Page 17

CHAPTER 17

M ary

I felt a flutter of nervous excitement in my stomach. On one hand, the thought of having even this small bit of covering was a relief after hours of complete nudity. But the idea of touching the other girls so intimately, of having them touch me, sent a confusing thrill through my body.

“Come now, don’t be shy,” Mor Astrid chided, her stern voice brooking no argument. “You’ve all been far more intimate with each other already.”

My cheeks burned as I remembered the events in the bathing chamber, the way Camille’s tongue had felt against my moist pussy. I glanced at her, seeing a similar blush creeping up her neck.

Hesitantly, we approached the basket. I reached in and pulled out one of the breast bands, frowning a bit at the softness of the linen. I wondered how many young women had worn it, how many times it had been washed over the years for it to reach such a texture.

“Into your training pairs,” Mor Astrid instructed. “Mary and Camille, Sophie and Amélie, Yvette and Fleur.”

I turned to face Camille, the breast band clutched in my trembling hands. Her dark eyes met mine, a mixture of defiance and vulnerability in their depths.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she muttered, lifting her arms above her head.

I stepped closer, my heart racing. The scent of her skin filled my nostrils—a mixture of the herbal soap from our bath and something uniquely Camille.

“Maybe… hold it up?” I said uncertainly. “Or…”

I reached out and pressed one end of the band to the center of Camille’s chest, suddenly very shy and trying not to touch anything too sensitive. My fingers brushed against the soft swell of her flesh, though, and I heard her sharp intake of breath.

I bit my lip, and walked around her as she stood with her arms raised, winding the band all the way to the front again.

“ D’accord ,” Camille said. “I think that’s it.”

The fabric was long enough to go around her chest twice and then to be tucked under her arm.

“Nice and tight, now,” instructed Mor Astrid. “It will be a bit uncomfortable, yes—but much better than having your brjóst bouncing as you run.”

Camille gasped a little, in what I could tell must be a mixture of discomfort and arousal, as I tried to secure the band. Over to our right, Yvette’s first attempt fell from Fleur’s chest and she had to start again, with a mild curse under her breath.

I stepped back to survey my work. I couldn’t help but notice how it accentuated the shape of Camille’s breasts, making them look even more enticing than they had when bare.

“Is it… is it bearable?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Camille nodded, not meeting my eyes. “It’s fine,” she said. “Your turn.” She reached for another band from the basket.

I raised my arms, mimicking her earlier pose. Camille’s hands were surprisingly gentle as she wound the band around my B-cup breasts. I shivered as her fingers skimmed along my sides, tucking the linen in under my arm, and then I gasped as she tightened the bind. The material felt cool against my skin at first, but quickly warmed to my body temperature.

“There,” Camille said, stepping back. “All done.”

I looked down at myself, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I saw the effect—how it conveyed a subtle hint of… well, of binding.

Of bondage. My breasts, bound, because I must serve my master and his brothers.

“Alright,” Mor Astrid said, clapping her hands. “On to the treadmills.”

As I stepped onto the treadmill, I felt a mixture of pride and apprehension. My years of playing lacrosse had kept me in excellent shape, and I knew my endurance was strong. But Mor Astrid’s words about this being more than just a physical test sent a shiver down my spine.

The cool rubber of the treadmill belt felt strange against my bare feet as I began to walk, gradually increasing my pace to a steady jog. The whir of the machines filled the air, punctuated by the soft pants and occasional grunts of exertion from the other girls.

“As I said before, girls,” Mor Astrid’s voice rang out over the noise, “this warmup is not merely about your physical fitness. It is about your sexual relationship with your bodies.”

I felt my cheeks flush at her words, my mind racing with possibilities of what that could mean. The breast band suddenly felt tighter, more constricting, as if emphasizing my new status as a bed thrall.

“The equipment in this training hall,” Mor Astrid continued, her tone matter-of-fact, “can sense a broad range of biometrics. Your heart rate, of course, but also your body temperature, the dilation of your blood vessels, even the minute changes in your skin’s electrical conductivity that indicate arousal.”

My breath caught in my throat. Could the machine really detect such things? I became hyperaware of my body—the sweat beginning to bead on my skin, the way my nipples had hardened against the linen band, the growing warmth between my thighs that had nothing to do with the exercise.

As I ran, I couldn’t help but imagine what the machine might be sensing. Was it measuring the quickening of my pulse, not just from exertion, but from the shameful excitement building within me? Could it detect the flush creeping across my skin, the way my pussy had begun to throb with each step?

I glanced to my left, catching Camille’s eye. Her face was a mask of determination, but I could see the same conflicted emotions in her dark gaze. To my right, Sophie seemed almost eager, her lithe body moving with grace as she ran.

“Push yourselves, girls,” Mor Astrid commanded. “We need to see how your bodies respond under stress.”

I increased my pace, feeling the burn in my muscles as I pushed myself harder. The steady rhythm of my feet on the treadmill belt became almost hypnotic, and I found my mind wandering to the previous night’s experiences. The memory of Sven’s hands on my body, the way he had claimed every part of me, sent a fresh spasm of arousal surging through me.

Suddenly, I became aware of a change in the treadmill’s display. Alongside the usual metrics of speed and distance, new numbers and graphs had appeared. My heart rate was prominently displayed, as was a mysterious percentage that seemed to fluctuate with my thoughts.

With a start, I realized that this must be the arousal indicator Mor Astrid had mentioned. I felt my brow crease as I realized that all of the data from the treadmill would certainly go straight to my Herra . Would he know I was thinking, as I ran, about how he had used me so roughly?

After we had been running for about five minutes, I heard a sharp crack followed by a yelp of pain. Glancing to my left, I saw Mor Astrid wielding a leather strap, its tail still quivering from striking Amélie’s backside.

“Pick up the pace, girl,” Mor Astrid barked. “Your heart rate is far too low. You need to push yourself harder.”

Amélie whimpered, but increased her speed, her face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. I watched in a mixture of fascination and horror as Mor Astrid moved down the line, her strap lashing out at those whose heart rates hadn’t reached the desired level.

The sound of leather meeting flesh filled the air, along with gasps and cries of pain. I felt a twinge of pride that I hadn’t been targeted, my years of athletic training paying off as my heart rate steadily climbed into the aerobic zone.

But my relief was short-lived. Just as I was beginning to feel confident, I felt a searing pain across my buttocks. I cried out in shock, nearly stumbling on the treadmill.

“Very good, Mary,” Mor Astrid’s voice came from behind me. “Your fitness is admirable. But now it’s time to learn a different lesson.”

The strap fell again, and I bit my lip to stifle another cry. My mind reeled, trying to understand what I had done wrong.

“You see, kneppet?j ,” Mor Astrid continued, her calm voice belying the force behind her strikes, “we must teach you to connect your physical exertion with your submission. We must see how well your body learns that pain and pleasure, effort and obedience, are all intertwined.”

Another lash, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. Yet of course beneath the pain I could feel the too-familiar growing warmth in my core. My pussy throbbed in time with the stinging in my buttocks, and to my shame, I felt myself growing wet.

“That’s it,” Mor Astrid murmured, and I realized she must be watching the arousal indicator on my treadmill’s display. “Let your body embrace the lesson.”

The strap fell again and again, each strike sending shockwaves of pain through my body. But with each lash, the pain seemed to transmute into something else—a burning, tingling sensation that spread from my buttocks to my pussy, making my nipples tighten against the linen breast band.

I ran faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain, the exertion, and the growing arousal all blended together into a heady mix of sensation, emotion, and thought. I felt myself slipping into a strange, altered state of consciousness—aware of every nerve ending in my body, yet somehow detached from the reality of my situation.

Around me, I could hear the other girls experiencing similar treatments. Camille’s defiant grunts turned to breathy moans as Mor Astrid’s strap found her backside, too.

After fifteen minutes on the treadmill in my low aerobic zone, my legs felt loose and my body pleasantly warm. A little sweat dripped down my face and between my breasts, making the linen band cling a bit to my skin, but I was feeling good. Mor Astrid’s voice cut through the haze of exertion and arousal that had settled over me.

“Enough,” she barked. “Off the treadmills, girls. Move to the stationary bicycles.”

I slowed the belt to a crawl and stepped off, a hint of a smile on my lips from the endorphins, even through all the shame and uncertainty of the strange moment. The cool air of the training hall felt heavenly against my warm skin as I made my way to the row of stationary bikes. They looked ordinary enough at first glance, but as I drew closer, I noticed some crucial differences.

The seats were unlike any bike saddle I’d ever seen. The narrow, padded perch of the saddle had a prominent knob that made me think of my naughty discovery on Sven’s bride saddle. My cheeks flushed as I realized that these bikes made no secret of the stimulation they would provide to a girl who rode naked.

“Mount up,” Mor Astrid commanded. “And listen carefully to my instructions.”

I swung my leg over the bike, gasping as my bare pussy made contact with the saddle. The knob sent immediate shockwaves of sensation through my already sensitized flesh. I squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position, but every movement only served to increase the stimulation.

“Now,” Mor Astrid continued, her voice stern, “you are to ride these bicycles, but not just for exercise. You will pleasure yourselves on the saddles as you pedal.”

A chorus of shocked gasps and whimpers filled the air. I felt my face flame with embarrassment, even as a traitorous thrill of excitement shot through me.

“Each bicycle is equipped with a display,” Mor Astrid explained, gesturing to the screens in front of us. “It will show your heart rate and arousal level. Your task is to bring yourself to the very edge of orgasm and then hold yourself there.”

I stared at the display, watching as my heart rate gradually slowed from the treadmill exertion. Below that, an indicator labeled ‘Arousal’ currently read 7 .

“You must reach arousal level ten,” Mor Astrid instructed, “and then maintain yourself at nine or ten until told to stop. An alarm will sound if you climax without permission.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. The task seemed impossible—how could I bring myself so close to the edge and then just… stop? And to do it in front of everyone, no less?

“Begin.” Mor Astrid’s voice cracked like a whip.