemed to have precise control over the throat muscles; I felt them grab onto my cock, tugging at the skin this way and that. She barely moved her head, and my hands were fidgeting idly at my sides; but deep in her mouth it was like a big wet hand jerking me.

I tossed my head back, thinking I might get to enjoy half a minute of this before she came away panting for air. But she just … kept … going.

“Holy fuck,” I said, “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Only now did she lift her head to reply.

“Another human, no way. You? Probably.”

My eyes shut tight with anticipation. I must have looked the very adult version of a kid on Christmas.

“I don’t think I can take much more,” I said, interrupting her as she was sinking down on my cock yet again.

“Then bring it over here,” she said conspiratorially, “Let me swallow it while I finger you.”

She lay back on the mattress, and gestured for me to come straddle her face.

It was a high-difficulty position for a blowjob, one I normally reserved for highly skilled dicksuckers like Josefina, and only at their request. However, as is so often the case in my, “Professional,” life as a Morai-sa representative, human rules had gone out the window. I dropped to my knees, careful not to put weight on her neck; Grýla opened wide; and I turned out my hips, pushing me forward and into her.

I heard, and felt, the giantess fumbling around with something under her woolen skirt. Then I felt the huge finger, slicked up with her own lube, teasing my asshole.

How could anyone last two hours with this woman?

I had to sit still for a couple minutes, half buried in her face, concentrating hard to get my ass to relax. But then I was glad I had. That enormous finger reached up and into me and massaged my little pleasure button. I began to drip, dribble and then drool out a steady stream of thin cum, shivering with arousal.

Her free left hand started smacking my ass, goading me to thrust into her. Once she’d made clear what was expected of me, she went back to jilling off furiously, letting out little moans of ecstasy when a baseline human wouldn’t know how to breathe, much less vocalize, with a dick stuck in there that far.

And as advertised, I could not keep it together. The next time she spanked my ass, I reached out and grabbed two fistfuls of her lovely hair and shoved it in to the hilt, and held it there, hips twitching involuntarily with the undulations of her throat. I let it drag the orgasm out of me. This time it felt as abrupt and pent-up as a shotgun blast.

“Mmmnnnnn!” Grýla intoned, swallowing it all up, overstimulating me further.

“Fuck, shit, oh fuck I can’t take it, it’s too good, please I …” I cried, rather louder than intended.

I stood up awkwardly — which, let’s be honest, there’s no way other than awkwardly to dismount that position. I think cis men who’ve had their ego filled to the bursting point, because domspace is a real and dizzying thing, are too high on life to appreciate the visual ridiculousness of it all. I mean I slid out looking like the saddest little shrinking elephant, my legs rubbery with exhaustion.

My smile was weak but myrthful, and hers was satisfied and strong, as I stumbled over to lie down parallel to her.

“Shit, I don’t know about you but I think I need coffee and a snack. What the hell time is it even?” I checked my smartwatch, “Ten?!”

The giantess frowned.

“We’ve only a little over half the night left.”

I wasn’t immediately sure what to say to that, so I asked myself what Tamaki Suoh would do. A host should always do his best to lift his guest’s spirits.

I gave her a sympathetic look as I reached out to caress her left tit.

“For what it’s worth? I’m having such fun here, I don’t think I could let you go a century without paying me another visit. But we’ll figure that out in the morning. For right now” — and here I reached out a squid tentacle, patting her loudly on the belly with its club, a move shamelessly stolen from the Anomaly — “Tell me what you want to do. Sit on my face? Get fucked? Get podded in all your holes?”

She wrinkled her brow uncertainly at that last option.

“Squid tentacles,” I explained, “You’ll see.”

Grýla considered this carefully.

“Hmmm. My fingren in your raeva felt nice … I can think of some things to try.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Dear reader, it bears repeating that I’ve been to other dimensions, I’ve had all my holes stuffed simultaneously by a horny shoggoth, I’ve been gangbanged by cosmic horrors and I’ve been dominated by a sadistic spider demon. It takes a lot to make me truly nervous nowadays.

But Grýla fit the bill. So when she asked sixty-nine, I made a couple of tweaks.

First, as I lay back on the mattress and propped up my ass with a pillow, I grew myself a couple of extra tracheal stomas out the sides of my neck. It’s important to be able to breathe, should you find yourself with a half-ton monster on top of you. Then I added a little slack to the insides of my bottom holes. Doesn’t matter if you can heal sexual injuries in seconds, they still take you completely out of the passion of the moment.

There was also the minor risk of breaking a rib, or suffocating under her weight, but for that, I could only hope my extra limbs would bear enough of the load.

“But first, me see this body your god gave you,” she said, leaning over me to part the robe and trail her thick fingers down my body.

I’d let the space dick vanish, replaced by my default hardware.

“Ooh! Such manly muscles on my Blekksprutgutt. And down here.”

I shuddered as she brushed against the swollen two inch long T-dick, and continued down my thighs.

“You’re as pretty as a girl!”

I blushed slightly as I pushed my knees apart.

“I’ll take that compliment. Anyway, I can play with it a little — ”

“And deny me a chance to play with fitte? It’s been centuries. You just use your hands to put your legs back.”

I was starting to get tender in my bits after so many rounds of using the space dick, so the moment they felt her tongue’s caress, I was bordering on overstimulation.

“Haaaaaah. Go slow,” I said shakily.

And she did, or at least what counted as slow for a troll at mealtime. She ate it all, clit, cunt and ass, like an animal–using her whole mouth, and with the most feral of noises. I shouldn’t have been entirely surprised if she’d gotten carried away and sunk her big, ragged teeth into my thigh meat. But no. If nothing else, she remembered and respected which kind of meal I was.

I inhaled sharply as she twirled one gnarled finger around between my labia, coating it thoroughly in spit and my own lubricant, and slid it into my cunt.

“Fuuuuck.”

“You want fuck?” she said, between rounds of smacking my T-dick around with her huge tongue, “I’ll show you fuck.”

Her finger slid into me, almost but not quite up to the second knuckle. I’d widened the canal, but I hadn’t made it any longer. This seems to have become my line in the sand. I’ll consider wearing tits for a sex scene, but I won’t pretend to have a normally proportioned clit and vag. These things don’t trigger me anymore. But they aren’t for sex, they are for education and performance art.

“Careful,” I said, stroking their hair affectionately, “It’s very shallow even by human standards.”

The thought occurred to me briefly that this was, to Grýla, about as tiny of a motion as muffing Josefina was to me.

Soon, she had one finger resting calmly inside my cunt, and a second sliding deeply in and out of my ass. Overstimulation of my clit had ceased to be an issue, but now I felt so stuffed it was a wonder I had room to drop my diaphragm to breathe. She was a demanding lover, to be sure. But she topped off my batteries, and then some. Which meant there was no extravagance I couldn’t attempt. I could see myself enjoying a night like that every few years.

“Alright, little Blekksprutgutt. Let’s make this more interesting.”

She slid off of me and shuffled around until she was kneeling, legs spread, cunt and ass nearly in my face.

“I’m read—”

The rest came out as a strangled murmur, reverberating from my other breathing holes. I could feel what must have been a hundred pounds or more pressing down on my face; I couldn’t open my eyes, nor breathe from my mouth and nose at all.

Then the pressure let up a bit, at least sufficient that I could move my tongue around. There was something vaguely sweet and almost … gamey about troll cunt, unexpected but not unpleasant. Sheer proportionality dictated that her clit was about as large as mine, and it slid around quite freely when I batted it back and forth.

“Yes, my dear little manslut.”

Again I felt her damp fingers slide into my holes, but this time with a bit more temerity. I suppose she didn’t want me to get off too soon.

Not that it did much good. I must have had half a dozen little orgasms, with little to no ejaculation, while struggling under constraint of that weight to properly eat her out. But hey, she was clearly appreciating it. She began to rock back and forth, slowly and steadily at first, but increasingly in sharp little pumps of her hips. So, too, increased the fervor of her singsong, and the force with which she fingered my asshole.

“Naughty man, naughty man,” she began to say as she tipped my chin back slightly and grinded her bits in my face, “Make me … make me … hnggghhh!”

The flood of watery spurt poured over my nose and face like I was being waterboarded in it. It was profuse, and it just kept coming.

“Naughty man,” she said again with a coy, gentle smack to the side of my face, “Look what you’ve made me do now. And you’re not even finished. Clearly, we’ll just have to keep going until you cum again.”

I’d had all of three breaths of fresh air when she sat back down on my face and began jerking off my T-dick in her fingers. I lost control before she could even get her finger back up my ass. This time, I made sure I tapped out, giving me a chance to actually vocalize where I was at.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my fuck … I actually got off a few times … Not all my orgasms come with jizz … That was awesome, but I need a breather.”

We stopped for two o’clock in the morning coffee and tea and donuts. While I was in there, I chanced to look at my phone, which I’d left silenced and plugged into a charger.

I had several texts from Jo. I took a moment to reply to the most recent one, from about one-twenty in the morning, which simply said:

Misha says pls confirm you’re alive. Something he saw when he got up to pee.

Christ, that poor man. From the top of the stairs one might conceivably have gotten a glimpse of me getting faceridden to hell and back. Meesh knew I was a competent bottom, but still … oof.

I’m fine but not enough coffee in the world. Running on adrenaline. Coming upstairs to pass tf out at sunrise.

“I gotta say,” I said aloud as I returned to the living room, “I’m getting pretty excited to pound that fitte. And maybe that ass? But first … donuts!”

Or more accurately, donuts, latkes, hiroshimayaki, cider and red wine. I grabbed some petit fours and a slice of schoolbread as well. Two in the morning, and I was heating up a whole little dinner for us.

“These, you have to try. They’re from Japan, another place that truly appreciates fried food like we Jews do.”

She said nothing, because she was too busy going to town on it. High praise from a troll.

“Alright, so, the situation with Leppaludi. Spill. I’ve been with lots of men, so maybe I can help. What’s different when you first come home to him? Is there something special about that first night that you can’t seem to sustain?”

As it turned out, there were a couple things. For one, I didn’t understand what sort of time-dilating nonsense made it possible for her to reach northernmost Canada in two days, set sail, and land in Svalbard in another two. But the trip left her limber and in excellent physical condition. She could be on top, she could do most of the work, and she could accommodate her man in any number of ways. Clearly that wasn’t it.

And on a related note, the years when she’d managed to find a lover, she found herself better prepared to receive her husband’s monstrous troll dick in whatever hole would please him. She enjoyed it all, but if a week went by without sex, as happens, it would be a lot more difficult to use either her cunt or her ass the next time … and Leppa could be lazy about foreplay, excepting when the sense of novelty really got him into a particular mood.

Not helping things was the fact that he sucked at communicating in the heat of the moment. They’d developed some understandings of blanket consent, which helped, and he steadfastly kept to those for her sake. But she still didn’t love how rather than proposing them, he tended to just grab and take them. And if he decided he didn’t want to do something, he didn’t explain himself. He just stopped doing it.