Thor: Champion of the Realms - 1.1 (Patreon)

Sif stole a kiss before he could continue. It wasn’t a deep embrace but it lingered long enough for the blonde to slake her thirst for a taste of Thor. She pulled away, a giggle bubbling in her throat as she pressed lighter, softer kisses to his cheeks, along his jaw, then down to his neck.

“This was some time ago…” He began, trying to keep his voice steady as his woman did her best to unsteady him. “Centuries, in fact. Before you and I were even wed…”

Sif only gave a soft moan to indicate she was listening, not ceasing the work of her delicate lips and loving hands.

Thor sighed as his wife began to slide down his body, her soft buttocks flattening his stiff cock down against his thigh as she did. More kisses came, gentle affection fluttering down like flower petals. He felt her lips against his chest, upon the muscles of his abdomen, then lower and lower. Swipes of her tongue followed, teasing at the base of his cock. Another giggle floated from Sif’s loving lips, holding an edge of daring.

His wife slid down between his legs, his thick, swollen cock slipping up between the swells of her generous bosom as she did. Though the soon-to-be king of Asgard only had a brief moment to enjoy the delightful softness and warmth before Sif leaned back, sliding off the edge of the bed to rest on her knees.

Thor cast his eyes down his naked body, enjoying the sight of his beloved wife kneeling between his legs - and his fully hard manhood pointed right at her lovely face. Delight was surely clear as day upon his face. And his joy delighted Sif in turn. He could see her eyes, deep blue pools set alight with excitement and lust. She smiled then, pretty and filthy both at once.

“Is this a long story?” She asked with mock innocence. The sweetness in her voice made Thor’s cock twitch. He could see the shaft jerk, the cockhead throbbing mere inches from the blonde’s full, soft lips. Impossible for her not to notice.

“Somewhat.” Thor grunted, resisting the urge to rise and force Sif’s face into his groin.

The blonde’s eyes glittered then, her smile turning wicked. She knew she had him.

Sif leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock, humming pleasantly as her tongue came slithering forth next, wetting his manhood with a sheen of warm saliva. Thor let loose a quiet groan, his hands clenching by his sides. But his wife was not finished. She descended, her lips dancing down the length of his shaft.

Kisses came first, showering his manhood with love. Then came her tongue, just as before, slathering the shaft with heat and lust. It was heavenly and maddening, damn near driving Thor into a fury - one that only a woman like Sif could stir up inside him.

As Sif drew back up to the cockhead - so fat and swollen that it was already sprouting past the foreskin - Thor tried to find his voice again. The lashing of his wife’s tongue against the tip of his cock only unbalanced him further.

For a time, the Asgardian prince allowed himself to enjoy his woman’s affections, relishing the delight of her lips and tongue gracing his manhood. He felt the warmth of her mouth envelop the head of his prick, the would-be king grunting as her tongue swirled about it. She tasted him. She sucked him. But then it was over. Sif let his cockhead pop from her loving mouth.

“Before we begin…” Sif spoke slowly, sweetly, a rich hum rising in her throat. Her hands worked upon Thor’s manhood, one stroking his considerable length, the other gently cupping his balls. Thor breathed in, groaning softly. He lifted his head to see, catching the devious glint in his wife’s eyes, the naughty smirk playing at her lips. “Allow me to gorge myself on your glory, my king. I require energy, nourishment for this great saga of yours. Would you grant me this boon? The gift of your seed?”

Her words came dripping with decadence, desire and daring swirling in her brilliant blue eyes. She had always been a bold one, Thor knew. He did well in marrying her. Even if the match had been arranged for him…

Sif pumped his cock with both hands now, up and down, working the whole length of his godly shaft. Pleasure swelled, stirring in Thor’s gut, a rising heat that spread like wildfire to the rest of his body. His prick throbbed in Sif’s hands, like it was alive, an angry beast ready to set its fury upon her.

She pumped him until he could feel precum begin to dribble from the tip. The blonde saw and smiled, excitement burning bright in her eyes. She continued stroking him until the swollen cockhead was weeping and the sticky herald of Thor’s seed was smeared over the top inches of his prick.

More precum followed, a bead of it sprouting from the slit. Sif licked it up, humming happily at the flavor. Thor let his head fall back onto his pillow, releasing a groan. His beloved Sif had made herself the queen of pleasure - and vexation.

“Even now… you challenge me…” Thor grumbled, a hard edge to his voice - as hard as his own manhood!

“No more stalling, my king.” Sif warned him, nuzzling her face against her husband’s mighty shaft. She let the cockhead drag over her lips, humming as she planted faint, gentle kisses. She dropped lower, letting his cock, the pride of Asgard, eclipse half of her beautiful face. She let it rest there, smiling behind the rod that had conquered her and claimed her love. The eye that Thor could still see glimmered with intent. “Speak the tale of your first great love while you enjoy the delights of your wife’s mouth.”

She kissed the underside of his cock, right at the base. Then lower, affectionately nuzzling at his plump, churning balls. With her face buried in the space between his cock and his stones, the Lady Sif, so fierce and elegant, closed her eyes and took a deep whiff. Then she let out a moan, low and deep and shuddering. When she opened her eyes again, they were glazed over with potent desire - drunk on Thor’s musk.

Amusing, but not surprising. Many forgot that The Odinson was also the god of fertility. But for now he would hold back the full effect of his musk. He still had a story to tell and it wouldn’t do any good if Sif was too dazed to listen.

After that though, Sif wasted little time. She lifted her head back up - and swiftly took her husband’s cock into her mouth. Warmth and wetness, so sublime that it had Thor’s eyes fluttering shut, cascaded over his manhood. Sif displayed her boundless devotion at her favorite altar of worship - the mighty pillar that stabbed upward between his beefy legs.

Her head dipped low, several inches of his cock disappearing between her skilled lips. Soft, pillowy things they were, agonizingly delicate upon his skin and buttery smooth as they slid down his shaft. And within her mouth lashed her tongue, sending pleasure rolling forth, crashing into the pit of his gut like a wild tide.

She sucked him greedily - and skillfully as well. Bobbing her head at a steady pace, each stroke of her lips and lash of her tongue built upon the bliss that came before, slowly driving Thor up towards the peak of ecstasy. Gradually, she quickened her pace, her tongue working harder, more insistent.

Thor tightened his jaw, breathing deeply through his nose, his nostrils flaring like an angry bull. He reached out, taking his wife by the head - but not roughly. His fingers ran through her golden hair, cradling her at the back of her neck as her head bobbed faster in his lap.

The slurping and sucking had become louder, so shameless and wanton that Thor might have mistaken them for the actions of a high-priced whore rather than the would-be queen of Asgard. Sif moaned around her husband’s fat cock, forcing as much of his length down her gullet as she could. Thor couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride then, seeing his manhood stuffed into the blonde’s mouth. Centuries of marriage and she could only barely take the entire length of his cock - and only on a good day!

The pleasure was great, almost overwhelming. Had the blood of the Aesir not flowed through his veins, Thor knew he would have spilled his seed long before. Feeling the bliss of Sif’s warm and agile tongue upon him, Thor drew closer and closer to spending, just as his beloved Sif desired. But he kept a calm mind, letting the sensation settle into a pleasurable serenity.

He would give Sif what she wanted. But he still had a story to tell. And there was no challenge that could best the mighty Thor. Not even those from his dear wife.

“I first met her… during my exile…” Thor began, thinking back centuries to his wild youth. When his pride and brashness had led to his banishment to the mortal realm. Sif gave another moan, softer this time. Thor exhaled, groaning as the vibrations of her throat rolled down his shaft. He stroked his hand through her hair, affectionate. Sif bobbed her head a little faster, sucking just a little harder. Thor muttered a curse, but kept going. “By the time I met her… I had already spent some years on Midgard… traveling the lands of our mortal worshippers and beyond…”

Sif dipped her head down low, gurgling and choking around the length of Thor’s cock - the entirety of it now buried in her throat. She held there, both hands keeping his manhood still by the root. Her eyes turned up towards his, brilliant blue shining with adoration… and blistering lust. Thor snarled, his hips lifting up an inch or two off the bed, urging himself deeper into his wife’s throat. The fierce Lady Sif did not retreat. She kept the Pride of Asgard nestled nice and tight in her gullet, throating her husband with determination and glee.

Thor came and came hard, every muscle in his body tensing as he erupted down his wife’s throat. He fell back onto the bed with a thump - and still Sif kept his cock stuffed in her mouth. Her throat swallowed around his pulsing shaft, massaging his cock as it shot rope after rope after rope of hot, salty cum right down into her belly. Sif drank it down, moaning. Thor could see in her eyes the iron conviction not to waste a single drop of his godly seed.

The would-be king released his final spurt with a low grunt - spilling his seed for perhaps the dozenth time that evening. Sif hummed happily, letting his manhood slide from her throat - heat and maddening softness gliding over every inch - but stopped when his cockhead rested upon her tongue. She would not surrender her favorite toy just yet. She continued to suckle, lapping the remnants of his seed from the tip with naughty glee.

Thor sank back into his bed, sucking in a deep breath. Bliss fluttered over his skin, through his muscles and bones. A delightful warmth that he never wanted to end. But he remembered his wife’s challenge. And quickly, he found his words again.

“I… I was leading my own band of raiders. Norsemen. Others called us Varangians. We were sailing through the Mediterranean… seeking riches and plunder… honoring the old ways…”

Thor remembered it clearly, as if it were just yesterday. Remembered what a fool he’d been. Remembering that it was her who made him better, made him worthy.

A smirk played upon his lips. He brushed a thumb over Sif’s cheek as she continued to suck upon his cockhead. She gave a soft hum, before letting it spring free from her mouth with a wet pop! She kissed the shaft again, holding the glistening prick flush to her pretty face. A sight so pretty it almost made Thor forget himself.

But his first great love… was not a woman to forget.

“We came upon an island. Delos, it was called. But we quickly learned that we weren’t the only visitors…”

-  -  -

995 AD

Somewhere in the Aegean Sea

The war chief closed his eyes, feeling the cool spray of seawater on his face as his dromon crested over a rolling wave. The wind swept at his cloak and his hair, carrying the fresh and salty scent of the wild ocean into his nostrils. He breathed it in, filling his lungs with the air of the mortal realm. A small joy he had learned to appreciate in his time among the Midgardians.

He stood tall beside the main mast of the galley. In his hand, he clutched the only weapon that remained to him: the deadly battle-axe Jarnbjorn. The true instrument of his power and strength was worlds away, beyond his reach. The right to be its wielder had been stripped from him. Along with his royal titles. Along with his very home.

His name was Thor.

The Prince. The Odinson. The Exile.

Around him, men worked. His men. Norse warriors who had devoted themselves to the All-Father and his pantheon. Like him, they were far from home. Hundreds of leagues away from their homeland, deep in the wild waters of a foreign empire. Here, they had a different name.

Varangians.

A good, hardy bunch - though Thor towered above their tallest by more than ahead. They were mortal men but they had the fiery spirits of Asgardians. They were loyal to the old ways. Enough to abandon the foreign emperor they had been sent to serve. Enough to follow him instead. Because why should a Norseman fight in the name of a Byzantine king when he could fight beside his god prince instead?

Bjorn, Sven, Gunnar, Sigurd, Ivar, and others. They all chose to follow Thor. And Thor would lead them to riches and glory. He would repay their loyalty in kind.

The plunder they had gathered thus far was proof enough. Already their raiding had earned them several chests of gold, jewels, and other treasures. But they were still hungry for more. Because a true warrior didn’t simply fight for riches. He fought for honor, for the pride of his ancestors, for the right to join them in the golden halls of Valhalla.

And the only way to earn that was in the test of battle. Thor aimed to give his men ample opportunity.

Which made the island that took up the horizon ever so tempting. Thor too was itching for a fight.

Beside him, a strained voice spoke up.

“What do you think awaits us on land, my prince?” Thor glanced down, seeing Sven. A young, lean warrior with dark blond hair tied back in a knot. Like most of the men, he was rowing the galley oars, grunting with each turn. Unlike the others, he was looking up at Thor, his sharp features expressing eager interest.

“I can see people on the coast. Boats, too.” Another man answered. Thor glanced to his other side, spotting Gunnar. Older than Sven by some years, with dark hair left loose over his shoulders. He too was rowing, though he kept his narrowed eyes on the island ahead. “A port. That means fishermen. Food.”

Thor turned and saw a third man approach. It was Bjorn, his loyal second-in-command. A mountain of a man, easily the tallest and largest of the bunch aside from Thor himself, his boots thumped against the wooden deck. He had a hard, weathered face, sporting icy blue eyes and a crooked nose. Blond like Sven, Bjorn’s hair was paler, almost silver. Unlike Sven, he had a full beard.

Thor saw that his second was already garbed in battle dress, wearing mail over dark leather. Upon his back sat his round shield and in his hand was a well-worn iron axe. A veteran of dozens of battles, Bjorn had the heart of an Asgardian. Thor felt himself fortunate to have found him.

“A port also means trade. And trade means gold.” Bjorn said. His voice was deeper than the others, rough like gravel. But Thor nonetheless liked the words that came from his lips. So too did the rest of his raiding party.

Thor allowed a grin upon his face. The galley lurched again as they crested over another rolling wave. Each row brought them closer and closer to the island shores. Closer to the port village - and whatever was hidden away.

These Greeks have so many treasures… one has to wonder where they found them…

The exiled prince turned from the mast, looking over the men who had chosen to follow him. Mortals who had proven themselves tenacious and fearless. Thor knew in his heart that he was honored by their loyalty.

Thor stepped down into the ranks of rowers, coming upon one of their war chests. He nudged it open with his boot, revealing a trunk full of shining jewels and glittering coins. He reached down and buried his hand in the pile. He returned with a closed fist clutching a handful of loot. He lifted it high, so all could see.

Thor made sure his men were watching when he opened his hand, letting gold and silver and diamond sprinkle back down into the open chest. Metal clinked against metal, louder even than the sound of the sea. His Varangians stared, and Thor’s smile grew. He could see the excitement in their eyes, feeling their blood rise with the taste of the coming raid.

“More riches to plunder!” Thor didn’t shout, but still his voice boomed. Thundering with power. “And more chances to prove your worth in the eyes of the All-Father!”

That earned him a resounding cheer, the men roaring with approval. It was expected. They were true Norsemen.

But his rousing words meant more than they knew.

Another chance to prove your worth…

Thor’s smile faded. He clutched Jarnbjorn tight in his hand. He could fight a thousand battles, raid a thousand islands, loot all the riches of Midgard… but he still didn’t know if that would even get him home.

But he was Prince Thor, the Odinson. Born to be king. Born to be the mightiest warrior of Asgard. This was all he knew.

He stared into the eyes of men. Then he lifted his other arm, holding high his deadly battle-axe.

“Glory and death await us ashore!” He shouted. “So bear your steel and steady your nerves. Today, you earn your place in Valhalla!”

Thor turned away as they roared with fire and passion. If blood wasn’t up before, it certainly was now. Thor climbed back to the higher deck, standing beside Bjorn and the main mast. He turned his eyes back to the island, the port village, the marble temples, and the wilds beyond.

Bjorn gave him a short nod. He did not show the same explosive excitement as the rest, but Thor could see the keen intent in his posture. The man believed in Thor the most out of any of them.

“Is Odin with us today, captain?” Bjorn asked, low and genuine.

Thor kept a steady expression, though for a moment his gaze turned sharp. He’s your best man. He didn’t mean anything by it, Thor reminded himself.

“Aye.” The exiled prince nodded in turn. “So long as we fight with courage and honor. Odin is with us.”

That pleased Bjorn. The grizzled veteran seemed to swell with anticipation, his cold eyes lighting up with the spark of pride. He fought in the name of a real god, serving a true purpose. That was the sort of surety that most men could only dream of.

The brute of a mortal turned away and began barking orders. The men started to row their stolen galley faster. They were very close then. So close that Thor could make out the faces of the people on the dock. Mostly dark-haired folk, with many colored tan by the Mediterranean sun.

So too did Thor see that more and more of them were beginning to notice their presence, the approaching warship captained by an exiled and foreign god. Some of them even began to shout.

Armed men coming ashore! Armed men coming ashore!

That was good. The villagers would be ready for them. They too would have a chance to prove their valor in battle.

Thor breathed in deep, clutching Jarnbjorn now with both hands. He was ready for a fight. Ready to earn his place back in Asgard.

-  -  -

Though the island of Delos didn’t possess the same divine elegance granted to Themyscira, the spit of land held a certain muted serenity. Its rolling amber hills were dotted with frequent spatterings of jagged stone, giving it a wild, untamed appeal.

Fitting for the sacred birthplace of Apollo and Artemis.

The Temple of the Delians, built to honor Apollo, was much the same. Even if it was mostly a ruin.

Diana and those who accompanied her - her trusted confidant Mala, the ever loyal Orana, the daring Venelia and her own friends, Trigona and Penthiselea - had taken a great risk in making their pilgrimage. Some - namely Trigona - had muttered their disappointment. They had come all this way to see old stones and short, weathered fishermen. But for the Princess of the Amazons it was more than worth it.

The chance to meditate and pray on hallowed ground, touched by the gods themselves… Diana felt excitement of the sort that hadn’t thrummed through her body since she was a little girl. And oddly enough, so too did she feel peace. Even in ruin, the remains of the temple that rose up around Diana and her small party gave an aura of soothing calm.

An aura that was swiftly ruined by cries of shock and panic. The villagers who resided down by the island port, their voices carried easily through the many holes in the temple wall - as well as the very open roof. Shouting, screaming, the sharpness pierced the air.

Diana was the first to rise. The other followed quickly, ripped from their meditation.

“Something is wrong.” She said, a strong feeling of unease coiling down her back.

“A fire?” Mala asked in a voice colored with uncertainty. The shortest of the party, she was soft of face and of heart - though still spirited enough to be known as Amazon. Tucking her golden hair behind her ears, she gathered her dark cloak from the temple floor. She threw it on, covering the gleaming metal of her Amazonian battle dress. Diana took note, remembering the nature of their pilgrimage, and did the same.

“I don’t smell smoke.” Answered Trigona. Tall and lean, her beauty was muted by her hard expression and cold eyes. Her hair was dark as night and tied back into a tight braid. She and Penthiselea had both already fixed their scabbards to their hips.

Ever prepared, those two…

The princess moved towards the temple archway, peering outside. Villagers were running past, shouting as they fled into the hills. Diana didn’t stop them. Instead, she cast her eyes in the opposite direction, towards the port village… and to the waters of the bay.

There she saw it. The trouble that had broken the precious peace. Even from the distance she stood from the shoreline, Diana could see the details perfectly. Just one of the many blessings gifted to the tribe of the Amazons.

“A Byzantine warship?” Mala said with puzzlement, stepping up beside Diana.

Indeed it was. Approaching the shoreline, a war galley. A dozen oars on either side working the vessel closer and closer to the docks. And upon the incoming dromon…

“Men.” Orana frowned. Her light brown hair tumbled down in tresses, framing her full, warm face. She turned and shared a look with Diana. “Warriors.”

“They don’t look Byzantine. Not Moorish, either.” Penthiselea noted tersely. She and Trigona moved past the rest, stepping onto the gravel footpath, standing tall over the Delos natives. Fleeing villagers had to swerve around them, lest they run into an Amazonian wall. The sculpted blonde twisted her face into a scornful expression as she surveyed the men on the incoming ship. “Foreigners. Raiders, most likely.”

“Fair skin. Many with light hair. Sailing a Byzantine ship. Varangians.” Trigona observed. She shook her head at Diana, sneering. “Barbarians, princess. The sort that worships barbaric gods.”

“I thought Varangians served the Emperor Basil.” Mala said, eyes dancing quickly from Amazon to Amazon, hoping for an explanation.

“Not these Varangians. I can see it even from here.” Trigona answered, her hand gripping the handle of her sword. “Their blood is up. They’re here for a fight. Or gold.”

“Or both.” Penthiselea snorted. It was a bleak joke, but Diana could see she was tense. The towering blonde had a taste for battle herself, the princess knew. “These northern brutes live for the thrill of war and plunder.”

Diana felt a hand on her arm then. It was Mala, a pleading look on her soft, pale face.

“It would be best to leave now, princess.” Mala insisted, holding an urgent tone. “We should not get involved in the conflicts of mortals.”

Mala was among her closest friends, sweet and loyal and wise. Diana loved her like she loved all her Amazon sisters. But Diana knew in her heart that Mala was mistaken.

“No.” Diana answered simply and firmly. She strode out onto the gravel path, joining Trigona and Penthiselea in the sunlight. Villagers continued to run past them, paying the tall, armed women no mind. Deep in her soul, Diana felt the compulsion that drove her - the overwhelming need to protect. She locked eyes with each of her Amazon sisters, making sure they knew her truth. “If these men came to plunder and pillage this island, we will put a stop to it.”

The rest of her party shared uncertain looks. But none argued. None, except for Mala.

“We shouldn’t even be here, princess. If your mother finds out we passed into Man’s World-”

“She won’t find out. And those Varangians won’t be raiding the sacred birthplace of Artemis and Apollo.” The reminder of what Delos truly was swept over Diana’s sisters. Whatever resistance they had in them had gone, driven away by their call to sacred duty. Mala bowed her head, a look of shame falling across her face. Diana set a hand on her shoulder, her warm touch offering gentle assurance.

“We will end this quickly.” Diana told them, her voice like sharp steel. The effect was instant, the rest of her Amazons swelling with purpose and pride.

The Princess of the Amazons shrugged her shoulders, sweeping away her cloak and revealing the gleaming metal of her battle dress for all who dared to look - the dark red bodice set with a golden eagle over her bosom and a short, pleated battle skirt. Her shoulders and arms were left bare - save for her golden bracelets. And upon her head, the tiara of dark gold, set with a brilliant ruby star.

Every inch of her was immaculate - such as Diana felt. She could sense the power coursing through her body, the blessings of the gods that made her a warrior without peer. A protector to the world - no matter how much her mother and queen said otherwise.

Diana of Themyscira drew her sword and charged towards the island port. And with a grin, she noted that her Amazon sisters followed close behind.