In this first volume of the series, Orkidedatter (Orchid Daughter), volume 1, Fire Eyes Series, Lily joins with Dr. Martin Seagraves from San Diego. Seagraves becomes part of the fight to destroy Valhalla Castle. As a result, the police and Interpol step in. Vladimir Putin's Chechen soldiers are guarding Balder's castle. The battle inside Balder's Valhalla Castle is between their supernatural powers. Therefore, the sexual action is hot and heavy, as Lily makes love to escape Balder's powerful grip. He is a hunk, but he is also a slave master!

 

CHAPTER TWELVE: LILY'S FIRST LOVE TRYST

I must convince my daughter, for her own good, to meet with him. She has always been a rational girl, except during her work with these violent psychotics, serial killers, and other perverted souls. She becomes so impassioned and depressed, at times, I can't stand it! I watch her nightmares, and they flare into my own being, until I must awaken her. I know if she can serve a purpose by living out her passion, the way my father did on his farm, then she will be free to work in peace at last. And, with the good Dr. Balder supporting me, I will be released from this purgatory of spiritual imprisonment. What's she doing now? I see. She's authoring another of her strange poems to release the demons of her mind. I will look over her shoulder to read the flow of her mental aberration. She's like an insane Henry James or Proust, perhaps even Virginia Woolf. What do they call it? Yes. Stream of Consciousness.

I'm finding myself in a garden of apple trees, dancing around every sleeping sunflower, trying to touch the silver moonlight. I'm listening to Gospel music and trying to reach your spirit. Do you remember me? You took my dreams away. I was destroyed by your revolver and my ghost haunting you to find the truth between the stars. It was a hunt late at night from an investigator's eyes. I was collecting bones from unknown humans in the heavy green underbrush, terrifying remains were found on the hillside lot of bones from young girls... jawbones, fractured skulls, clumps of hair, broken fingernails--that told me they were fighting for their lives--eyeballs so frightened that they told me this was something that never could be forgiven. While the dead speak during my work you told another story. You stroke her blond hair, kiss her cherry lips, hold her hand, suck her fingertips with your hungry mouth, push her against the bedroom wall and lick her with your fiery, split tongue, then move down her neck over her silky, swaying ivory breasts. Lips want to kiss her forehead, but in a little moment, you stop... Tick tack tick tack...time stops. With her alabaster hands in metal cuffs, you burn your milky-white sperm into her numb but moist cave. You whisper into her left ear "I need to shatter your head with my steel balls!" She humms in satisfaction, and something knocks her out. A rage only her dead body can express. A fire only her bloody spit can show, and only her soul witnesses a monster's darkest hour. You told me you dragged her between the river and the yellow field, licked her sweet blood from her ears, lips, and eyelashes. Up the road, her head was severed in two ... and the road turned red. You were gazing at her blood like it was taunting you, and a demon-loving joy juice was what you left behind. You, who does not look like someone who could tear people to shreds, sat in front of me with a smile that was longing for a kiss on the cheek and so you described how you left the bodies posed in sex acts, a masterpiece with your DNA. In the shadows of death, I don't need to forgive to move on, because when you are finding yourself in a garden of apple trees with your mom's fractured skull in your palms and your life flashing in front your eyes, stir your blood and freeze your heart...

 

"Mother? Are you there? What can I title this? Please! I need your advice!"

She asks me for advice. That's a good one! She can invite strange men across the world to be partners with her on a case, or send me to chaperon two Huldras in disguise, but she only asks me to give her help with her sick and demented poetry! I suppose this might be a good segue for me to tell her about her next guest, Dr. Paul Balder, V. She can't see me, even with her powers of shapeshifting, speaking with dead spirits, and conferencing with human demons. I will give her a title for her poem.

Oh, my dear, I don't know. What about 'Who is the Devil in the Garden?' Or 'Eve's Demon Lover?'

She smiles and looks up, even though my voice is inside her head.

"Yes! I like 'Eve's Demon Lover.' Thank you, Mother. I hope you weren't offended by my reference to you."

Of course not! I can plainly see who this demon is. The same werewolf who murdered me, Mr. Hans Wortle, who is now the Oslo public gymnasium Physics teacher, all pacified with drugs, to keep his rather peculiar tastes at bay--if the full moon will please excuse my expression this once. My goodness! How prescient of me. It is a full moon this evening. How romantic!

"Mother, you know me so well, even though you deserted me at my most vulnerable age. I'll use your title, and I thank you for it. Perhaps we are getting closer."

This is my chance to tell her about Dr. Balder. My dear, have you visited your ladies lately? You were saying how much fun you had with them after that little girl was calling you the other day. I thoroughly enjoyed being their escort. You should really visit them today and find out about the fun they had with the Huldrekall lovers. Perhaps you yourself can experience such bliss. One never knows who might visit you. You told me the leader was quite enamored of you in your Huldra form.

She's smiling. A good sign. She looks up, fluffs her long blonde hair, and her thick eyebrows rise, in one of her curious poses, her breasts beneath her powder blue detective suit rising and falling.

"Why yes. I was wondering what they experienced. Ever since that case with the girl, my mind has been everywhere else but my sexual affairs. Even Dr. Seagraves was beginning to come on to me, which is not proper. Although, he now knows about me and my supernatural proclivities. I suppose I could use a little adventure again. The best sex I've ever had was with Norse creatures. I cannot be impregnated, as I have a human spirit. This is the best birth control one can have, right?"

She laughs, and I know I have convinced her. Dr. Balder will be there to meet her, and his son informed me that his father will show her a very good time. I'm so happy for you, Astrid! You must tell me all about it when you return. I will give you complete privacy in these matters.

My daughter stands up, and I can see her eyes begin to get that dreamy look she always gets whenever she's ready to transition into one of her creatures. I really don't know how many she can become, but I do know her grandfather's curse had a lot to do with it. I wonder what gave him that curse? She stands at the door, and when she opens it, I can see it's a beautiful day in March, no snow, as it has melted, and the wind is light, as it gently blows my daughter's hair and skirt freely about. She is so beautiful, and she is artistic. I love her so much more when she loses her maudlin depression.

Enjoy yourself in our beautiful Norway, my dear! May Odin protect you!

Of course, I will be with her on her little tryst. I just wanted her to believe she was going to have privacy. Loki needs my information to give him his own libidinous enjoyment. How can I miss out on this? My mind has urges of its own, after all! With my spiritual insight, I can also hear what my daughter is thinking as she makes love. What a contrast! Her naked, strong, and vibrant identity as a Huldra, and her inner passion as a woman of thirty-eight. If only I could be part of this miracle. As they say in the spirit world, "No body, no fun."

After she transforms into her Huldra aspect, Lily is looking up into the sky, as she walks barefoot along the path to the waterfall where the Huldra clan live. The brilliant full moon is rising, above the forest line, and now I understand my daughter's trepidation. She remembers how I was killed!

Perhaps she believes Hans Wortle will be lurking about. However, as a Huldra, with great speed and her wooden back spines, I doubt even a psychotic schoolteacher could do her much harm. Unless he were an actual werewolf. He was salivating and raging so much when he stabbed me, I never really got a good look at his total appearance. He may have been a real werewolf, come to think of it. Oh well. Life is full of its little surprises. That's what makes it enjoyable.

My daughter as a Huldra in the glorious wonderland of the woods is a breathtaking experience. She can smell the pines and elders, and the frosty air bites at her lips as she steps through the brush toward her rendezvous with a lover she's never met. Not only has she been chaste for over year now, but she has never made love with one of her "people," as she often calls them. Why? She tells me she believes she is connected to them on a deep level, deeper than the souls we have as humans. This frightens her, and she hasn't attempted to be intimate with any of them, even though she feels it would clean her insides from the blood and the gore that fill her human fantasies every night, especially during the months of the midnight sun.

I am so happy she is doing this! She is now at the clearing near the waterfall, and as I look out toward the mountain which juts up into the sky beside the forest, I look down into the canyon below, filled with dark trees that seem to call you from the heights to meet them in a passionate embrace below. The ledge just beneath this waterfall still is very high above, and I fear for my darling daughter.

I can hear her asking the new mothers, who have already had their children, how the sex was with the Huldrekalls, who they at first believed were attacking them. They were busy doing what Olga did with Marilyn, the murderer of her rapist uncle, trading their babies in for a human baby. The foxtails disappear, as well as the pointed ears, and their babies look very human when they are traded. In return, they raise their human babes to become new Huldras, breathing into them under the magic waterfall with the divine spirit of Odin. This makes them into the temptresses, or the male Huldrekalls, the forest women of the night, and the underground raging black demons, who come upon unwary travelers, campers, and photographers, and take them captive.

What do they do to these humans-either male or female-depending upon their sexual needs? They ravish them, of course, and then they push them off the cliffs, or send them spiraling down from the waterfall ledge, watch them careen through the air, screaming, their bodies falling, until they dash into bloody pulps against the rocks below. Then, as a clan, they hold hands around a campfire and sing praises to the men, the Huldrekalls, and to the great Viking and Pagan God, Odin. The answering shrieks in the night from their lovers below make them moist in their vaginas, and they have multiple orgasms, without the men, without their touch, and without a care in the world!

"Why do you do this without them?" Lily asks, as she has never pursued this line of intimate questioning before.

"Huldrekalls are like cats-they have barbs on the sides of their penises. To become impregnated is to be tortured. We never want this again, to scream in pain, so we imagine the experience alone. We have such fantastic imaginations, we can feel the hard, yet soft outside penis, stroking the insides of our uteruses. The plunging foments of torment disappear, and we can hold hands and have an ultimate Huldra communal orgasm! We gain power and strength to protect our woods from invasion by these humans of pollution, war, and death. Huldras above, Huldrekalls below-the way we prefer it!"

The call comes from beneath the waterfall. It's not the same call as before. Not the piercing, enraged battle cry of the underground, black demons. This voice is much gentler, soothing to the ear, like a strong wind racing through the canyons below, calling you down to your death, perhaps, but still mixing with the raging waters of passionate release all around them.

Her fifteen sisters' pointed ears perk up in unison. They have never heard of such a mating call. My daughter is intrigued, even with her personal taste for violent love, skulls, and blood, she gazes out toward the waterfall, about two hundred meters from their campsite, near the cliff's edge. The birds and insects seem to chant along with his voice, as he calls out behind the immaculately white froth of the falling waters. What is behind that white mask, they all seem to ask?

When her sisters begin to run toward the call, falling, pushing, and shoving one another for a lead, Astrid Lily knows she must fight to earn her reward. She strikes out, as if she were a rugby player, her blonde head down, pile-driving through these fox-tailed women, her sisters in form only, who are in love with a new experience. First one, then another, go sprawling, legs splayed helplessly akimbo, twisting, and rolling on the forest floor. And my Lily runs on! Soon she passes them all, and she makes one final push on the lead Huldra, and pulls her tail for good measure, sending the femme fatale gasping and spitting, as she runs for cover into the woods to the left.

Finally, my daughter is at the ledge, and she delicately climbs out onto the mountain's precipice above the crashing waters below. She never looks down, as she gingerly steps under the white, frothing curtain to experience what was behind it.

I can't stand it, of course, so I float over to them, peering behind the curtain to watch. I have seen and done most every sex position in the Hindu Kama Sutra. I have sucked, licked, kissed, and loved probably every inch of the human body, but I am not prepared for what I now can see, hear, and experience. Yes, and I want to taste it and touch it, but I have no such power in my spiritual existence to do so.

He's stands eight feet tall, the same as the others, the black ones. But he is white as the snows of Norway, and his white hair falls in curly rivulets to his muscular shoulders, which are gleaming with moonlight from the full radiance above them. My goodness! I am a spirit, and my virtual vagina is getting wet just seeing this monster of love! And his tongue! It is forked as well, but as she steps under the canopy of the falls, she reaches out to its soft and pulsating rhythm, as each forked prong is smooth, bloody red, and engorged, like two separate penises ready to probe into her cave of earthly delights. Can I stand this? Dr. Balder has this ability to shape into such a figure of masculine strength and beauty? Min Gud! I instinctively reach down to caress myself, but there's nothing, and I feel immediately crestfallen, as if I want to fall into those waves below! Such passionate insinuation! Those two probes begin to twist in the air, the spray making them moist and ready, and I can hear my daughter swoon as they visit her between the legs.

Yes, I have experienced a male fist and his rubbing tongue upon my clitoris, but this was an entirely new level of sexual passion. Lily became the writhing, snake-like creature, her blonde head falling back against the cliff, her legs quivering, as these two forks in the road to Oz explore her, devour her, in and out, then one of them twirling in the air above her arching body, encircling her neck, and squeezing it, as she screams out her first of what must be fifteen consecutive orgasms!

If all her bloody, smiling skulls, violent killers, and demonic lovers don't disappear, then my daughter is sick beyond recovery. This Huldrekall of passion howls at the moon, as his own huge penis rises to greet Lily's mouth, and she responds, lowering her head, as if she's a little girl taking her first pagan communion with nature. But this nature makes her salivate and gush with release, as her full lips encircle his engorged manhood as if her lips were also squeezing pythons of passion. The motion, the rhythmic dynamic, the smell of hot bodies in love, the feel of their moist joy under the falling waters into nature's abyss. It's fully breathtaking!

When his twelve inches of Huldrekall passion enters her, I believe I can hear her thank heaven for the first time in her life. She rocks to his rhythmic thrusts, as if she is losing her mind under this waterfall, and perhaps she is. Her face is contorted in ecstatic bliss, as the two tongue prongs enter her from the rear, and she yelps with surprise, so loudly, I can hear the echoes across the canyons below.

After he ejaculates, a spouting gush of white semen across her spiny back, and onto her heaving breast in front, he does not stop. He kisses her entire body with slow, passionate swirls of his probes and licks every drop of his and her love potion from both of their bodies.

Finally, as the moon is a much smaller, glowing, full-faced, white witch, above them in the night, he picks her up into his brawny arms, cradles her exhausted head against his broad, hairless chest, and walks out from behind the raging torrent of the waterfall. I see them as they coo to each other, still working their pouting lips, savoring with drowsy eyelids the passion of moments before.

As he carries her to her sisters, I can hear his baritone voice as he sets her amongst her sisters. The others are awe-struck at his image, and their imaginations must be giving them additional orgasms as they stare at his forked, fat, and probing tongue and Herculean physique.

"When she wakes up, please tell her there will be more, in a different place, in a different way, and with even more passionate creatures. I am much obliged to you all. The night of passionate release becomes you, ladies. I salute you, in Odin's name!"

As my daughter sleeps, he creeps off into the forest, his broad back and shoulders moving with panther-like grace, and the earth below him is never disturbed. To me, he's a gift of loving release to my daughter and to her nightmares of hideous experiences. I know I am now working for the right man!