[It was weird]
When I got back, I discovered my father, just as I expected, pacing around his blacksmith shop. His face was etched with worry, suggesting he had been searching for me for quite a while.
However, I could sense the irritation radiating from his clenched fists, which made me pause before approaching him.
Eventually, I took my time shoveling the snow that surrounded me. As I worked, I noticed my hands beginning to feel the chill. That's when I stumbled upon some solid objects hidden beneath the white blanket. I could tell right away they weren't just stones; they were small pieces of iron.
You'll come across them spread out around this blacksmith's shop, and I believe this is a solid reason to share with my father.
As my father strolled around, I was set to greet him out front. I even got a moment to wave at his two friends, who responded with enthusiastic cheers, raising their hammers high in the air.
"Hey Smiour, look! Your son is back!"
I could hear my father's hurried footsteps approaching, and just as I was about to say something, he had already struck my head. I hadn't even gotten around to showing the small iron pieces I was holding; it felt like all my efforts were for nothing.
"You naughty brat, how many times are you going to give your father a reason to worry?" He asked, clearly frustrated, but instead of hitting my head again, he just picked me up and carried me.
"I'm not a naughty brat... please don't hit me," I tried to show annoyance while still keeping that innocent, childlike vibe, but I think that's all there is to it.
"Sure, I'll stop bothering you if you can just ease my mind a bit. I'm pretty sure your mother is going to give you a way tougher slap than I would if she finds out what went down."
It was clear to me that he was feeling calmer, yet that playful urge to tease me was still very much alive in him. As we journeyed on, our arguments persisted, and every now and then, the villagers we encountered would chime in, backing my side of things. However, there were also plenty of people who stood by my father's perspective.
"Mother would never hit me. She's not like you."
It felt like my words had found an audience, and before we knew it, we were standing right in front of our house. As I stood there, I caught a glimpse of my mother casting a quick, sharp glance at my father from behind the door. But just as swiftly, her expression transformed into a warm smile when her eyes landed on me.
"So, you didn't teach him anything strange, right?" When my mother asked a straightforward question, I could see my father tense up right away. His body was shaking, but he didn't waste any time responding.
I pressed my body into my mother's warm embrace, and then he hurried into the house, throwing out an excuse, "of course not. I'm going to step out for a bit and take a shower, so you two can have some time together."
I couldn't help but chuckle as I watched my mother cling to her suspicions right up to the very end. "Hold on a second, I haven't heard an answer from little Viktor."
My father's footsteps came to an abrupt halt, and my smile grew even broader in that instant. I couldn't help but speak freely, "You know, mother. I was trying to gather this near father's workplace."
I held out what was in my hand, and my mother simply nodded, her expression suggesting she was ready for me to continue my story. Meanwhile, my father's face was a mix of shock and disbelief, as if he was silently accusing me, 'You planned this, you little brat.'
"I was just trying to lend a hand to father by gathering it up. I thought it might come in handy, but instead, he ended up hitting my head."
I even included the hitting motion my father used to do, and that was more than enough to convince my mother. Now, all that's left for me is to enjoy the captivating show playing right in front of me.
"Smiour, you really think it's okay to hit our son, do you? Did you use my absence as an opportunity to get it done?"
"No, Eva. It's not what you might be imagining. I hit him for a good reason, and I'm sure my hit wasn't as hard as what he tried to convey."
My father didn't quite see it, but he was digging himself into a deeper hole. I could sense it, the way my mother was about to inflict something painful on him in just a few seconds.
"Hooh, so you're actually owning up to hitting him. Don't worry, little Viktor. I give your father way more than that, trust me!"
Honestly, this wasn't the first time my father had hit me. I understood that it was just his way of showing affection, especially since, as I grew older, he rarely expressed it through hugs anymore.
Still, It was oddly satisfying to witness a grown man with a muscular physique cowering in fear while his wife, smaller in stature, took him down. There was something about the whole scene that felt just right.
Ultimately, this whole thing wasn't merely about seeking revenge or finding some sort of entertainment; instead, I found a way to leverage the situation to my benefit.
After this, I felt confident that my father would loosen the reins a bit, allowing me to explore every nook and cranny of the village. It seemed like my chance to soak in all the details and stories hidden in those corners would finally come with more ease.
My mother finally stopped when she heard me laughing out loud and looked just as satisfied as I felt. My father was the one who bore the brunt of it all. I could see it in the way he walked to the bathroom. His shoulders slumped and heavy, like the weight of the world was resting on them. But deep down, I understood what he was going through.
The slight smile he tried to hide showed that the earlier interaction had lifted his spirits quite a bit. I can picture him relaxing in the bathroom, lost in thoughts about how wonderful his family is, and feeling a deep sense of gratitude.
"Come on, you should clean yourself up too, little Viktor."
My attention shifted back to my mother, and when I noticed her soft smile directed at me, I could not resist mirroring that warmth with a smile of my own.
Even now, I still can't wrap my head around why she wouldn't let me take a bath in the bathroom. I wanted to just relax and soak in a warm bath. At least it all felt worthwhile after spending the entire day covered in that chilly snow.
Ultimately, I was unable to make a decision on my own. My hand was gently guided into the room, and as I settled onto the bed, I noticed that my mother had thoughtfully set up a wooden bucket filled with warm water and a soft cloth.
She took her time, gently dipping it in before her hand made a squeezing motion. The sound of water splashing back into the bucket caught me off guard, sending a little jolt to my heart. Holding the damp cloth, she got ready to clean my body.
She began by taking off my gloves and shoes. The sensation of wetness on my skin brought a sense of comfort, a cozy reminder of the warmth that still lingered. My mother was attentive, quickly dipping the cloth back into the bucket to refresh the warmth that had faded away.
The gentle texture of the cloth wrapped around me enhanced the cozy vibe. My eyes fluttered shut on their own, almost as if they were eager to convey to my mother just how much I appreciated the warmth of her attention.
When I finally opened my eyes, I noticed my mother was already well into the process of undressing me. She confidently pulled down my pants, revealing my still-developing penis.
"I'm sorry if you're feeling uncomfortable; I'll wrap this up shortly," my mother said with a sympathetic tone. However, I noticed her gaze lingering on my lower body momentarily before she shifted her attention back to me.
This situation might turn out to be both a blessing and a curse for me. Despite her persistent nudges in my sensitive areas, my body showed no signs of reacting at all. Yet, my adult self kept grappling with the turmoil within. If she truly understood the emotions swirling inside me, I wondered if she'd still possess that same courage.
As I thought back to my meeting with Helga, I realized that her stunning face was something I would never forget. It was etched in my mind, a vivid image that would linger long after our encounter. I also recalled her daughter, who shared some of the same facial features. However, what stood out the most was the noticeable mound on her chest, which was quite prominent.
Today, I had the incredible fortune of meeting them, and I can already tell that the impression they made on me will linger in my dreams. As I let those beautiful memories wash over me for a moment, I completely lost track of the fact that my mother was gently wiping my body.
Out of nowhere, my body jolted in surprise, and right after me, she reacted nervously, "Sorry, I didn't mean to. Are you alright?"
It looks like, without me even noticing, my mother got a bit caught up in her feelings and ended up rubbing my sensitive area a little harder than she usually does. I couldn't help but shake my head as I looked at her face, which was already flushed a deep red. Even the way she was gasping for breath seemed off, almost like something was bothering her.
How did I make her this perverted?
Regardless of everything, I was still just a child, so her actions didn't trigger any response from me physically. Even so, my heart felt like it was on fire, and I knew I wouldn't get a good night's sleep unless I made an effort to extinguish that flame.
As I carefully navigated the bumpy surface of the mattress, I focused on keeping my steps steady. Once I felt balanced, I turned to my mother with an innocent expression and asked, "mother, I want drink milk."
"Well, little Viktor, you're already 3 years old! If you're feeling thirsty, I can pour you some sheep's milk."
You might find it surprising that I'm still drinking breast milk at the age of 3, but I'm not ashamed to say it. I have my reasons for it, and now one of those reasons is starting to come to light.
Even though everyone in this village sports nearly identical thick clothing, once you step inside a house, you might be taken aback by how warm it gets. It's not uncommon for folks to shed their jackets, allowing the familiar tunic fabric to cling comfortably to their skin.
As I stood in front of my mother, an unexpected moment occurred when my body brushed against her chest. I kept my composure, but I could sense that it was significant for her; I noticed her breathing grew noticeably heavier.
"I guess I really spoil you, don't I? What else can I do? Just make sure you promise your mother that you'll drink sheep's milk regularly, alright?"
She might believe that it could put an end to my habit of drinking breast milk, but she would just end up feeling disappointed. In my situation, I have different reasons that drive me to continue doing it.
I placed my hand gently on her head, running my fingers through her dark hair while I continued to press myself against her chest, intensifying the moment in a way that felt overwhelming for her. Even when she lifted her shirt, all I could do was smile.
Finally, my body made direct contact with her bare breasts, and the sensation was beyond anything I could put into words. It ignited an even greater fire within me.
It was weird…
I kept my cool on the surface, and even my body seemed to stay still. But then, out of nowhere, a thought popped into my head—something I had never even considered before.
When it came to looks, she might not have been as stunning as Helga or Ylva, but there was something about her that caught my attention and made me overlook all of that.
As she held her breasts, she glanced up at me. From her viewpoint, I must have seemed like a little child eagerly anticipating a sip of breast milk.
"There, little Viktor! While you're enjoying your milk, let me give you a hand with getting dressed."
Following her lead, I settled onto her lap, and my tiny fingers instinctively found their way to her breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze. Before long, I leaned in to take her nipples into my mouth, savoring every second of it.
"Ahnn...♡ we can't hang out for too long, alright? It seems like your father has probably wrapped up his shower by now and waiting for us to sit down and enjoy dinner together... mmmh...♡"