Page 18

CHAPTER 18

M ary

Hesitantly, I began to pedal. The movement caused the saddle to shift against my pussy, sending little sparks of pleasure through my core. I bit my lip, trying to focus on maintaining a steady rhythm as I pedaled, but the sensations from the saddle were impossible to ignore. Each rotation sent little sparks of pleasure through my body, making my breath hitch in my throat.

I glanced at the display. I felt a weird mixture of pride and embarrassment as my arousal level went from 7 to 8 .

Suddenly, movement at the edge of the room caught my eye. My heart leapt into my throat as I saw Sven enter, his powerful presence commanding attention even from across the chamber. Erik was close behind him, and then Lars and Henrik filed in as well. Finally, Jens and Aksel joined the group.

The Sons of Odin had come to watch our trial. Each man was naked save for a linen loincloth that did little to hide their masculine power.

I felt my face flame with embarrassment. Sven’s intense blue gaze swept over us, lingering on me for a moment that made my pussy throb against the saddle. I pedaled faster, desperate to please him, to show him how well I could follow instructions.

“Remember, girls,” Mor Astrid’s voice cut through my thoughts, “bring yourselves to the edge, but do not come without permission.”

I nodded frantically, biting my lip as I focused on the sensations building within me. The knob on the saddle rubbed against my clit with each rotation, sending waves of pleasure through my body. I could feel myself getting wetter, my arousal coating the seat as I rode.

To my left, I heard Yvette let out a strangled moan, and a buzzer sounded from her bike. Before I could turn to look, the sharp crack of Mor Astrid’s strap filled the air, followed by Yvette’s yelp of pain.

“Foolish girl,” Mor Astrid scolded. “Did I not warn you about coming without permission?”

I watched in horror as Mor Astrid brought the strap down again and again on Yvette’s exposed backside. Yvette sobbed, her body shaking as she tried to keep pedaling through the punishment.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” Mor Astrid announced. “Control is paramount. You must learn to ride the edge of pleasure without toppling over.”

I swallowed hard, redoubling my efforts to maintain a hold on my body’s reactions. The display in front of me showed my arousal rise to nine, teetering on the brink of ten. I slowed my pedaling slightly, trying to keep myself just below the peak.

“Mary,” Mor Astrid’s voice made me jump. “You’re only at level eight. That’s not good enough.”

I looked down at my display in confusion. How could that be? I felt so close to the edge already. But the older woman had spoken the truth: the number had fallen. I whimpered in frustration.

“Stop pedaling,” Mor Astrid commanded.

I obeyed immediately, my legs trembling as I held them still. Mor Astrid approached, her strap dangling ominously from her hand.

“Touch yourself,” she instructed. “Show your Herra how eager you are to please him.”

I felt my face burn with shame as I reached down between my legs, my fingers finding my sensitive inner lips already soaking wet with my need for my master. The eyes of all the Sons of Odin were on me, but none burned more intensely than Sven’s icy blue gaze. I began to stroke myself, my fingers circling my clit as I had done so many times in private. But this was different—I felt exposed, observed, judged.

Suddenly, I felt the sharp sting of Mor Astrid’s strap across my upper back. I gasped, my hand faltering in its movements.

“Don’t stop,” Mor Astrid commanded. “Let the pain fuel your arousal.”

Another lash fell, this time across my shoulders. To my shock and embarrassment, I felt my arousal spike. The display jumped from eight to nine, then quickly to ten. My breath came in short pants as I teetered on the edge of orgasm.

“That’s it,” Mor Astrid murmured. “Feel how the pain and pleasure intertwine.”

The strap fell again, a glancing blow across my breast. I cried out, my fingers working frantically between my legs. I was so close, balanced on a knife’s edge of ecstasy.

“Stop!” Mor Astrid’s voice cracked like a whip. “Hands on the handlebars. Start pedaling again.”

I obeyed instantly, gripping the handlebars with trembling hands. As I began to pedal, I found that the rhythmic motion helped me maintain my arousal without tipping over into orgasm. The display fluctuated between nine and ten as I rode, my body quivering with need, but unable to find release.

To my right, Camille gave a sobbing cry. The buzzer on her bike sounded, and Mor Astrid was there in an instant, her strap whistling through the air.

“Naughty whore,” she scolded as Camille cried out in pain. “You think yourself so rebellious, but you only show your filthy lust.”

I kept my eyes fixed on my own display, desperately trying to maintain control as the sounds of Camille’s punishment filled the air, trying to will away the little surges of helpless arousal I felt at my friend’s agony. The sharp cracks of the strap and Camille’s muffled sobs seemed to go on forever.

Finally, after what felt like hours but could only have been a few minutes, Mor Astrid’s voice rang out. “Enough. Stop pedaling, all of you.”

I sagged against the handlebars, my body trembling with exertion and unfulfilled desire. A sheen of sweat covered my body. The linen breast band felt clammy. I didn’t dare look up, afraid to meet the eyes of the Sons of Odin who had witnessed our trial.

Suddenly, though, they had come among us. I sensed the heat of their muscular bodies, and then I felt my master’s strong hands grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly off the bike. My legs trembled, weak from exertion and arousal, as he cradled me against his broad chest. The heat of his skin seared through the thin linen of his loincloth, and I couldn’t help but nuzzle closer, seeking his warmth and protection.

As Sven carried me across the room, I dared to glance around. The other girls were similarly held in the arms of their masters, their flushed faces a mixture of exhaustion, shame, and lingering desire. Camille’s eyes met mine briefly, a silent understanding passing between us. Whatever happened next, we were in this together.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw where Sven was taking me. The bride saddles stood in their semicircle, polished wood gleaming in the torchlight. Memories of the previous night flooded my mind—the feeling of being spread open, vulnerable, as Sven had claimed every part of me. I shivered, both from fear and anticipation.

Sven’s deep voice rumbled through his chest as he addressed us all. “Now, my volur , you will face your final test,” he said. “Your obedience, your control, and your ability to please will determine your suitability for the coming mission.”

He lowered me onto the bride saddle, the smooth wood and the leather cool against my skin. I whimpered softly as he began to secure the straps, each one tightening around my limbs with deliberate care. My face burned as I discovered anew how exposed the posture left me, my legs spread wide and my bottom raised high.

“Remember, lille en ,” Sven murmured, his fingers trailing along my spine, “this lovely body belongs to me now, to use and to share. Show me how well you’ve learned to submit.”

I nodded frantically, eager to please him despite the fear and uncertainty churning in my gut. Around me, I could hear the other girls being secured to their own saddles, the soft clinks of buckles and whispered instructions filling the air.

Once we were all strapped down, Sven spoke again, his voice carrying easily through the chamber. “You will be used in three ways,” he announced. “First, your mouths will pleasure us. Then, we will take your fisse . Finally, your r?vhul will be ours once more.”

I felt a rush of heat flood my pussy at his words, my body responding eagerly even as my mind reeled. The night before, when my master had taken my anal virginity, had been intense enough. But this—to be used so thoroughly, in front of everyone—was almost too much to comprehend.

“Throughout it all,” Sven continued, “you will focus on giving pleasure and obeying our commands. Those who demonstrate the conduct we look for will be chosen for the mission. Let me emphasize that you do not know what that conduct is: there is no use in trying to perform better than the girl to your right or left. Your task is simply to submit to your master’s pik .”

As I lay there, strapped to the bride saddle, my heart pounding in anticipation, a strange realization dawned on me. Those agonizing moments spent on the exercise bike had changed something within me. The helplessness I’d felt as my body so desperately sought release had awoken a newfound understanding of my submission to Sven, a power in pliancy that both exhilarated and terrified me.

The humiliation of being in such a vulnerable position should have caused me to recoil, but instead, I found myself craving his dominance more than ever before. My obedience to him had become a matter of both choice and compulsion, as if the very fibers of my being had been reshaped by the forces at work within this chamber.

“Look at you, lille en ,” Sven purred in my ear, as if reading my thoughts. “Your blush betrays your arousal.” His warm hand caressed my flushed cheek before trailing down my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “This is what you were born for. To surrender yourself, body and soul, to the strength of your master.”

His words sent a shiver through me, but I didn’t deny their truth. Never before had I felt so alive, so attuned to my own desires and the power I held over my own submission. It was as if the bike’s relentless motion had unlocked something inside me—an understanding that submission could be its own form of defiance, a rebellion against the expectations and societal norms that had once confined me.

As Sven’s fingers traced along my collarbone and down between my bound breasts, I arched into his touch, offering myself up to him completely.

Sven’s lips brushed against my earlobe before he spoke his next words: “Show me how well you can serve your master.” The command traveled through me like a spark, igniting every nerve ending as it fueled my determination to please him. My mouth watered as I thought of the enormous manhood that lurked under his loincloth, tenting it out so far that it made me shiver.

Mor Astrid settled into the ornate wooden chair in the center of our semicircle, her stern gaze sweeping over us as we lay bound and exposed on the bride saddles. The air was thick with tension and the musky scent of arousal as we awaited our masters’ pleasure.

Sven approached me, his massive frame looming above. With deliberate slowness, he unwrapped his loincloth, revealing the huge shaft that jutted from his lap. I had to swallow down my saliva now, my body thrumming with anticipation.

“Open,” he commanded softly.

I parted my lips eagerly, tilting my head back as far as the restraints would allow. Sven guided his cock to my mouth, the velvety head brushing against my lips before pressing inside. I moaned around him, reveling in his masculine taste and scent as he filled my mouth.

To my surprise, I found myself able to take him deeper than I had the night before, on the ritual voyage and by his hearth. Something about the exercise on the treadmill and the bike, perhaps, had given me more command over my bodily responses. I felt a surge of pride as I relaxed my throat and allowed him to slide further in.

Sven’s hand tangled in my hair, holding me steady as he began to thrust. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take all of your Herra . That’s it. Take it, you little kneppet?j. ”

I focused on breathing through my nose, surrendering completely to his control. The sounds of the other girls pleasuring their masters filled the air—wet slurps, muffled moans, and grunted praises. But I was lost in my own world, existing only to please Sven.

As he fucked my face with increasing intensity, I felt myself slipping into an altered state of consciousness. The physical sensations—the stretch of my jaw, the fullness in my throat—seemed to fade into the background. In their place, a profound sense of connection bloomed within me.

Suddenly, I was no longer just Mary, bound to a bride saddle in an underground chamber. I was every woman who had ever submitted to a powerful man, a living conduit for an ancient and primal energy. Visions flashed before my mind’s eye—Viking shield-maidens kneeling before their jarls, Pictish princesses claimed by conquering warlords, Roman priestesses coupling with their gods in ecstatic rituals.

The boundaries of time and space seemed to blur. I could see the branches of Yggdrasil, the world tree, stretching out around me, much more clearly than I had the last time my master had used me. Each coupling in the room felt like a sacred act, a reaffirmation of the cosmic order Sven had spoken of.

My awareness expanded further, and I found myself traveling along those mystical branches. I caught glimpses of possible futures—myself in a sleek modern office, seducing a stern-faced man for vital information; crouching in a frozen wasteland, my body the key to unlocking ancient secrets; standing tall and proud beside Sven as we faced some great, world-ending danger.