Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Mor Astrid appeared at the back of the classroom, her stern presence immediately commanding our attention. Without a word, she gestured for us to follow her. My heart raced as we filed out of the room and back into the stone corridors of our strange new world.
As we made our way through the winding passages, the air grew cooler and damper. I realized we had descended deeper into the complex, and a shiver went down my spine.
Finally, we arrived at a massive wooden door, its surface etched with runes I recognized as the same kind as those from Sven’s morning lesson. Mor Astrid pushed it open with surprising strength, revealing the training hall beyond.
Yet another vast chamber opened to our view. High vaulted ceilings disappeared into shadows above, while torches along the walls cast a warm, dancing light across the space. The air was thick with the scent of leather, sweat, and the unmistakable, cheek-reddening aroma of sex—too similar in quality to the way my master’s chamber had smelled that morning for me to keep from biting my lip.
But it was the equipment scattered throughout the room that truly caught my attention. Racks of whips and floggers lined one wall, their leather tails gleaming ominously. Strange contraptions of wood and metal stood at intervals, their purpose a mystery that both frightened and intrigued me.
And then I saw the bride saddles. Six of them, in a semicircle around a throne-like wooden chair, in the center of the hall. My breath caught in my throat as memories of the previous night came flooding back. I heard the other girls gasp and whisper as they too recognized the ornate wooden structures.
“Oh, God,” I heard Sophie murmur. “Those are the things where…”
“Where they took our asses,” Camille finished, her voice a mix of defiance and a hint of helpless arousal.
I nodded mutely, unable to tear my eyes away from the saddles. They seemed both familiar and alien in the light of day. The polished wood gleamed, the leather straps hanging ready. I could almost feel the ghost of those straps against my skin, holding me in place as Sven had claimed my virgin bottom.
An intense flash of heat washed over me at the memory. The initial pain, yes, but also the overwhelming fullness, the exquisite pleasure that had followed. I shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of the wetness gathering between my thighs.
“Girls.” Mor Astrid’s sharp voice cut through my reverie. “Your attention, please.”
I tore my gaze away from the saddles, forcing myself to focus on the older woman. She stood beside a row of what looked like ordinary exercise equipment—treadmills, stationary bikes, and weight machines.
“Before your trial begins, you must warm up,” Mor Astrid continued. “This test involves much more than physical fitness, but the physical element represents an essential component of it.”
She moved to a large wicker basket near the exercise equipment. She reached in and pulled out a handful of wide strips of fabric, about the breadth of her hand, colored a natural homespun beige. The strips stretched down into the basket, and as I peered into it I could see they must be about six feet long.
“These are breast bands,” she announced, holding them up for us to see. “They’re made of linen, and they’re to be tucked around your bosoms. This is the traditional Norse way to support your brjóst. You will help each other put them on before your warmup.”
CHAPTER 17
Mary
I felt a flutter of nervous excitement in my stomach. On one hand, the thought of having even this small bit of covering was a relief after hours of complete nudity. But the idea of touching the other girls so intimately, of having them touch me, sent a confusing thrill through my body.
“Come now, don’t be shy,” Mor Astrid chided, her stern voice brooking no argument. “You’ve all been far more intimate with each other already.”
My cheeks burned as I remembered the events in the bathing chamber, the way Camille’s tongue had felt against my moist pussy. I glanced at her, seeing a similar blush creeping up her neck.
Hesitantly, we approached the basket. I reached in and pulled out one of the breast bands, frowning a bit at the softness of the linen. I wondered how many young women had worn it, how many times it had been washed over the years for it to reach such a texture.
“Into your training pairs,” Mor Astrid instructed. “Mary and Camille, Sophie and Amélie, Yvette and Fleur.”
I turned to face Camille, the breast band clutched in my trembling hands. Her dark eyes met mine, a mixture of defiance and vulnerability in their depths.
“Let’s just get this over with,” she muttered, lifting her arms above her head.
I stepped closer, my heart racing. The scent of her skin filled my nostrils—a mixture of the herbal soap from our bath and something uniquely Camille.