Page 13

CHAPTER 13

S ven

As Mor Astrid led the bed thralls into the classroom, I took my eyes’ fill of their sweet, newly bare fisser . This group of girls displayed exceptional beauty, but I couldn’t help finding Mary the most stunning, especially with her nether hair removed and a little hint of her pink inner lips peeking out from the pale cleft between her thighs.

“Sit, girls,” I told them. “All of you but Mary. Mary, come here, please, so I can take a look at your cunt and your bottom.”

“I had to punish her, Herra ,” Astrid told me, as Mary came forward to my handsome oak desk, blushing furiously. “And Camille. You’ll see the marks, I imagine. But she and Camille responded well to the strap. You can see the girls’ reward drying on your kneppet?j ’s face. She and Camille both came very sweetly.”

“That’s very nice to hear, Mor ,” I told her, nodding. “Thank you as always for all you do for these young women. We will see you in the mead hall?”

“Yes, Herra ,” Astrid answered, bowing her head. “Goodbye, girls. I shall see you soon.”

Mary had come to stand uncertainly before my desk. I saw her hands tremble against her sides as she met my eyes, clearly wishing she could cover her delectable, firm breasts and her adorable fisse . I stood, and watched the other girls’ eyes go nearly as wide as Mary’s own as they rediscovered the difference between their feminine smallness, as well as their enforced nudity, and their masters’ size and right to clothing.

I wore my belted Viking shirt and trousers, a mode of dress the girls hadn’t seen before. I glimpsed in Mary’s eyes, as well as the gazes of her new sisters, that the effect desired by those who had forged our customs had been achieved. These lovely, naked young women felt themselves as inhabiting a sort of timeless, magical, mythic space where the masculine domination they needed felt entirely natural—where they could truly enjoy the submission they had always craved.

I came around my desk slowly, reaching a hand out so that I could place it on Mary’s back and begin to urge her forward over my desk for her inspection.

“Down, lille en ,” I growled. “Show me.”

My swiftly hardening cock made it easy to concentrate on the here and now, despite the troubling demands of other, more worldly duties. At the back of my mind, though, I had the quick emergency conference call I had just conducted with the leaders of the Groupe Synergistique .

As I pressed Mary’s lovely breasts against the polished wood of my desk, I replayed the decisions we’d made, wondering whether I truly had in Mary O’Toole the kind of operative, the kind of volva -in-training, I needed for the assignment. I had asserted that to my brothers and to the French and Belgian magnates at the other end of the encrypted connection, certainly.

Indeed, Mary’s dossier left me in little doubt: her naughty initiative, the vague attempt to seduce her professor that had come from the restlessness of her unfulfilled submissive sexuality—they had placed her in precisely the right place at precisely the right time. From the perspective of the Sons of Odin, at least—and perhaps from the standpoint of saving civilization. If whatever the Pretorian Guard, with the corporate-governmental might of Selecta behind them, were doing in the Arctic posed the sort of threat I suspected… well, the mission on which I meant to send Mary might prove one of the most important things a Viking woman had accomplished in centuries.

One step at a time—though these steps would have to go much more quickly than I would have preferred.

“Reach back and spread your bottom cheeks, Mary,” I said sternly. “I told you to show me.”

* * *

Mary

With a little whimper in my throat, I obeyed my Herra . My face burning with shame, I reached back and spread the little peaches for Sven’s inspection. I could feel his eyes there, an almost-physical pressure like a ghostly version of his fingertip, going over every detail of my freshly shaved pussy and bottom crack—along with the marks left by Mor Astrid’s strap.

“Very good, lille en ,” Sven murmured, his voice low and approving. “Your fisse looks perfect like this—smooth and bare, just as it should be.” His large hand came to rest on my lower back, the heat of his palm searing my skin. “And your little rosebud… still a bit red from last night, I see, and from the cleaning. But it will learn to welcome me more easily with time and training.”

I shuddered at his words, a confusing mixture of arousal and embarrassment flooding through me. How could I feel this way? How could his praise make me feel so… proud?

A shudder went through me as I felt Sven’s fingers trail down the cleft of my bottom, pausing to press gently against my tender anus. My embarrassment couldn’t keep me from pushing back slightly against his touch, my body betraying my growing need.

“Still sensitive, I see,” Sven murmured. “But eager, too. You’re learning well, lille en .”

His hand moved lower, cupping my bare pussy. I gasped as he slid a finger between my folds, finding me already slick with arousal.

“My, my,” he chuckled. “It seems the morning’s activities have left you quite worked up. Did you enjoy tasting your sister’s cunt, Mary? Did it excite you to have Camille’s tongue on your little fisse ?”

I whimpered, unable to form words. How could I admit that yes, I had enjoyed it? That the taste of Camille on my tongue and the feel of her mouth on me had driven me to heights of pleasure I’d never imagined?

“Answer me, Mary,” Sven commanded, his voice stern.

“Y-yes, Herra ,” I whispered, my face burning with shame. “I… I liked it.”

“Good girl,” Sven praised, his finger circling my clit teasingly. “Honesty is important. You must never lie to your master.”

I moaned softly as he continued to work me, my hips moving of their own accord to seek more friction. Behind me, I could hear the other girls shifting in their seats, their breathing quickening as they watched my degradation.

Suddenly, Sven withdrew his hand. “Stand up and turn around,” he ordered.

I obeyed, my legs shaky as I faced him. Sven’s blue eyes bored into mine, dark with lust.

“You’ve pleased me this morning, Mary,” he said. “But now it’s time for your first lesson. Take your seat with the others.”

On unsteady legs, I made my way back to the empty chair, acutely aware of my nakedness and the wetness between my thighs. As I sat down, I couldn’t help but notice the other girls’ flushed faces and wide eyes. They had watched everything, seen my submission and my shameful arousal.

Sven moved to stand at the front of the small classroom. His presence seemed to fill the space, commanding our attention completely.

“Girls,” he began, his deep voice resonating through the room. “Welcome to your first lesson as operatives of the Sons of Odin. Today, we will begin to explore the rich history and mythology that forms the foundation of our order.”

I blinked in surprise. This wasn’t what I had expected at all. As Sven began his lecture on Norse mythology, I found myself drawn in despite my confusion and lingering arousal. His words painted vivid pictures of gods and giants, of cosmic trees and epic battles. I listened, captivated, as he spoke of Odin’s sacrifice, hanging himself from Yggdrasil to gain the wisdom of the runes. I thought of the flashes of the enormous tree that I’d had when Sven had forced my orgasms upon me, and wondered: surely a connection existed. Had I somehow seen the world tree itself?

“The runes,” Sven said, his blue eyes intense as they swept over us, “are not just an alphabet. They are a system of magic, a way of understanding and influencing the very fabric of reality.”

I blinked, looking around the room at my new sisters. I saw a wide variety of reactions: Camille seemed just as skeptical as I would have expected, while Sophie had a smile on her face that seemed to say she had known all along… all the young-adult novels of magic and mystery she, just like me, must have read had just come to life.

Sven turned to the blackboard behind him, picking up a piece of chalk. With quick, sure strokes, he drew a series of angular symbols.

“These,” he continued, “are the Elder Futhark runes. Each has a name, a sound, and a meaning. But more than that, each represents a concept, a force in the universe that can be harnessed by those who understand its true nature.”

I leaned forward, involuntarily fascinated. This was so far beyond anything I had learned in Sven’s university classes. My master’s lesson for his and his brothers’ bed thralls seemed to go deeper, to touch on something primal and powerful.

“Now don’t mistake me, girls,” my Herra said. “I’m not talking about wizardry and witchcraft.”

I glanced again at the rest of the class. Camille and Sophie had practically changed faces: the former now wore an interested—fascinated, almost—expression, while the latter seemed dissatisfied, as if hoping Sven would reveal that the magic he meant was even better than wizardry and witchcraft— sorcery , perhaps.

“The magic I mean,” he continued, though, “is something that happens in the spirit, with long study. The runes do not bend reality; it is you , girls, who will bend reality in the world, through the skills you gain, both mental and physical.

“For example,” Sven said, pointing to one of the symbols, “this is Uruz. It represents the aurochs, the wild ox. But it also embodies strength, untamed potential, and the masculine principle.” His gaze lingered on me as he spoke, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “In our work, we often use Uruz to invoke the raw, primal energy of masculinity. You may find it surprising, but this we includes you, girls. At moments when you need more strength, Uruz will be your guide.”

He moved to the next symbol. “And this is Berkana. The birch tree. It represents fertility, new beginnings, and the feminine principle. Together, Uruz and Berkana form a powerful combination—the union of masculine and feminine energies. In the field, to invoke these runes can clear the mind for a new beginning, a new solution to a problem.”

In the field—as the strange kind of operative my master had mentioned? Volva —was that the word? As Sven continued his lecture, I found myself hanging on every word. Despite the strangeness of the situation—my nakedness, the lingering ache between my legs, the memory of what had transpired in the bathing chamber—I found myself genuinely engrossed in the lesson.

Sven’s voice took on a more serious tone as he moved on to discuss the role of women in Viking society. “Contrary to popular belief,” he said, “women in Norse culture held significant power and respect. They were the keepers of the household, yes, but also of sacred knowledge. The volva , or seeress, was a figure of great importance, consulted by kings and commoners alike.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over us once more. “You girls,” he said softly, “have the potential to become modern-day volur . Through your submission, through the sacred union of masculine and feminine, and through your diligent study, you will gain access to knowledge and even to your own kind of power.”

I felt a thrill run through me at his words. Was this what he had meant by becoming an operative? Was there truly some greater purpose to all this?

“Yggdrasil,” Sven said, his voice taking on a reverent tone, “is the cosmic tree that connects the nine worlds of Norse cosmology. Its roots delve deep into the underworld, while its branches reach up to the heavens. But more than just a mythological construct, Yggdrasil represents the interconnectedness of all things—all life, all culture, all of humanity.”

He turned to the blackboard once more, sketching out a simple yet evocative image of a great tree. As he drew, he continued speaking, his words painting vivid pictures in my mind.

“Imagine, if you will, the trunk of Yggdrasil as the core of human civilization. The roots represent our past, our history, the foundations upon which we’ve built our world. The branches are the various cultures, belief systems, and ways of life that have sprung from that common source, and the futures we shape together as a species.”

Sven’s hand moved deftly across the board, adding detail to his drawing. I watched, mesmerized, as the tree took shape before my eyes. He added small figures at various points—some climbing the trunk, others perched on branches, still others tending to the roots.

“Now, girls,” he said, turning back to face us, “I want you to understand your role in this grand cosmic drama. As volur and operatives of the Sons of Odin, you are the caretakers of Yggdrasil. It is your sacred duty to water this tree, to prune its branches when necessary, and to ensure its continued growth and health, even as at times you may, in your prophetic minds, travel its branches.”

I felt a shiver run through me at his words. The weight of responsibility they implied was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“But Herra ,” I heard myself say, surprising even myself with my boldness, “how can we possibly do that? We’re just… we’re just… you know… girls.”

Sven’s blue eyes fixed on me, and I felt the full force of his attention like a physical touch. “Ah, Mary,” he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “you are far more than ‘just girls.’ None of you was chosen at random.”

He began to pace slowly in front of us, his powerful presence filling the room. “You see, civilization as we know it is in a state of collapse. The old structures are crumbling, the old ways failing. But in this chaos, there is opportunity. An opportunity to guide the course of human development, to shape the future of our species. That opportunity belongs to you as much as it does to us, your masters.”