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)
“That’s it,” Mor Astrid murmured. “Feel how the pain and pleasure intertwine.”
The strap fell again, a glancing blow across my breast. I cried out, my fingers working frantically between my legs. I was so close, balanced on a knife’s edge of ecstasy.
“Stop!” Mor Astrid’s voice cracked like a whip. “Hands on the handlebars. Start pedaling again.”
I obeyed instantly, gripping the handlebars with trembling hands. As I began to pedal, I found that the rhythmic motion helped me maintain my arousal without tipping over into orgasm. The display fluctuated between nine and ten as I rode, my body quivering with need, but unable to find release.
To my right, Camille gave a sobbing cry. The buzzer on her bike sounded, and Mor Astrid was there in an instant, her strap whistling through the air.
“Naughty whore,” she scolded as Camille cried out in pain. “You think yourself so rebellious, but you only show your filthy lust.”
I kept my eyes fixed on my own display, desperately trying to maintain control as the sounds of Camille’s punishment filled the air, trying to will away the little surges of helpless arousal I felt at my friend’s agony. The sharp cracks of the strap and Camille’s muffled sobs seemed to go on forever.
Finally, after what felt like hours but could only have been a few minutes, Mor Astrid’s voice rang out. “Enough. Stop pedaling, all of you.”
I sagged against the handlebars, my body trembling with exertion and unfulfilled desire. A sheen of sweat covered my body. The linen breast band felt clammy. I didn’t dare look up, afraid to meet the eyes of the Sons of Odin who had witnessed our trial.
Suddenly, though, they had come among us. I sensed the heat of their muscular bodies, and then I felt my master’s strong hands grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly off the bike. My legs trembled, weak from exertion and arousal, as he cradled me against his broad chest. The heat of his skin seared through the thin linen of his loincloth, and I couldn’t help but nuzzle closer, seeking his warmth and protection.
As Sven carried me across the room, I dared to glance around. The other girls were similarly held in the arms of their masters, their flushed faces a mixture of exhaustion, shame, and lingering desire. Camille’s eyes met mine briefly, a silent understanding passing between us. Whatever happened next, we were in this together.
My breath caught in my throat as I saw where Sven was taking me. The bride saddles stood in their semicircle, polished wood gleaming in the torchlight. Memories of the previous night flooded my mind—the feeling of being spread open, vulnerable, as Sven had claimed every part of me. I shivered, both from fear and anticipation.
Sven’s deep voice rumbled through his chest as he addressed us all. “Now, my völur, you will face your final test,” he said. “Your obedience, your control, and your ability to please will determine your suitability for the coming mission.”
He lowered me onto the bride saddle, the smooth wood and the leather cool against my skin. I whimpered softly as he began to secure the straps, each one tightening around my limbs with deliberate care. My face burned as I discovered anew how exposed the posture left me, my legs spread wide and my bottom raised high.
“Remember, lille en,” Sven murmured, his fingers trailing along my spine, “this lovely body belongs to me now, to use and to share. Show me how well you’ve learned to submit.”
I nodded frantically, eager to please him despite the fear and uncertainty churning in my gut. Around me, I could hear the other girls being secured to their own saddles, the soft clinks of buckles and whispered instructions filling the air.
Once we were all strapped down, Sven spoke again, his voice carrying easily through the chamber. “You will be used in three ways,” he announced. “First, your mouths will pleasure us. Then, we will take your fisse. Finally, your røvhul will be ours once more.”
I felt a rush of heat flood my pussy at his words, my body responding eagerly even as my mind reeled. The night before, when my master had taken my anal virginity, had been intense enough. But this—to be used so thoroughly, in front of everyone—was almost too much to comprehend.
“Throughout it all,” Sven continued, “you will focus on giving pleasure and obeying our commands. Those who demonstrate the conduct we look for will be chosen for the mission. Let me emphasize that you do not know what that conduct is: there is no use in trying to perform better than the girl to your right or left. Your task is simply to submit to your master’s pik.”
As I lay there, strapped to the bride saddle, my heart pounding in anticipation, a strange realization dawned on me. Those agonizing moments spent on the exercise bike had changed something within me. The helplessness I’d felt as my body so desperately sought release had awoken a newfound understanding of my submission to Sven, a power in pliancy that both exhilarated and terrified me.