The Woodwo and the Naiad (Part Two)

A camp was set up, a fireplace, a bed, a pile of clothes and belongings. His heart beat faster – it was a woman. 

He moved closer, compelled by instinct, avoiding the slightest sound, moving inch by inch, like a spider creeping.

She was beautiful. She was naked. Like a river spirit she stood in the stream, bathing. Standing, it came up to her hips, obscuring the view of what Oswulf hoped for. He stopped, close enough to see clearer, but hidden by the oaks around. She was smiling and singing a song to herself.

Her hair was of red-gold, thick and free, it curled slightly like the rippling current. Her skin glowed, tight around the flesh like the skin of a ripe plum, but pale like cream. He had never seen a woman of such beauty. It radiated from her well rounded, fleshy figure, an aura which seized his heart and mind and made him hers.
His eyes slipped to her breast as she sang; large, round, like two magnificent fruits, ripe and hanging from the branch waiting to be plucked.

Her voice was a balm to his soul; it flowed through his veins and flushed joy as it went.
‘Are you going to stand there all day Oswulf?’ She said, and his jaw dropped.

‘How did you know…’ he began, but she cut him short,
‘I heard you coming a mile away, but I thought I’d give you a little show.’ She flashed him a cheeky grin and he started coming closer.
‘Was it a good hunt?’ She slid down into the water, and Oswulf nodded, and showed her his catch; two hares and a few squirrels.

She watched him, as he placed them beside the fireplace. Tall, swathed in a cloak of green to blend in, with thin linen trews and a shirt, she felt her loins calling to him, moistening at the sight, at the thought. His arms, showing under the short sleeves, were thick with muscle, and she knew his body to be the same.

Her insides rippled at the thought of his body, of his touch. To her horror he was trying to start a fire. ‘Why don’t you save that for later?’
He did not need telling twice. Freya smiled as he threw his cloak away and tore off his shirt, revealing the thick mantle of hair beneath, lying atop his solid chest and stomach. She could see his member already rising beneath the trews, hardening for her, and she rose from the water onto the bank, embracing him. Their lips met, a wave of euphoria entered their systems and in that moment they were one, their hearts together.

Freya could feel him sticking into her, and he ran his big hands over her breasts, as she revelled in the rough feel of the hair on his chest, the firm muscles on his stomach. She gasped as he squeezed and rubbed her nipples, and shivered as he ran his hands along her shoulders, down the side of her breast, onto her belly. Running his hand even lower, she tried to regain control, pulled his trews down and reached for him, feeling the warm, hard organ in her palm. She could feel the blood pulsing and he sighed. It was no use though, for his hand did not stop, and she quivered, moaning as his fingers slipped into her and he felt how wet she was. They were still kissing, but now she broke the embrace and pulled him down as she knelt. 

‘I love you’ she said, ‘so much’, he finished. She whispered in his ear and nibbled the lobe, then leant forward on her hands while he moved behind, and she teased herself with one hand while she waited, feeling her own nipples.

Her breath was cut short as he entered, filling her with solid warmth, and making her head light with pleasure. She pushed backwards as he panted and thrust. Their souls entwined, he could soon feel his climax building, had to hold back – not wanting to end her pleasure. But it was so difficult to stop, her noises were encouraging him, against his own will!

Suddenly a great roar erupted from the undergrowth. A huge boar crashed through the foliage, and they both screamed. A towering beast, huge, curved tusks jutted out from its face, sharp enough to slice through them both with the same effort as breathing. The lovers sprang to their feet, rage and fear consuming them both as the mighty swine turned in their direction.
‘Freya, get over the stream, quick!’ shouted Oswulf.
‘What about you?’ The boar was stomping the ground, preparing to charge.
‘No time, just go!’ he shouted, and ran at the boar, screaming, drawing its attention and forcing it to charge. Freya watched in horror as it bore down on her love and he only just swerved out of its reach.
‘Freya go!’ he bellowed and dived for his seax. Still in the scabbard on his belt, he fumbled around, cursing frantically, while she sped into the water. The boar could easily cross the stream; he had to stop it here.