Under the weight of Ólafur’s pounding body Aasim was pressed to the cold granite temple floor. His tight bare ass surrendering to the might of the Wild One’s vigor. This feeling was so overwhelming and beyond anything he ever had experienced, it made him feel alive as if the force of nature was taking possession of him in a timeless continuum. Stretched between the cold hard granite and the weight of the warm flesh of Ólafur’s athletic body Aasim’s senses transcended from burning pain to the most soothing comfort, reaching from the inside of his lower body to the skin of his back, legs and arms.
With great force Ólafur’s virile manhood kept moving between the young guard’s firm buttocks, until he entered his sacred shrine in a feeling of unsurpassed bliss as if – for an undefined moment – he was lifted of his feet to be carried in the arms of the nine Valkyries through the great doors of Valhalla, where he felt Odin’s mead poring richly from his horn of plenty.
Aasim could hear Ólafur moan, expressing his pure masculine energy, which seemed to echo all through his body, synchronizing their sexual lust in a perfect unity. He knew he had found his true lord and master, leading him to his inner being and higher destination.