Page 15

CHAPTER 15

M ary

As Sven turned his chair to face me, I felt my heart begin to race. His powerful hands moved to the laces of his trousers, and I watched with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness as he slowly undid them. The rough fabric parted, revealing his massive cock, already half-hard and growing rapidly.

“Open your mouth, lille en ,” Sven commanded softly.

My face burned, but I obeyed without hesitation, my lips parting as I tilted my head back slightly. Sven’s hand came to rest on the back of my head, guiding me forward until the tip of his cock brushed against my lips. The musky scent of him filled my nostrils, and I felt a rush of heat between my thighs.

“That’s it,” Sven murmured as I took him into my mouth. “Use your tongue, just like I taught you.”

I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock, savoring the salty taste of him. As I began to bob my head, taking him deeper with each movement, I heard similar sounds from around the table. The other girls had begun to pleasure their masters in the same way, the air filled with soft grunts and growled encouragements.

Sven’s hand tightened in my hair as he began to thrust urgently into my mouth. I relaxed my muscles, trying to take him as deep as I could. My eyes watered slightly as he hit the back of my throat, but I was determined to please him.

“Good girl,” Sven groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re learning so quickly. Take the pik now.”

His praise sent a thrill through me, and I redoubled my efforts to make my mouth enjoyable. His fingers twined in my hair to keep my face in place for his fucking. I could feel Sven’s thighs tensing beneath me; a sign, I thought, that he was close to his release. His breathing grew ragged, and his hips began to move more insistently. Suddenly, his hand clamped down on the back of my head, holding me in place as he thrust deep into my throat.

“Swallow it all, lille en ,” he growled.

Hot spurts of his seed flooded my mouth, and I swallowed reflexively, trying to take it all as he had commanded. Some escaped, trickling down my chin, but I continued to suck and lick until Sven’s grip on my hair loosened and he gently pulled me off his softening cock.

As I caught my breath, I became aware of the sounds around me. Grunts and moans of pleasure filled the air as the other Vikings found their release in their thralls’ mouths. I glanced to my side and saw Camille, her eyes closed in concentration as Erik’s hips jerked erratically. Sophie made soft, whimpering noises around Aksel’s thick shaft.

Then I gasped as Sven pulled me up into his lap, his strong arms encircling me. My bare skin tingled where it pressed against the rough fabric of his clothing. His large hand cupped my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple and sending jolts of pleasure through me.

“Such a good girl,” Sven murmured in my ear, his beard tickling my neck. “You pleased me so well. Now it’s time for your second dessert.”

His other hand slid down my belly to cup my freshly shaved mound. I whimpered as his fingers parted my folds, finding me already slick with arousal. Sven chuckled softly.

“So wet for me already,” he said. “Your little fisse knows who it belongs to, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Herra ,” I breathed, my hips rocking against his hand instinctively.

Sven’s fingers moved with such skill that it made me feel faint. He circled my clit until I sobbed before he dipped two digits inside me, as if to remind me that his massive manhood had been the one to open my pussy for men to take their pleasure there. I moaned, my head falling back against his broad chest as waves of delicious warmth washed over me.

Around the table, I could hear similar sounds: every bed thrall, it seemed, had earned a reward. Camille’s breathy cries rang out as Erik’s fingers worked between her thighs. Yvette was practically purring under Lars’ attentions, while Amélie whimpered and squirmed in Henrik’s lap. The air was thick with the scent of arousal and the sounds of ecstasy.

Sven’s fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing against my clit as two thick digits pumped in and out of me. The sheer sensory stimulation overwhelmed my mind. The need inside me built rapidly, alongside the pleasure that answered it. My thighs began to tremble as I approached my peak.

“Come for me, lille en ,” Sven growled in my ear. “Let everyone hear how well your Herra pleases you.”

His words pushed me over the edge. I cried out, my back arching as intense waves of pleasure crashed over me. My slick sheath clenched rhythmically around Sven’s fingers as he continued to stroke me through my orgasm.

And my inner senses… the sound of the wind again, and the sight of tangled branches… I tried not to draw back, as I realized I had done before, confronted by the strange vision. For a moment, I seemed to hover, then to move forward, propelled by some unseen power. I could almost see, as if each leaf of the tree embodied a tiny picture of a thing that might happen—minuscule, but if I could zoom in, magnify it, I knew it would show me as much detail as my mind could handle… perhaps even more…

And then it was all gone and I was back in my Herra’ s lap, tightly held and gently kissed.

As I came down from that strange high, I became aware of the other girls reaching their own orgasms. Camille’s voice rang out in a strangled cry of pleasure, while Sophie’s climax was marked by a series of high-pitched whimpers. Fleur let out a long, low moan as she shuddered in Jens’ arms.

For several moments, the hall was filled with the sound of heavy breathing as we all recovered. I felt boneless and satiated in Sven’s lap, his arms still wrapped securely around me. He pressed another gentle kiss to my temple before he drew his head back to address the whole table.

“Well done, girls,” Sven’s voice rang out. “You’ve pleased us greatly this morning. Now, you will clean up the hall, and then you will have an hour of free time before your next lesson.”

As we began to clear the table, I caught Camille’s eye. A silent understanding passed between us—we would find a way to talk during our free time. My heart raced with nervous anticipation as I gathered the empty trenchers, careful not to let my expression betray my thoughts.

The cleanup process was efficient, but thorough. We scrubbed the long wooden table until it gleamed, the intricate carvings along its edge coming to life under our ministrations. The scent of lemon and herbs filled the air as we worked, replacing the lingering aromas of our masters’ breakfast. By the time we received Mor Inge’s grudging approval, it almost began to seem normal for six naked girls to clean up a subterranean Viking mead hall.

As we finished our tasks, Mor Astrid had appeared in the doorway. Her stern gaze swept over us now that Mor Inge had proclaimed herself satisfied, assessing our work with a critical eye. Mor Astrid nodded curtly. “Come along, girls,” she commanded. “It’s time for your rest period. Thank Mor Inge for teaching you how to serve your masters.”

I blushed as I thought of what Mor Inge had seen as the other girls and I had taken the cocks of the Sons of Odin between our lips and then screamed out our pleasure. I couldn’t meet the older woman’s eye as I murmured, like my new sisters, “Thank you, Mor .”

We followed Mor Astrid through winding stone corridors, our bare feet quiet on the cool floor. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the roughhewn walls of the passageway. I tried to memorize our route, noting each turn and landmark, but the underground complex seemed to shift and change with every step.

Finally, we arrived at a heavy wooden door. Mor Astrid pushed it open, revealing a cozy chamber beyond. “Welcome to the Hall of Rest,” she announced. “You will spend your free time here.”

The room was unexpectedly inviting. Plush rugs covered the stone floor, their intricate patterns reminiscent of the knot work I’d seen throughout the complex. Comfortable-looking chairs and low couches were arranged in small groupings, perfect for quiet conversation or solitary reflection. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with an eclectic mix of ancient tomes and modern paperbacks.

In one corner, a chess table stood ready, its carved pieces glinting in the warm light of oil lamps. Near the opposite wall, I spotted a shelf filled with board games and puzzles. It was a strange juxtaposition—this cozy, almost normal-seeming space existing within the heart of our captors’ underground lair.

Mor Astrid made her way to a desk in the corner, and settled herself there, her sharp eyes never leaving us as we hesitantly explored the room.

“You may read, play games, or engage in quiet conversation,” she informed us. “But remember, girls—I will tolerate no talk of discontent.”

I caught Camille’s eye and nodded subtly toward the chess table. We made our way over, trying to appear casual as we settled into the chairs on either side of the board. I picked up a white pawn, turning it over in my fingers as I considered how to begin our conversation without arousing Mor Astrid’s suspicion.

“So,” I said, pitching my voice just loud enough to be heard across the table, “do you want to be white or black?”

Camille shrugged, her dark eyes darting briefly to Mor Astrid before meeting mine again. “White, I suppose,” she murmured.

I set up the pieces, my hands trembling slightly as I arranged the delicate carved figures on the board. The pieces were beautifully made, each one a miniature work of art. The kings bore a striking resemblance to Sven and Erik, while the queens had an otherworldly, Valkyrie-like quality to them.

As Camille made her opening move, she leaned in slightly. “I think I could find my way back to where we came in,” she whispered, her lips barely moving.

My heart raced at her words. I moved a pawn forward, trying to keep my face neutral. “Are you sure?” I breathed, not daring to look up from the board.

Camille nodded almost imperceptibly as she considered her next move. “I’ve been paying attention to the layout,” she murmured. “I’m pretty sure I could retrace our steps.”

I felt a surge of hope, quickly tempered by caution. “But then what?” I whispered, moving my knight. “Do you know how to get out from there?”

Camille’s face fell slightly as she captured one of my pawns. “No,” she admitted softly. “They brought me in a van, just like you. I was wearing a hood the whole time.”

I bit my lip, considering our options. The chess game provided a perfect cover for our whispered conversation, the soft click of pieces on the board masking our hushed voices.

“Even if we could get out,” I murmured, “where would we go? We don’t even know where we are.”

Camille’s brow furrowed as she contemplated her next move, both on the board and in our potential escape plan. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But anywhere has to be better than here, right?”

I found myself hesitating, memories of Sven’s gentle touches and proud smiles flashing through my mind. “I… I don’t know,” I whispered, shocked at my own uncertainty.

Camille looked up sharply, her dark eyes searching my face. “Mary,” she hissed, “don’t tell me you’re starting to believe their nonsense about saving civilization.”

I felt my cheeks flush with shame. “No, of course not,” I said quickly, though a small part of me wondered if that was entirely true.

Camille’s face suddenly changed, her brow furrowing as she stared down at the chessboard. I could see the internal struggle playing out in her eyes, her defiance of the moment before weakened by my revelation that I had doubts, too.

“Mary,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I… I suppose… I’m not sure, either. That I want to run away, anyway. I’m sure I don’t want to just… give in, though.”

I felt my cheeks flush hot with a mixture of relief and shame. “Me neither,” I admitted, my voice equally soft.

Camille looked up at me, her dark eyes filled with confusion and a hint of fear. “What’s happening to us?” she murmured. “Yesterday, all I wanted was to escape. But now…”

She trailed off, glancing around the cozy room. I followed her gaze, taking in the warm glow of the oil lamps, the inviting softness of the rugs beneath our feet. Naked and captive though we were, I couldn’t deny the strange sense of comfort I felt here.

“I know,” I whispered back. “It’s like… like I’m starting to forget what life was like before. Like this is becoming normal somehow.”

Camille nodded, her fingers absently tracing the intricate carving on her queen piece. “And the way they treat us,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s not what I expected. They’re cruel sometimes, yes, but also…”

“Tender,” I finished for her, remembering the gentle way Sven had fed me at breakfast, the pride in his eyes when I pleased him.

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of our confessions hanging heavy between us. Then Camille’s eyes hardened slightly, a flash of her old defiance returning.

“It must be Stockholm Syndrome,” she said firmly, though I could hear the doubt in her voice. “That has to be it. We’re starting to identify with our captors, to see them as protectors instead of abusers.”

I nodded eagerly, grasping at this explanation like a lifeline. “Yes, that makes sense,” I agreed. “We can’t trust our feelings right now. They’re… they’re not real.”

But even as I said the words, I felt a pang in my chest. The warmth that spread through me when Sven praised me, the sense of belonging I felt kneeling at his feet—could that all be just a psychological response to trauma?

“You’re right,” I said, trying to inject conviction into my voice. “We need to stay alert, to be ready to resist when the time is right.”

Camille leaned in closer, her eyes intense. “Exactly,” she whispered. “We can’t let ourselves be lulled into complacency. We have to remember who we really are, what our lives were like before all this.”

I nodded, but found myself struggling to recall the details of my old life. The memory of my dorm room, my classes, my friends—it all seemed hazy and distant, like a dream.