Valhalla, Part One

Walhalla_(1896)_by_Max_Brückner.jpg

 

CHAPTER ONE:

 

CHOSEN

 

 

 

Ryan let out a sigh of relief as he closed the door to work.
The time was 6:50pm on a Thursday evening and the February weather was the coldest it had been in Melbourne in five whole years.
Since Ryan’s boss asked nicely Ryan agreed to stay behind.
He didn’t mind that. He embraced the stillness of the empty space of the office.
As he locked the office doors and started to move up the pavement, an ache in his forehead started to make it known to him, almost as if it were waiting for him to leave before announcing its throbbing presence.
Ryan ran his thumb and his index finger along his eyes, squeezing gently as he walked along the path.
Home, the place he was currently renting by himself was a ten-minute walk from his choice of work, the local newspaper The West Weekly.
He was looking forward to sinking into a bath and soaking the increasingly annoying headache away. Maybe catch up on some reading.
Bachelor life, it seemed, had suited Ryan. He had lived a quiet life of minimal friends; quiet nights in with Netflix, for the past two years, ever since he had split with his girlfriend of three years amicably.
She wanted to move to London, he knew his place was in Melbourne, with his family, his minimal friends and the city he had lived in his whole life – Geelong.
The split was hard at first but time worked with him to heal, work too. And now that that was behind him, he had settled into something of a life writing for the town he grew up in.
Ryan turned the corner, passing by the local estate of houses, all carbon copies of each other in neat little rows.

That was when he heard it.
It was manic. Female. Coming from the park before him that separated the rows of house cloning.
Before he could process, he found himself running in the direction of the scream.
He hopped over the log fences that acted as some sort of park decoration – and the scream became louder.
Up ahead he could see two figures, one a lighter colour and one shrouded in the darkness.
“What did I say about making noise, hm?”
It was a male’s voice. Deep. Gruff. Angry.
There was a smacking noise, skin against skin, as Ryan arrived towards the source of the scream.
The woman, dressed in a light blue dress, the lighter colour Ryan saw, was sobbing hysterically, straining to keep her voice quiet so there was no more noise for the man to punish her for.
Ryan felt the man turn to him in the darkness of the evening.
“This doesn’t concern you, mate. Get out of here”
Ryan came to a stop before the man. He couldn’t tell if the man had a weapon in the poor light of the park.
“Easy now.”
“I said back off, are you fuckin’ deaf?”
It all happened in an instant.
Instincts, you see, are fickle instruments. As Ryan found himself stepping forward in an attempt to calm the man, the man found himself also stepping forward, his blade in his hand.
The effect here was that the reaction, the instinct of the man, was that he felt he was being attacked. His instinct was to attack back.
The knife slid into Ryan’s stomach with ease.
Ryan let out a drawn out wheeze as he felt his stomach was on fire.
Somewhere very far away he heard an agitated voice curse out loud repeatedly.
He felt his legs betray him as he fell to the ground.
There was sobbing in the distance as well, echoing back all around him.
It was deafening.
Something was running down his leg, it felt unpleasant and warm.
Ryan made a mental note to –

 

***

There was something comforting about floating through the darkness.

 

 

***

 

 

“Ryan?”
A voice was calling out to him through the darkness.
It was female, sweet and soothing.
“Ryan Kennedy?”
Ryan opened his eyes weakly, to the blinding light of his surroundings.
It took him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He found himself blinking repeatedly as the voice continued to call his name.
His ears were ringing. They were adjusting to the sound of his surroundings just as his eyes were adjusting to the light.
“You’re okay now. It’s alright but I need you…”
The ringing in his ears drowned out the voice.
Ryan sat up, still blinking. He could sense the light through his closed eyes.
“Easy now” The muffled voice said gently.
“There’s…”
Ryan begin to speak but he felt his mouth give way to the delicious idea of sleep.
“You’re disoriented.” The voice answered to him through the darkness. “Can you open your eyes?”
Ryan opened his eyes; feeling like it took all of his strength to do so.
Kneeling before him was a kind face, with soft features. The smile upon it was warm, curved into a half smile.
When Ryan blinked, he saw that the reason why the woman glistened was because she was in a magnificent suit of armour.
The armour covered the woman’s arms, chest and legs in a dazzling mix of the colours silver and gold, with not a scratch to be seen on any part of it.
The woman was bent over Ryan, looking down at him with a look that Ryan perceived to be curiosity.
Her eyes, which darted back and forth to meet Ryan’s gaze, were a faded grey.
She wasn’t wearing a helmet, Ryan noticed as he looked at her, for her light auburn hair was free flowing in the wind.
That was when he noticed the object towering behind her.
Her wings, pure white and stretched out beyond her, from the left side of her body to the right.
They seemed to expand further as he laid eyes upon them.
The woman saw his eyes go wide and went to speak, went to say that everything was okay, that she wasn’t going to hurt him.

Ryan screamed, loud and long.
The woman winced at the noise, a terrible feeling of guilt built up within her as she saw the panic behind Ryan’s eyes.
Ryan finished his scream, sucking in air in huge gasps. Then he fell back, fainting.
The woman sighed, a sigh that was borne out of sadness at frightening him.
“They always scream the first time,” She said to no one in particular.

 

The first thing that Ryan saw when he came to was the blade of grass scratching against his forehead.
Panic seized him and he jumped upwards, brushing the grass away from him.
He was lying in a field of it, stretching miles out before him.
Ryan’s mind was in a stutter, like a record skipping on the one note. It was trying to make sense of where he was, what happened to him.
He went to feel for his wound and that’s when he realised he was shirtless.
The realisation swept over him like warm water from a shower – he was completely naked. No work uniform, no socks with holes in it that he had to replace.
With a racing mind, he went to sit up but that was a mistake.
His legs wobbled uncontrollably and he fell back on the soft grass below him.
“Don’t move, you’re in shock” Came a voice from behind.
He flinched at the voice, scrambling backwards, his hands clawing at the dirt.
“It’s okay! It’s okay!”
“Get away from me” Ryan found himself saying, as his hands gave way to the ground. He fell backwards, craning his neck.
“I’m not going to hurt you…I’m not..”
The woman came to a kneel in front of him, her face was dirty and glistening with sweat, her eyes fixed on him.
Ryan couldn’t take his eyes off her wings, which to his wonder retracted back under her arms.
“Where…am…I?”
His voice, which was low, wavered as he spoke.

The woman’s armour glistened in the sunlight as she watched him for an expression, all the while thinking and hoping that he wouldn’t pass out again.
The thought made something within her stomach knot up.
To her surprise, Ryan laughed. It was strange and unstable to the both of them.
“I’m dreaming. This is…no, I’m dreaming…”
“There’s no easy way to tell you this, Ryan Kennedy, but you’re dead”
The woman, who spoke to Ryan with a voice as smooth as honey, spoke directly, matter-of-factly. And with a straight face.

She didn’t smile. Her face didn’t even threaten to smile, she just watched him closely, unblinking.
Ryan stared at her for a moment, his grin vanishing in light of what she said.
He mulled it over. He thought he must’ve dreamt everything – leaving the store, finding the woman being harassed. He’s probably still back in the backroom, on his break.
Someone’s bound to wake him up for his shift. Jeffery, probably.
He found himself repeating what she was saying to him.
“I’m dead?”
The woman nodded, still looking at him unblinking.

Behind her, her wings expanded outwards again, darkening the two of them in its shadow. They seemed to have a mind of their own, contracting and retracting as if alive.
“Yes.”
Chills travelled up Ryan’s arms leaving behind Goosebumps and in that moment, Ryan remembered.
He remembered the taste of blood, the warm uncomfortable feeling.
There was a sinking sensation, like falling into the depths of the Earth.
Like falling asleep.
He looked into the eyes of the woman kneeling before him, her wings blowing gently in the wind.
Her eyes told him everything.

The woman explained everything; answering all of his questions in the same matter-of-factly way she had used to say that he was dead.
His sudden death at the hands of the mugger drove him away from the young woman and into hiding.
The police found him the next day at sunrise, holed up in an abandoned farmhouse just out of town.
The young woman, who was just on a jog that evening, would require months of therapy, the woman had said, but in time she would come to feel normal again, though her jogs now took place during the day and not a night.

Ryan had listened to her tale of how she had witnessed the whole exchanged quietly, feeling as if he wasn’t really; as if none of this was real.
He had died, she had said. So where was he now?
The woman smiled and without saying another word, turned from him and moved through the tree line behind her, disappearing.
Ryan’s legs moved for him and he followed, as if there were a greater force pulling him with her.
He pushed through the trees, ducking under and weaving out of the way of the leaves that threatened to smack back into his face.
After a moment of pushing through the heavy trees, that’s when he saw it.
The woman was standing on the Cliffside, overlooking a vast forest that stretched on for as far as Ryan could see.
The woman explained the reason why she knew all about the events around his death was because she is a Valkyrie, watcher of the battlefield, and minder of the souls.
“You see, Ryan Kennedy, you are in…”
She moved beside him and raised her hand and pointed to the space before her.
“Valhalla”
Ryan followed where her arm was pointing, coming to rest his upon something that made me stumble backwards in disbelief.
There it was, off in the distance, resting on a Cliffside and surrounded by shimmering bonfires: Valhalla.
Ryan had to squint to get a better look, but it wasn’t good enough. It was too far away.
His legs were shaking, his chest tightening.

Valhalla was surrounded on either side by a forest, richly green, that stretched out far from view.
Valhalla itself looked like something out of a dream – an ancient temple, grey, lit by brilliant fires, stretching against the length of the cliff on either side.
Standing tall before the ancient structure were what looked like from where Ryan stood, for it was hard for him to make out, two statues.
Ryan looked down past Valhalla, past the Cliffside, and into the pit between him and the Valkyrie and ancient structure. He saw the great darkness looking back into him. How far it went, he did not know.
He gazed back at Valhalla and for the longest time, his mind was skipping over the concept again and again, trying to process it.

“But…I don’t…”
“You have been chosen, Ryan Kennedy…”
Ryan turned to the woman beside him. “Chosen?”
The woman nodded, smiling.
Ryan found that the smile was enchanting. He hadn’t taken her appearance in too deeply, he suppose that had something to do with the idea that he was dead! But now as the two stood by the cliff side looking at each other, he seemed to see her first time.
She had short auburn hair, styled in the form of an undercut.
Her face, which was regarding Ryan, was twisted into the same crooked smile he woke up to, her light steely eyes searching his for a reaction.
As they stood there in that moment, Ryan noticed markings on her upper arms – little slits where she had been cut that had now scarred.

“Yes. You have been chosen for this place, like the others.”
“Others? You mean my friends and family? They’re here?”
The woman’s smile was gone in an instant.
“I only take those All-father selects himself, as I am his slave.”
She bowed her head and knelt down, extending one out and pointed to the ground with the other arm against her chest, her fist on her chest closed tightly.
“I am sorry.”
Ryan watched the gesture feeling lightheaded. His mind kept coming back to the idea that he was dead, that he could never see his family or friends again.

Not until they died themselves, a thought came out loud and clear.
The idea made him feel sick to the stomach. He fell back against the tree trunk behind him, feeling nauseous.
When the woman rose back to her feet, she smiled at him that same enchanting smile.
“Ryan Kennedy…”
“Please…uh..just Ryan..”
The woman bowed her head. “My name is Eira.”
The woman named Eira was still smiling as she extended her hand past him back the way they came.
“Come. There is a spring past the field we arrived in. A bath will do us both good. I have some new clothes for you”
This caused Ryan to look down. He had been so caught up in the idea that he was here; in Valhalla – dead – that he completely forgot he was completely naked.

Eira couldn’t hide her smile as she began to walk past him, causing Ryan to duck out of the way of her wings.
Ryan had no choice but to follow her. He still had more questions about his death, about his family, about her.

To Be Continued…

Chapter Two (Or #2) is out April 19th. So if you enjoyed this, know there’s more coming!


If you’re really enjoying my writing and feel I am worthy, have a look at my patron for any
other writing goodies I’m experimenting. Even if its just a $1 tip towards my writing, know
that that would mean the world to me and would go towards more time spent writing.

patreon.com/darkanddominant

The Unloved Mother

What does she feel, this unloved mother, this glowing woman on the brink of something she doesn’t comprehend, when she steps out to the grocery shops with her family, in her dark blue floral dress that’s a little more low cut then she realises.
What does she think when she walks the aisle, picks up the Rye bread like she’s done so many times, looking at a young couple walk past, laughing and flirting and nestled into each other close.
Will she ponder her age, her age of fifty seven, what her teenage years was like, sitting in the drive in, watching the shark claim it’s next victim in the summer of 1974. 
Will she think of that time in the shower a month ago, where she pulled on her nipple till it felt like the skin was tearing off, where she fell against the bathroom wall and cried because she didn’t understand. 
Is that what she feels, when she places the bread into the shopping basket, forcing a smile to her unknowing husband, who doesn’t know what she’s thinking. Does she feel the pulling sensation, tearing through her flesh, through her fabric, at her consciousness?
Will it make her scream when he asks what’s next on the list, because she can’t stand it – not another day of this routine, this mechanical, every beat, every sweep accounted for, routine of shopping. Will it make her want to tear every item of clothing off her body, till her clothes lay in shreds at her feet, till the coolness of the store air con kisses her nipples, will it make her want to curse, this desire. Curse at the top of her lungs, every obscenity, every humiliating, Degrading slur towards her world, herself, her husband and her son. 
Because she doesn’t want this, this life, this family, this husband in this one story home, this old car they’ve had, her old dresses, she doesn’t want anything right now because she wants to fuck. She wants to take the hand of this young man, take him from his young girl and show him that she can fuck. That she wants to fuck. That she lives for, would die right now, for a cock, so thick, so hard, to just ease into her, or slide or slam in roughly, she’ll take anything. 
She doesn’t want to think, not about food, not about the mortgage, not about her husband losing his drive to fuck, not about her own lack of interest. 
She doesn’t want to think about tomorrow, how she’ll judge herself, her body, her mind, her desires.

All she wants to, this unloved mother, is fuck. To grunt like an animal on the cold hard floor of the store, to be taken savagely like she’s never tried, like this moment in time will allow, as it stops for her, free of judgement and ridicule. 
Will they notice? The men, the woman of the store, will they they notice her unexpectedly too low cut dress, revealing her plain white bra and curves of her breasts. Will they wonder or hope or dream or fuck their partners that night to the curves of her breasts? 
As she pulls the strap of her dress back up on her shoulder, she wonders as she aches secretly. To no one but herself. 
And as her husband directs her down the aisle, she follows. Grateful for his existence. 

How To Address Me…

Sometimes someone will write in and be unsure about addressing me. And I’ve gotten it a few times now to warrant me writing me up this little note for you.The thing is – within reason, you can call me what is comfortable for you. Obviously I leave the most intimate gestures for myself and kitten – I would feel uncomfortable otherwise. 
Generally speaking, my name is fine. Or, if you feel I have earned your respects, you can call me Sir. Sir I will allow because I liken it to an old fashioned greeting, a sign of respect from one person to another. The same thing as walking down a street and saying good day to the only other person sharing that same street with you. 
Really though, there’s no secret way to talk to me. I’m just a regular guy. I’m flawed, human, like eating cake in my underwear at 2am. So just be casual with me, is what I’m saying. Be yourself, because I’d be a fool if I got upset at you for addressing me incorrectly – how would you know? 
At the end of the day, we’re all human so don’t stress or give it too much thought! 
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a cake to devour. 

Experimental Writing

Something new for the blog I will be experimenting with is doing an ongoing story, with each chapter coming out a month. Where that leads, I don’t really know, but my priority first and foremost is to make it entertaining and for the world it’s set in to be something you could live.
The story coming to the blog and continuing throughout the year is called VALHALLA. 
The story goes like this:

Ryan is on his way home after leaving work late and upon his journey, he comes across a woman being mugged. He intervenes and is stabbed fatally in retaliation. 
He is awoken in Valhalla by the enchanting Eira, an enchanting and beautiful Valkyrie who is tasked with bringing him to the great hall of Valhalla.
Ryan will learn of the concept of the All-Father Odin, his Valkyries, who are slaves to the souls they bring to Valhalla and guide — and he’ll learn about his place in that tiny thing looming in the distance – Ragnarok.
I can tell you right now that while this predominately fantasy, it’s BDSM erotica in the same way the Gor novels balanced fantasy and erotica. 
I hope you will enjoy it as much as I am writing it.

30 Days of Dominance – Day 30: Is Your Dominance being met? 

Day 30 – Is your need to be Dominant being met? If not, or if your situation changed, do you think that you could continue in your life and be happy and content without being able to express your Dominance in the way that feels best to you? What makes being a Dominant special to you?
Okay guys, this one’s the last one. It’s late but blame that on my mood and life being busy with its birthday dinners and fatigue on my soul.

Is my need to be Dominant being met? A resounding YES! I don’t feel edgy because I can’t be myself. I’m not wallowing in the dark because I’m in a bad place.
Now that side of me is fulfilled each and every day and you know, I still breathe a sigh of relief. 
It’s been a couple of years since I was in a relationship where I had tried to introduce BDSM gently into my life but my partner wasn’t interested. And I can still feel that yearning like it was just a couple of months. 
Maybe that was because I was caged or maybe because it was just a restrictive environment and something that has always been big to me is my independence. So since it was affecting me emotionally and in such a huge way, I can still kind of feel it. 
What makes being a dominant special to me? Hmm. It’s knowing that I have this person’s trust and it’s knowing that I have someone to explore the things that make our humanity a richer experience. So it’s trust but it’s also more then trust, it’s that this person has given their body and mind to me – and I’m their guardian. I know this person, inside and out. That little freckle on her nipple? It’s mine. Her gentle nature that people compliment her on? Mine. Her large sexual appetite? Mine. 
Being in charge of all of these things, of connecting to a soul in this lifetime, on a primal and intimate level. It’s complicated and mystifying and magical and sweet and that’s why it’s special. 

30 Days of Dominance – Day 29!

I’m a bit late with this one, apologies. Life is getting busy. 


Day 29 – Is pain or humiliation part of your Dominant expression? What is your relationship to pain and humiliation? Do you embrace it as part of your Dominance, inflict it reluctantly or have some other type of relationship with it? 
Yes but in varying degrees. I would say they exist in different shades, sometimes darker, sometimes lighter, sometimes not at all. 

And my relationship to it? Well, I’m the bringer of it and the caregiver to it and the coach and moderator. More than that, I think there is some kind of connection to it, that’s behind our eyes, hidden. Something we can bring out through it, something we can share together. Something we can experiment with.
But then I think there’s a balance there for me personally. Maybe there’s primal rage that is circumvented through these controlled acts, that for some reason are coming out to a person I adore? Maybe it’s just the exploration of a darker nature. Something to share in the comfort of our own home. 
With that in mind, I embrace it. I embrace the moment, the experiment, the time together. 

I must’ve been grinding my cock in my sleep again…


I remember being half awake and gliding the full length of my shaft against the sheets, drawing out the sensation of the grind.In my dreams, a recurring thought came back to me: Who wants to lick my shaven cock? Or nibble on my balls?

I remember being in a dream – in a deserted cabin in the middle of the Amazon. I needed to come so desperately that every part of my body ached. I could even feel that building within me – the orgasm.

 And as I write this I can feel it now. Lingering. Throbbing. Screaming for a touch, for a mouth to run its wet tongue along the length of it.

God help me. I’ve lost my mind. 

How are your dreams?