Page 16

CHAPTER 16

S ven

I stood before the girls, their naked forms presenting a highly enjoyable contrast to the ancient stone walls of our classroom. As I began my lecture, I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on Mary. Her emerald eyes were wide with curiosity, her red hair cascading over her pale shoulders. A swell of affection rose in my chest, along with the pressing question of whether she might be one of the girls we must send on the crucial mission to the Arctic that had begun to take shape over the last few hours.

“This afternoon,” I began, my voice echoing in the chamber, “we will discuss the true purpose of the Sons of Odin. But first, we must understand the forces we stand against.” I paused, watching their reactions carefully. “Let us speak of Selecta.”

Mary’s head snapped up, her brow furrowing in confusion. I knew this would catch her off guard, coming from a Selecta college as she did. The other girls leaned forward, equally intrigued.

“You surely know Selecta,” I continued, pacing slowly before them, “as one of the two or three most powerful and influential megacorps on the planet. Mary, as an American—and a student at a Selecta college—you know them as the maker of everything from your textbooks to your toothbrush. Even the rest of you, often without knowing, have sent your hard-earned euros to Selecta’s less-visible European subsidiaries.”

I could see I had their attention, if only because none of them had expected their first lessons in the nature of their new life would involve a lecture about corporate domination. I paused, unable to stifle my professor’s love of a dramatic intellectual revelation.

“What you don’t know, girls, is that Selecta was founded by the Institute, an organization dedicated to training young, submissive women as concubines for the wealthy and powerful.” I watched as shock and disbelief flickered across their faces. “Nor do you know that Selecta’s true purpose runs far deeper. They are, in fact, closely tied to another group—a secret society known as the Pretorian Guard that is also the most powerful extra-governmental intelligence agency in the world.”

I moved to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk. On the slate I put Institute at the top, and then Selecta below. To the right side I wrote Pretorian Guard . I drew double-tipped arrows among the three entities. “The Pretorian Guard, as far as we can tell, claims to share our ideals, to be dedicated to preserving civilization. But their methods and their goals are far more… insidious even than those of the Institute and Selecta.”

I turned back to face the girls, my eyes seeking out Mary’s. Her gaze was intense, a mixture of confusion and dawning comprehension. “You see, the Guard’s true aim is to dominate the world’s energy markets. They seek not preservation, but control.”

A little murmur rippled through the group. Camille’s eyes narrowed skeptically, while Sophie nodded as if she’d suspected something like this all along. Mary, my clever Mary, seemed to be piecing things together in her mind.

“How do we know this?” I asked rhetorically, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth. “Thanks to our partners, the Groupe Synergistique .” I let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “They are a loose network of wealthy men, all of them French or francophone—Belgians, Luxembourgers, Swiss. They have aligned themselves with us through the shared desire to be left alone. Unlike the Guard, they, and we of the Sons of Odin, have no desire to dominate beyond our own sphere. Our goal is simply to preserve our civilization for ourselves and our descendants, without imposing it on others.”

I moved closer to the girls, my voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “But the Guard’s aggressive tactics have forced our hand. We’ve had to develop matching capabilities—including our partnership with the Groupe , but also including our own assets. And that, my dear potential volur , is where you come in.”

Mary’s eyes widened, a flash of understanding crossing her face. I felt a surge of pride at her quick mind.

“You were chosen not just for your beauty and your submissive nature, girls, but also for your innate mental ability. This is what we mean when we say you will be our operatives, as well as our bed thralls and our volur .”

* * *

Mary

I felt my heart begin to race as I listened to Sven’s words, an inextricable mix of apprehension, pride, and affection swirling within me. His storm-blue eyes seemed to see right through me, and I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement at the idea that I had been chosen not just for my body, but for my mind as well.

My Herra ’s deep voice resonated through the chamber as he continued, “There’s another aspect of the screening we conducted when we chose you, my dear volur .” He paused, his gaze sweeping over each of us. “We verified that your needs include being used by strangers.”

I felt my face flush hot with shame and arousal at his words. How could he know such a thing? And yet, as I thought back to the night of our ‘ritual voyage,’ I couldn’t deny the truth of his statement.

“You only need to think back to your body’s responses during your voyage last night,” Sven said, as if reading my thoughts. “Remember how it felt to be fucked by six different men on that rowing bench.”

The memory flooded my senses, so vivid I could almost feel the rough wood against my skin, smell the musky scent of sweat and arousal, hear the grunts and moans of pleasure. I recalled how, despite my fear and confusion, my body had responded with undeniable enthusiasm to each new cock that filled me.

I glanced around at the other girls, seeing similar expressions of shock and embarrassment on their faces. Camille’s jaw was clenched tight, but I could see a telltale flush creeping down her neck. Sophie’s eyes were glazed over, lost in the memory.

I… I can’t argue with that . To my dismay, even the voice of reason brought itself into line with Sven’s words. The internal admission sent a jolt of arousal through me, making my nipples tighten and my pussy throb with need.

But… The rational corner of my brain whispered an urgent contradiction. I can decide what to do about it, can’t I? Do needs have to be met?

Sven’s eyes locked onto mine, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth, before he turned to address all of us. “Your bodies know what they need, even if your minds struggle to accept it.”

He began to pace again, his powerful presence commanding our full attention. “Some of you will soon be sent into the field,” he continued. “Part of your mission will involve the seduction of dominant men. We have told you that you belong to each of us, and that here in our halls your individual masters retain certain essential rights—the sole right to your bottom holes, and the sole right to come in your fisse . When you go into the field, however, other men will of necessity trespass on those rights, as you perform your missions of seduction.”

My breath caught in my throat at his words. Seduction? Of strangers? The idea both terrified and, distressingly, excited me. The thought that Sven would let men I didn’t know use me in contravention of his ownership, for the sake of saving the world, made my heart skip a beat. I couldn’t discover, in my mind and my heart, whether I detested the idea or loved it despite myself.

“The Pretorian Guard, like the Institute and Selecta, is organized around the same patriarchal, traditional gender roles as the Sons of Odin,” Sven explained. “The girls sent into the field will attempt to become the fuck toys of Pretorian Guard agents in order to gather intelligence. As I said, they will use you in every way, and before you leave on a mission you will receive time-release birth control medication.”

I swallowed hard, my mind reeling with the implications. My cheeks burned as vivid fantasies flooded my mind unbidden. I imagined myself on my knees before a stern-faced man in an expensive suit, his hand fisted in my hair as he guided my mouth onto his cock. In another flash, I saw myself bent over a desk, skirt hiked up around my waist as a different man pounded into me from behind. My body responded helplessly to these images, a rush of wetness suddenly threatening to coat my inner thighs.

Ashamed and aroused in equal measure, I snuck a glance at Camille. Her face was flushed, her breathing slightly uneven. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and I saw my own inner conflict reflected in her dark gaze. It helped, if only a little, to see that she too had to grapple with unwanted desires—that her body, like mine, betrayed her mind’s resistance.

Sven’s deep voice drew my attention back to the front of the room. “Those of you not immediately sent into the field will learn to assist us with data analysis of signals intelligence,” he explained.

I blinked, trying to focus on his words rather than the lingering fantasies. Data analysis? It seemed so mundane compared to the seduction missions he had just described. And yet, a small part of me felt relieved at the thought of a less dangerous assignment. Surely I would be a data analyst—my Herra wouldn’t part with me, would he?

“You will be trained in advanced cryptography, pattern recognition, and data mining techniques,” Sven continued. “Your natural intelligence, combined with our training, will make you invaluable assets in our fight against the Pretorian Guard.”

I found myself leaning forward slightly, intrigued. This sounded more like the academic pursuits I had always excelled at. My thoughts were interrupted as Sven’s tone grew more serious. “Usually, we take more time to determine which operatives are assigned to which duties,” he said, his blue eyes scanning our faces. “But an urgent mission is waiting, and two of you will have to go into the field in the next few days.”

I felt my heart begin to race, a mixture of excitement and fear coursing through me. Would I be chosen, despite my belonging to the Overherra ? Did I want to be chosen? Contradictory emotions left me feeling dizzy and unsettled.

“So now, girls, you will be taken to the training hall,” Sven announced. “There, we will conduct a trial to determine which of you are ready to be sent into the field.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Whatever this trial entailed, I felt sure it would push us to our limits—both physically and mentally. As I rose to follow Sven out of the classroom, I caught Camille’s eye once more. The determined set of her jaw told me she was steeling herself for whatever lay ahead. I took a deep breath, trying to summon the same resolve.

Mor Astrid appeared at the back of the classroom, her stern presence immediately commanding our attention. Without a word, she gestured for us to follow her. My heart raced as we filed out of the room and back into the stone corridors of our strange new world.

As we made our way through the winding passages, the air grew cooler and damper. I realized we had descended deeper into the complex, and a shiver went down my spine.

Finally, we arrived at a massive wooden door, its surface etched with runes I recognized as the same kind as those from Sven’s morning lesson. Mor Astrid pushed it open with surprising strength, revealing the training hall beyond.

Yet another vast chamber opened to our view. High vaulted ceilings disappeared into shadows above, while torches along the walls cast a warm, dancing light across the space. The air was thick with the scent of leather, sweat, and the unmistakable, cheek-reddening aroma of sex—too similar in quality to the way my master’s chamber had smelled that morning for me to keep from biting my lip.

But it was the equipment scattered throughout the room that truly caught my attention. Racks of whips and floggers lined one wall, their leather tails gleaming ominously. Strange contraptions of wood and metal stood at intervals, their purpose a mystery that both frightened and intrigued me.

And then I saw the bride saddles. Six of them, in a semicircle around a throne-like wooden chair, in the center of the hall. My breath caught in my throat as memories of the previous night came flooding back. I heard the other girls gasp and whisper as they too recognized the ornate wooden structures.

“Oh, God,” I heard Sophie murmur. “Those are the things where…”

“Where they took our asses,” Camille finished, her voice a mix of defiance and a hint of helpless arousal.

I nodded mutely, unable to tear my eyes away from the saddles. They seemed both familiar and alien in the light of day. The polished wood gleamed, the leather straps hanging ready. I could almost feel the ghost of those straps against my skin, holding me in place as Sven had claimed my virgin bottom.

An intense flash of heat washed over me at the memory. The initial pain, yes, but also the overwhelming fullness, the exquisite pleasure that had followed. I shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of the wetness gathering between my thighs.

“Girls.” Mor Astrid’s sharp voice cut through my reverie. “Your attention, please.”

I tore my gaze away from the saddles, forcing myself to focus on the older woman. She stood beside a row of what looked like ordinary exercise equipment—treadmills, stationary bikes, and weight machines.

“Before your trial begins, you must warm up,” Mor Astrid continued. “This test involves much more than physical fitness, but the physical element represents an essential component of it.”

She moved to a large wicker basket near the exercise equipment. She reached in and pulled out a handful of wide strips of fabric, about the breadth of her hand, colored a natural homespun beige. The strips stretched down into the basket, and as I peered into it I could see they must be about six feet long.

“These are breast bands,” she announced, holding them up for us to see. “They’re made of linen, and they’re to be tucked around your bosoms. This is the traditional Norse way to support your brjóst. You will help each other put them on before your warmup.”