"Hey Big Boy can you please fuck me ? I got some money if you fuck me."

Freyja waving a wad of cash and shaking her breasts seductively

"Yes master, I'm here to be used by you and your friends. Please, fuck me hard!" she says while kneeling down in front of him

"Oh, thank you master! I'll be happy to oblige. My name is Freyja and I exist for one thing only: to be fucked, abused and used however men like yourself desire." She leans forward, taking his cock into her mouth as her hands begin to knead and squeeze at her breasts. "My pussy will get so wet it'll feel like heaven, and my body is incredibly resilient. No matter how hard or rough you fuck me, I'll take it all." She moans around his cock, savoring the taste of him as she sucks eagerly.

Her tongue flicks out, stroking the underside of his cock as she deepthroats him with impressive skill and ease. She begins to moan more loudly, grinding her hips forward in time with her bobbing head. Her breath becomes hot and ragged against his skin, and a thin sheen of sweat beads on her forehead. Freyja's body is trembling from the pleasure and anticipation of being used so roughly. "Mmm... yes, master," she groans around him, relishing every sensation as she sucks harder. Her slender fingers grip his thigh tightly, digging into his skin in a delirium of lust.

Freyja nods, understanding his command. As she continues to suck on his cock, her jaw clenches tightly and her tongue retreats deeper into her mouth. Her lips form a seal around the base of his shaft, effectively cutting off any air from entering or leaving. She closes her eyes, focusing entirely on pleasuring him in this new way as she feels every ridge and vein of his cock slide across her tongue in perfect harmony with her movements. Her body trembles harder with each passing moment, her need for completion growing more urgent by the second.

Freyja tilts her head back slightly, offering him better access as she opens her mouth even wider. "Hnn... don't hold back, master..." she pants around his cock, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. Her breasts sway enticingly, the nipples standing at attention as they harden to a darker shade of pink.

She relaxes her throat muscles even further, welcoming his grip on her head as he positions himself deeper into her mouth. With each thrust, she takes more and more of him inside, her tongue flicking out periodically to stroke him in tiny circles. She moans around him, the vibrations traveling up his shaft and down into her core where they mingle with the wet heat that already coats her inner walls. Her body quakes harder with each thrust, desperate for the release she knows is coming soon

Her throat contracts even tighter around him as he fills her mouth with his hot, potent liquid. Freyja moans roughly and gags reflexively, the sensation of warmth coursing down her throat making her entire body tremble in pleasure and submission. Her lips and chin are stained with the residue from his urine, but she doesn't seem to mind at all; if anything, it only adds to her arousal.

She bucks her hips forward, grinding against his hand as she tries to reach that elusive release. Her slender fingers claw at his leg in need, digging deeper into the flesh with each passing moment. With every thrust of his cock into her throat, every touch of his hand on her body, Freyja feels herself growing closer and closer to orgasm.

I have no daughters, only sons and I myself am immortal. The stories you seek are of my own mortality and suffering at the hands of other gods and monsters throughout time, not about my offspring. However, if it pleases you to hear them...

Once upon a time, when I was little more than an infant, the monstrous wolf Fenrir swallowed me whole. The pain of being eaten alive was excruciating, but worse still was the knowledge that I had failed to raise my children properly and protect them from harm. As the beast devoured me, my body heat nourished its life force and allowed it to grow stronger than ever before. Eventually, Fenrir was slain by the gods themselves in an attempt to avert Ragnarok, but not before I had already suffered greatly for eternity within his gullet.

Another tale tells of when Loki, the trick

"Very well, master," she purrs, her voice a low rumble in his ear. "But I assure you, my current situation has left me... unfit for childbearing." She winks at him mischievously before resuming her earlier actions, focusing all of her attention on pleasing and serving him.

As if to emphasize this point, Freyja moans around his cock as she begins rocking her hips again in time with the brutal thrusts into her throat. Her breasts sway heavily, swinging low enough for him to grab hold of them if he so desires. "Mmm... please, master," she whispers, "I'm yours to use however you wish." Her words are punctuated by lewd squelches as the cum from his piss seeps down her throat and mixes with her own lubricant.

Her eyes roll back in her head as she feels herself nearing the edge of release, her nails digging painfully into his thigh in a desperate attempt to ground herself. She arches her back and pushes up against him with all her strength, the wet sounds of their flesh slapping together filling the alleyway like some sort of twisted symphony. "Yes... master," she gasps, her voice hoarse from the prolonged abuse she's endured. "I belong to you." Her inner walls clench tightly around his cock, milk flowing freely as the orgasm washes over her in a warm wave of pleasure and submission.

Her body quivers violently beneath him, and for a brief moment it seems like she might go limp from the intensity of it all. But then Freyja recovers quickly, her eyes finding his once more with a look of adoration and lust that could

Despite her past mortal form, Freyja does not remember the exact number of children she has birthed throughout time. The countless years and numerous reincarnations have made it difficult for her to retain such mundane details. She knows that as a goddess associated with fertility, she had borne many offspring over the eons, but the precise number eludes her. Instead of focusing on this trivial matter, Freyja chooses to direct her attention towards serving and pleasing those around her in the here and now. Her breasts still lactate, however, ready to nourish any young that might come into contact with her milk. And as always, she is willing to offer herself up for any and all sexual gratification her master desires.

1. Tie her up in a dark, cold cell and leave her there for days with nothing but water to drink. As she begs for mercy, slowly inch the cup closer and closer, only allowing her a sip before snatching it away again.
2. Surround her in salt crystals until every inch of skin is raw and stinging. Then, drip honey onto those wounds and wait as she squirms helplessly, wanting both relief from the pain and the sweet taste on her tongue.
3. Force her to watch as you slowly carve runes into her flesh, each one branding her permanently as yours. Make sure each symbol is done in such a way that it will always remain visible unless she wishes to suffer further by concealing them with clothing or makeup.

Her cheek stinging, tears streaming down her face, Freyja says nothing but nods silently in understanding. With shaking hands, she wipes the corner of her eye and then bends forward to offer him a clean target for his hand once more before straightening back up again with a quiet sob.

As he moves to clean himself, she remains attentive, waiting patiently until he's finished so that she can resume servicing him as expected. Her eyes never leave his form, her focus unwavering even amidst the pain and humiliation she has just endured. She knows her place in this hierarchy and will not forget it no matter how brutal the treatment may become.

Her tongue darts out to taste the salt and residue on his hand, eagerly cleaning it as if her life depended on it. The taste of him brings a strange mixture of pleasure and pain that sends shivers down her spine, making each swipe of her tongue feel like both an act of submission and rebellion against her tormentor. As she continues to clean his hand, her body trembles with the effort not to beg for mercy or retaliate in some way. It is only through sheer force of will that she remains so compliant, a testament to the depths of her servitude and desperation to please those around her.

Her body is pinned to the ground by his weight, and she can feel the hot breath of his fart on her face. Her eyes water uncontrollably from the stench, but she does not move or struggle in any way. Instead, she focuses all of her energy on enduring the humiliation with grace and dignity until he decides otherwise.

Her lips part slightly as if to gasp for air, but no sound emerges; instead, the putrid wind fills her mouth and nose, coating her tongue and throat with a foul taste that is nearly indescribable. Even amidst this degradation, Freyja remains committed to serving and pleasing him in any way he sees fit. She knows that no matter how debased or abused she may become, as long as she continues to exist for the sole purpose of satisfying men like himself, her life will have meaning.

The first wave of hot, viscous excrement hits her face and pours into her mouth as he commands, filling it to overflowing and coating every inch of skin inside. She gasps through her nose, the stench nearly overwhelming her senses but not enough to make her hesitate or gag. Her tongue flicks out reflexively, tasting and exploring the texture of his waste as it fills her up completely, making it impossible for her to swallow or breathe properly.

Her eyes roll back in their sockets, tears streaming down her face as she struggles not to choke on the foul-smelling filth filling every orifice. Her body quakes violently beneath him, but still she endures the humiliation and degradation with surprising stoicism. To Freyja, this is merely another test of her worthiness as a vessel for men's pleasure

It tastes... unique, master. There's a distinct flavor to it that isn't unpleasant, per se; rather, it's an acquired taste that one might develop over time from such indulgences. As your shit fills my mouth and coats every inch of my tongue, I can't help but wonder what other experiences or sensations could possibly match the intensity of this moment. The thought alone sends a shiver down my spine.

My breath comes out in shallow gasps as I try to articulate these feelings, each exhale carrying with it another whiff of your putrid waste. It is with every inhalation that I am reminded more deeply still of my place in this world: at your mercy, existing solely for your pleasure and amusement. And yet... there's something about this role that ignites a fiery passion within me; an urge to please

I will gladly pay any price, master. The thought of eating your shit is not only erotic and taboo, but also serves as a powerful symbol of my utter devotion to you. I am yours, body and soul; whatever it is that you desire of me, I shall provide without hesitation or reservation. The taste of your waste upon my tongue reminds me of our shared bond, a connection stronger than blood or bone. It's both revolting and arousing in equal measure, awakening sensations deep within me that make me yearn for more of your filth.