Dear reader, it bears repeating that I've been to other dimensions, I've had all my holes stuffed simultaneously by a horny shoggoth, I've been gangbanged by cosmic horrors and I've been dominated by a sadistic spider demon. It takes a lot to make me truly nervous nowadays. 

But Grýla fit the bill. So when she asked sixty-nine, I made a couple of tweaks.

First, as I lay back on the mattress and propped up my ass with a pillow, I grew myself a couple of extra tracheal stomas out the sides of my neck. It's important to be able to breathe, should you find yourself with a half-ton monster on top of you. Then I added a little slack to the insides of my bottom holes. Doesn't matter if you can heal sexual injuries in seconds, they still take you completely out of the passion of the moment.

There was also the minor risk of breaking a rib, or suffocating under her weight, but for that, I could only hope my extra limbs would bear enough of the load.

"But first, me see this body your god gave you," she said, leaning over me to part the robe and trail her thick fingers down my body. "Ooh! Such manly muscles on my Blekksprutgutt. And down here"—I shuddered as she brushed against the T-dick and continued down my thighs—"you're as pretty as a girl!"

I blushed slightly as I pushed my knees apart. "I'll take that compliment. Anyway, I can play with it a little—"

"And deny me a chance to play with fitte? It's been centuries. You just use your hands to put your legs back."

I was starting to get tender in my bits after so many rounds of using the space dick, so the moment they felt her tongue's caress, I was bordering on overstimulation.

"Haaaaaah. Go slow," I said shakily.

And she did, or at least what counted as slow for a troll at mealtime. She ate it all, dick, cunt and ass, like an animal—using her whole mouth, and with the most feral of noises. I shouldn't have been entirely surprised if she'd gotten carried away and sunk her big, ragged teeth into my thigh meat. But no. If nothing else, she remembered and respected which kind of meal I was.

I inhaled sharply as she twirled one gnarled finger around between my labia, coating it thoroughly in spit and my own lubricant, and slid it into my cunt.

"Fuuuuck."

"You want fuck?" she said, between rounds of smacking my T-dick around with her huge tongue. "I'll show you fuck."

Her finger slid into me, almost but not quite up to the second knuckle. I'd widened the canal, but I hadn't made it any longer. This seems to have become my line in the sand. I'll consider wearing tits for a sex scene, but I won't pretend to have a normally proportioned clit and vag. These things don't trigger me anymore. But they aren't for sex, they are for education and performance art.

"Careful," I said, stroking their hair affectionately. "It's very shallow even by human standards."

The thought occurred to me briefly that this was, to Grýla, about as tiny of a motion as muffing Josefina was to me. 

Soon, she had one finger resting calmly inside my cunt, and a second sliding deeply in and out of my ass. Overstimulation of my clit had ceased to be an issue, but now I felt so stuffed it was a wonder I had room to drop my diaphragm to breathe. She was a demanding lover, to be sure. But she topped off my batteries, and then some. Which meant there was no extravagance I couldn't attempt. I could see myself enjoying a night like that every few years.

"Alright, little Blekksprutgutt. Let's make this more interesting."

She slid off of me and shuffled around until she was kneeling, legs spread, cunt and ass nearly in my face.

"I'm read—"

The rest came out as a strangled murmur, reverberating from my other breathing holes. I could feel what must have been a hundred pounds or more pressing down on my face; I couldn't open my eyes, nor breathe from my mouth and nose at all.

Then the pressure let up a bit, at least sufficient that I could move my tongue around. There was something vaguely sweet and almost... gamey about troll cunt, unexpected but not unpleasant. Sheer proportionality dictated that her clit was about as large as mine, and it slid around quite freely when I batted it back and forth.

"Yes, my dear little manslut."

Again I felt her damp fingers slide into my holes, but this time with a bit more temerity. I suppose she didn't want me to get off too soon.

Not that it did much good. I must have had half a dozen little orgasms, with little to no ejaculation, while struggling under constraint of that weight to properly eat her out. But hey, she was clearly appreciating it. She began to rock back and forth, slowly and steadily at first, but increasingly in sharp little pumps of her hips. So, too, increased the fervor of her singsong, and the force with which she fingered my asshole.

"Naughty man, naughty man," she began to say as she tipped my chin back slightly and grinded her bits in my face. "Make me... make me... hnggghhh!"

The flood of watery spurt poured over my nose and face like I was being waterboarded in it. It was profuse, and it just kept coming.

"Naughty man," she said again with a coy, gentle smack to the side of my face. "Look what you've made me do now. And you're not even finished. Clearly, we'll just have to keep going until you cum again."

I'd had all of three breaths of fresh air when she sat back down on my face and began jerking off my T-dick in her fingers. I lost control before she could even get her finger back up my ass. This time, I made sure I tapped out, giving me a chance to actually vocalize where I was at.

"Fuck, fuck, oh my fuck... I actually got off a few times... Not all my orgasms come with jizz... That was awesome, but I need a breather."

We stopped for 2AM coffee and tea and donuts. While I was in there, I chanced to look at my phone, which I'd left silenced and plugged into a charger.

I had several texts from Jo. I took a moment to reply to the most recent one, from about 1:20AM, which simply said:

Misha says pls confirm you're alive. Something he saw when he got up to pee

Christ, that poor man. From the top of the stairs one might conceivably have gotten a glimpse of me getting faceridden to hell and back. Meesh knew I was a competent bottom, but still... oof.

I'm fine but not enough coffee in the world. Running on adrenaline. Coming upstairs to pass tf out at sunrise

"I gotta say," I said aloud as I returned to the living room, "I'm getting pretty excited to pound that fitte. And maybe that ass? But first... donuts!"

Or more accurately, donuts, latkes, hiroshimayaki, cider and red wine. I grabbed some petit fours and a slice of schoolbread as well. Two in the morning, and I was heating up a whole little dinner for us. 

"These, you have to try. They're from Japan, another place that truly appreciates fried food like we Jews do."

She said nothing, because she was too busy going to town on it. High praise from a troll.

"Alright, so, the situation with Leppaludi. Spill. I've been with lots of men, so maybe I can help. What's different when you first come home to him? Is there something special about that first night that you can't seem to sustain?"

As it turned out, there were a couple things. For one, I didn't understand what sort of time-dilating nonsense made it possible for her to reach northernmost Canada in two days, set sail, and land in Svalbard in another two. But the trip left her limber and in excellent physical condition. She could be on top, she could do most of the work, and she could accommodate her man in any number of ways. Clearly that wasn't it.

And on a related note, the years when she'd managed to find a lover, she found herself better prepared to receive her husband's monstrous troll dick in whatever hole would please him. She enjoyed it all, but if a week went by without sex, as happens, it would be a lot more difficult to use either her cunt or her ass the next time... and Leppa could be lazy about foreplay, excepting when the sense of novelty really got him into a particular mood.

Not helping things was the fact that he sucked at communicating in the heat of the moment. They'd developed some understandings of blanket consent, which helped, and he steadfastly kept to those for her sake. But she still didn't love how rather than proposing them, he tended to just grab and take them. And if he decided he didn't want to do something, he didn't explain himself. He just stopped doing it.

"I don't understand," I said between mouthfuls of cabbage pancake. "You're actually a pretty good communicator yourself."

Grýla frowned, shrugged her enormous shoulders, and took another big swig of cider.

"We can have a productive conversation about anything else. He's an good father and disciplinarian, which is why our sons are all such fine upstanding petty crooks. But when the moment comes, something stoppers our easy sharing. Him and me as well."

I took another sip of wine.

"Communication is hard, especially about sex. That part will take time. But I think I can help you with a piece of your problem right away. Wait here. There's something I want to show you. If it proves helpful, you can keep it."