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)
I felt a pang of envy, even in the midst of the extraordinary pleasure her sweet body gave me, for that state we warriors knew so much about, but could never feel—at least as far as our lore told us, and I had never had reason to doubt it. We could fuck our cherished girls to the world tree, but we couldn’t go there ourselves in the same mystical way. What the völur told us when they returned from their particular Norse version of subspace, of the Aesir and the Vanir, of Asgard and Nifelheim—of the past, the present, and the future… all of it transcended any physical sight, or rational cognition.
I cradled my lovely girl’s head in my hands and I thrust between her lips, glistening with my pre-cum and her saliva. I hit the back of her throat with each inward movement of my iron-hard cock. The lewd sight of my rigid manhood driving deep into her mouth, along with the velvet sensation of her submitting in that shameful way, sent waves of delight through my nervous system so intense that I found it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand—choosing the two operatives who would undertake the coming mission.
“That’s it, lille en,” I murmured, almost unconsciously. “Go… don’t be afraid. Go to the tree.”
Mary let out a sob around my thrusting pik. Her hips bucked over the bride saddle and then her whole body shuddered as she found the little knob and ground her clit against it. Around me I heard similar growled words, similar needy whimpers, as my brothers edged their own girls.
Behind me, Mor Astrid called out her own praise, her voice rising with an authority that still held a note of tenderness.
“You do well, völur,” she said. “You give pleasure to your Herra. And you, Sons of Odin, you fuck them well.”
Like all the Mor who aided the Sons of Odin, Astrid was an extraordinary woman. She had begun, of course, as a bed thrall like the one whose mouth I enjoyed here over the bride saddle. She had brought back great prophecies from the world tree—but she had also served as one of the first operatives trained to use the new world of information technology available to the Sons of Odin at the close of the twentieth century.
As the bed thrall of my father Cnut, Astrid had borne a daughter, Greta. Last year, Greta had become the head of a major European intelligence agency. After raising Greta to university age, Astrid had become a Mor—the first Mor to find, in the knowledge we had gained from studying the Institute, a way to advance both our pleasures and our capacity to influence global events.
Her words to us confirming that we were fucking our girls well represented a code of sorts. Astrid had conveyed to me important information from the data stream she was observing, coming from the surprisingly sophisticated technology in the bride saddles our bed thralls rode.
All the girls are on their way to Yggdrasil, Astrid had told me. You may proceed.
The beauty of the testing ride—especially the first time the new völur underwent it—lay in the bed thralls not having any control over the outcome or real knowledge as to what we meant to determine about their abilities. On this initial ride, the girls ventured out into the unknown. Between our powers of skilled observation and Astrid’s analysis of the data, we could see how they responded to their bodies’ needs and their minds’ grasp of the imaginary places their submission took them.
Mary thought her purpose, bound to the bride saddle, was to give her master pleasure. Her response to the other things that happened in her heart, her mind, and her body, though, would tell me whether she belonged on this mission.
At our warriors’ council just before we had come into the training hall, the Sons of Odin had come to a quick consensus that Sophie and Amélie represented the clear choice. Their embrace of their new life as sexual servants and operatives meant we could rely on them in the field.
We had tagged Yvette and Fleur as analysts from the start; their quieter intellects would take beautifully to the cerebral work once they had settled. Erik’s Camille and my Mary represented potential that might take weeks or months to develop. Camille’s tendency to willful rebellion and Mary’s ability to weigh costs and benefits especially meant they could prove extremely valuable as field operatives, but we agreed that they needed time to process their having become warriors’ bed thralls.
This testing ride, then, would in all likelihood merely confirm those foregone conclusions. As I pulled my rock-hard penis, glistening with Mary’s saliva, from between her lips, though, and stroked her cheek with my thumb, the look in her eyes made me wonder.