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)
As my consciousness drifted through Yggdrasil’s branches, I distantly registered new sensations in my physical body. Sven—or was it Erik?—was using my mouth to lubricate his cock, preparing to breach Camille’s bottom hole. Then I felt a blunt pressure against my own anus, the burn as the other man—Sven, definitely… my Herra—slowly pushed inside.
The pain of that penetration anchored me briefly to my body, but then I was flying around the world tree’s roots again. I saw the past… New York City… a skyscraper with its own roots deep, deep in the earth… an abyss with fire in its depths…
As Sven began to thrust in earnest into the ass he had opened for his personal pleasure my first night, atop his bride saddle, I heard snatches of conversation floating up from the physical realm.
“Fuck, her ass is tight,” Sven grunted.
“This one too,” Erik replied. “But she’s taking it like a good girl. These little sluts were made for anal. I bet the boys they lost it to would like to be where we are now.”
Camille cried out. I cried out. I lost track of time and space. The visions continued to swirl around me as I floated around the vast root system of the great tree.
Suddenly, I was yanked back to my body by a searing heat deep inside me. Sven’s cock pulsed in my ass, flooding me with his seed. The sensation was so intense, so primal, that it sent me careening over the edge into my own climax. I screamed, my entire body convulsing with pleasure so powerful it bordered on pain.
Beside me, I heard Camille cry out as well, her voice raw and desperate. Erik grunted, his hips slamming against her one final time as he found his own release.
The stable fell quiet, except for the sound of our ragged breathing. My mind reeled, trying to process the intense visions I had experienced, even as my body jerked with the aftershocks of my climax. I felt utterly spent, terribly, completely used.
Then, cutting through the haze of pleasure and mystical revelation, came the sharp trill of a cellphone. I flinched at the sudden, jarringly modern sound.
Sven pulled out of me abruptly, leaving me feeling achingly empty. I whimpered at the loss, hating myself for wanting more even after everything that had happened. I heard him fumbling with his clothes, then the beep as he answered the call.
“Yes, Monsieur Beaumont,” Sven said, his voice suddenly businesslike even with his recent exertion. There was a pause as he listened, and I held my breath, knowing that this call would determine our immediate fate.
“I understand completely,” Sven continued. “Yes, we made sure to document everything thoroughly. You’ll be very pleased with the merchandise.”
My stomach churned at his words. Merchandise. Was that truly all we were now?
Another pause, longer this time. I strained to hear the voice on the other end of the line, but it was too faint. Finally, Sven spoke again.
“Right away, Monsieur. We’ll have these whores to you in twenty minutes.”
My heart began to race as Sven ended the call. Twenty minutes. In just twenty minutes, we would be handed over to Beaumont and then, it seemed to whatever Pretorian Guard operatives were posing as his people.
I felt Sven’s hand on my back, gentler now than it had been before. “Up you get, girls,” he said, his voice gruff, but lacking the cruel edge it had held earlier. “We need to get you cleaned up and ready for transport.”
As Sven helped me to my feet, my legs trembling beneath me, I caught his eye. For just a moment, I saw my Herra, the man I loved despite the insanity of it all. I saw the real Sven, the Viking warrior, assess my condition and find it satisfactory. A flash of warmth went through me, though, as with perfect clarity I understood that if Sven had seen anything else, had thought that I couldn’t take the strain of the mission, he would have called it all off, civilization be damned.
Then my beloved master vanished behind the ice of his gorgeous eyes.
“Eyes down, whore,” he growled. “And don’t look your master in the eye unless he tells you to—or you want the cane across your backside. Monsieur Beaumont is fond of the cane.”
CHAPTER 28
Matthew
I sipped my coffee, letting the bitterness bloom fully onto my palate before I swallowed, as I opened the latest report from the Guard’s surveillance of Étienne Beaumont, codename Leopard. I’d been following Beaumont’s movements closely for the last few months. He hadn’t justified my time yet, but I’d kept going, checking on his activities as reported by our deep cover Miles every few days.
I wasn’t the only senior analyst in the New York Mithraeum who felt sure that the French trillionaire would eventually give us something actionable. The other leones who worked in this control center deep below the streets of Manhattan didn’t share my conviction about the specific, vital importance of Beaumont’s efforts in one particular area, though.