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)
The humiliation of being in such a vulnerable position should have caused me to recoil, but instead, I found myself craving his dominance more than ever before. My obedience to him had become a matter of both choice and compulsion, as if the very fibers of my being had been reshaped by the forces at work within this chamber.
“Look at you, lille en,” Sven purred in my ear, as if reading my thoughts. “Your blush betrays your arousal.” His warm hand caressed my flushed cheek before trailing down my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “This is what you were born for. To surrender yourself, body and soul, to the strength of your master.”
His words sent a shiver through me, but I didn’t deny their truth. Never before had I felt so alive, so attuned to my own desires and the power I held over my own submission. It was as if the bike’s relentless motion had unlocked something inside me—an understanding that submission could be its own form of defiance, a rebellion against the expectations and societal norms that had once confined me.
As Sven’s fingers traced along my collarbone and down between my bound breasts, I arched into his touch, offering myself up to him completely.
Sven’s lips brushed against my earlobe before he spoke his next words: “Show me how well you can serve your master.” The command traveled through me like a spark, igniting every nerve ending as it fueled my determination to please him. My mouth watered as I thought of the enormous manhood that lurked under his loincloth, tenting it out so far that it made me shiver.
Mor Astrid settled into the ornate wooden chair in the center of our semicircle, her stern gaze sweeping over us as we lay bound and exposed on the bride saddles. The air was thick with tension and the musky scent of arousal as we awaited our masters’ pleasure.
Sven approached me, his massive frame looming above. With deliberate slowness, he unwrapped his loincloth, revealing the huge shaft that jutted from his lap. I had to swallow down my saliva now, my body thrumming with anticipation.
“Open,” he commanded softly.
I parted my lips eagerly, tilting my head back as far as the restraints would allow. Sven guided his cock to my mouth, the velvety head brushing against my lips before pressing inside. I moaned around him, reveling in his masculine taste and scent as he filled my mouth.
To my surprise, I found myself able to take him deeper than I had the night before, on the ritual voyage and by his hearth. Something about the exercise on the treadmill and the bike, perhaps, had given me more command over my bodily responses. I felt a surge of pride as I relaxed my throat and allowed him to slide further in.
Sven’s hand tangled in my hair, holding me steady as he began to thrust. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take all of your Herra. That’s it. Take it, you little kneppetøj.”
I focused on breathing through my nose, surrendering completely to his control. The sounds of the other girls pleasuring their masters filled the air—wet slurps, muffled moans, and grunted praises. But I was lost in my own world, existing only to please Sven.
As he fucked my face with increasing intensity, I felt myself slipping into an altered state of consciousness. The physical sensations—the stretch of my jaw, the fullness in my throat—seemed to fade into the background. In their place, a profound sense of connection bloomed within me.
Suddenly, I was no longer just Mary, bound to a bride saddle in an underground chamber. I was every woman who had ever submitted to a powerful man, a living conduit for an ancient and primal energy. Visions flashed before my mind’s eye—Viking shield-maidens kneeling before their jarls, Pictish princesses claimed by conquering warlords, Roman priestesses coupling with their gods in ecstatic rituals.
The boundaries of time and space seemed to blur. I could see the branches of Yggdrasil, the world tree, stretching out around me, much more clearly than I had the last time my master had used me. Each coupling in the room felt like a sacred act, a reaffirmation of the cosmic order Sven had spoken of.
My awareness expanded further, and I found myself traveling along those mystical branches. I caught glimpses of possible futures—myself in a sleek modern office, seducing a stern-faced man for vital information; crouching in a frozen wasteland, my body the key to unlocking ancient secrets; standing tall and proud beside Sven as we faced some great, world-ending danger.
CHAPTER 19
Sven
I could see that Mary had truly gone to Yggdrasil, as the Sons of Odin called it—that state of mind-altered submission our bed thralls could reach with the help of our strong hands, our punishing straps, and our thrusting pik. The state that raised them from kneppetøj to völur—from fuck toys into prophetesses.