Page 42

CHAPTER 42

M ary

The vision shattered like ice beneath the weight of Marmareus’ words, sending me crashing back into the brutal reality of my body. I gasped, disoriented by the abrupt transition from the cosmic vastness of Yggdrasil to the confines of the cell, to the burning stretch of my anus around Marmareus’ invading cock.

“No,” I whispered, the word barely audible even to my own ears. “No, you can’t know…”

But he had said Sven’s name. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

Oh, no. It had been me . I had said Sven’s name myself.

Marmareus laughed, a dark, knowing sound that sent chills racing along my spine. His hips moved with deliberate slowness, pushing his cock deeper into my bottom, claiming that most intimate territory with ruthless efficiency. Each incremental advance sent shockwaves of sensation radiating through my trembling body.

“Your face when you climax is quite revealing, Mary,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear as he leaned over me. “I’ve seen that same expression—that same mixture of ecstasy and revelation—on the faces of highly trained operatives of the Order of Ostia. Not Columbae —more advanced girls, nuptae, agnae , and captae as we call them.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. He knew of my training. He understood something of what I was.

“I don’t—” I began, but my protest dissolved into a strangled moan as Marmareus seated himself fully inside me, his hips flush against my punished bottom. The fullness was overwhelming, the burn transforming into a strange, insistent pleasure that made me push back against him even in my dismay.

Suddenly, a beep of a kind I hadn’t heard came from above me—from Marmareus’ handheld, I realized. I heard him curse and felt him withdraw from me, the sudden emptiness making me gasp. From behind me came the sound of him zipping up his trousers, the metallic rasp somehow louder than it should have been in the stone cell.

“What is it?” he barked into his handheld, his voice sharp with irritation. “This had better be important.”

I remained frozen in position, my body still bent and bound between the posts, my bottom throbbing from his invasion, my pussy clenching with unfulfilled need. I strained to hear the response from the device, catching only fragments: “…priority alert… surveillance… CDG to JFK…”

Charles de Gaulle to John F. Kennedy. Paris to New York. A flight. Someone was coming.

Marmareus’ tone shifted instantly, his voice dropping to a calmer, more controlled register. “I see. Thank you for the notification. Have a team ready at Terminal One. No, I’ll handle the briefing personally.”

My heart raced as I processed what I’d heard. Someone important was arriving—someone who warranted interrupting Marmareus in the middle of what he’d clearly been enjoying. Someone from Paris. Could it be…?

No, I couldn’t allow myself that hope, despite what I had felt in my journey to the tree. It was too dangerous, too painful if I was wrong.

Marmareus walked into my field of vision, his face composed once more into that mask of calm authority. He looked down at me, still bound and exposed.

“Well, whoever Sven Hallstrom is, he’s about to board a flight from Paris to New York,” he told me, as I did everything in my power to keep my face blank and impassive.

“He and his associate,” Marmareus continued in a grim tone, “did a good job with their forged identification, but we’re just a bit ahead of the encryption they used.”

I stared up at Marmareus, my mind racing frantically. My lips parted, but no sound emerged. The facts of my situation crashed over me like a wave, threatening to drown me in its implications. Sven was coming for me—my true master, my Herra , the man who had opened me to my power as a volva . And Marmareus knew it, even if he didn’t know what it truly meant.

“Tell me about Sven Hallstrom,” Marmareus demanded, his voice deceptively soft. He crouched beside me, his face level with mine, those dark eyes boring into me with an intensity that made me tremble. “Tell me about the organization he clearly belongs to—the one I’m guessing you also belong to, Columba .”

I felt balanced on a knife’s edge, teetering between two abysses. If I spoke, I might betray Sven, the Sons of Odin, everything I had been trained to protect. If I remained silent, I risked punishment that might break me anyway, that might destroy any chance of bringing these two forces together as I had seen in my vision.

“I don’t…” I began, then faltered. “I can’t…”

Marmareus’ expression hardened. He reached out, gripping my chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to maintain eye contact.

“You can, and you will,” he said. “Your pretty little friend Camille will suffer for every moment of your silence. Is that what you want?”

My stomach lurched at the threat. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to reach into myself, to find some guidance from the volva part of me that connected to Yggdrasil. I sought the trunk, the roots, the branches—any sign of the cosmic tree that might show me the right path.

Nothing. Nothing but darkness and the frantic beating of my own heart.

I opened my eyes, staring blankly at Marmareus. The silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring.

“I see,” he said finally, releasing my chin. “You think your loyalty to him outweighs your responsibility to your friend. Interesting.”

He stood, towering over me once more. I remained bound in the humiliating position, my body still throbbing from his partial use of it. The leather restraints bit into my skin as I shifted slightly, seeking any relief from the vulnerable exposure.

“Very well,” Marmareus said, straightening his tie with a precise motion. “Since you insist on being difficult, I’ll have to adjust my approach.”

He sighed, looking down at me with an expression of what almost appeared to be compassion. “You may come to regret having saved Camille from Beaumont’s chateau, Mary. Your loyalty is admirable, but misplaced.”

My heart lurched painfully in my chest at his words. I tried to speak, to beg for Camille’s safety, but my throat closed around the words, choking them before they could emerge.

Marmareus raised his handheld to his lips. “Prepare the Hall of Fire,” he said, his voice emotionless and clinical.

The Hall of Fire. The words sent a shiver of dread through me, though I had no idea what they signified. Something in the way Marmareus said it—the flat, matter-of-fact tone that contained not a hint of mercy—told me all I needed to know. Whatever awaited me in this Hall of Fire, it represented something beyond anything I had yet experienced.

Moving with that same fluid efficiency I’d observed before, Marmareus unclipped my wrists from behind my thighs. My arms fell limply to my sides, muscles aching from the prolonged restraint. Before I could even think to resist, he grasped my upper arm and hauled me to my feet.

The sudden change in position made my head swim, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision. My legs trembled beneath me, barely able to support my weight after the intensity of what my body had just endured. The welts from the mastix throbbed fiercely up and down my backside, drawing a whimper from my lips.

“Turn around,” Marmareus commanded, rotating me to face the wall between the posts and moving the cushion aside.

With swift, practiced movements, he rearranged my bonds. First, he clipped my right wrist to a ring high on the right post, then my left to the corresponding position on the left post. The position forced my arms out and up, stretching my torso and making me acutely aware of my nakedness, of the vulnerability of my breasts and belly. Next, he secured my ankle cuffs to lower rings on the posts, spreading my legs apart.

The position left me completely exposed, facing the wall, unable to see what might be happening behind me. I could feel the cool air of the cell against my punished bottom, my still-slick pussy, the tender pucker of my anus that ached from Marmareus’ interrupted enjoyment. Every nerve ending in my body seemed alive, hypersensitive to the slightest change in temperature or touch.

I heard Marmareus moving behind me, the soft sound of his footsteps on the stone floor as he retrieved the cushion and returned it to the cabinet. The panel slid closed with a quiet hiss.

I heard soft footfalls as Marmareus approached me again, from behind. My heart hammered against my ribs as I strained futilely against the restraints that held me spread-eagled between the posts. The leather cuffs bit into my wrists and ankles.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please, what are you going to do to me?”

Marmareus moved to stand beside me, just within my peripheral vision. His expression remained impassive, though the strange compassion flickered again in his dark eyes.

“It would be so much simpler if you would cooperate, Mary,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “The Guard has ways of extracting information that are… unpleasant. I’d prefer not to subject you to them.”

“What are you going to do?” I repeated, unable to keep the tremor from my voice. The welts from the mastix awakened again as I shuddered in terror, as if to remind me how skillfully Marmareus could wield the implements of discipline.

“Wait and see,” he replied, his tone maddeningly even. “In the meantime, I suggest you consider carefully whether your loyalty to Sven Hallstrom outweighs your responsibility to those you care about—Sven included.”

My stomach lurched at the implied threat. I thought of my parents back in Chicago, my little sister in college, blissfully unaware of the shadow world I had entered. How easily the Pretorian Guard could reach them if they chose.

“You wouldn’t,” I whispered, though I knew even as I spoke that he absolutely would.

Marmareus didn’t bother to respond to such an obvious falsehood. Instead, he moved closer, his breath warm against my ear.

“I have a way to help you think more clearly about your situation,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “To help you understand exactly what’s at stake.”

I heard a soft beep as he tapped something on his handheld. The floor beneath me vibrated slightly, and to my horror, I sensed something rising from between my spread feet. What felt like leather brushed against my inner thighs.

I whimpered in fear and confusion as the mysterious object continued to rise. The leather brushed higher against my thighs, warm and supple against my skin. As it ascended further, I finally caught a glimpse of what awaited me—a kind of saddle, expertly crafted of black leather stretched over a contoured frame. Its surface gleamed in the cell’s soft lighting, the leather looking butter-soft and ominously inviting.

The saddle rose until it hovered just millimeters from my exposed pussy, close enough that I could feel a warmth radiating from it, or perhaps that was just my imagination, my terror-heightened senses playing tricks on me. The leather surface was shaped with a central ridge that would press directly against my slit if I lowered myself onto it.

“Bend your knees,” Marmareus commanded, his voice stern.

I hesitated, staring down at the saddle with mounting dread. What would it do to me? What new humiliation awaited?

“Bend your knees, Mary,” he repeated, his tone hardening. “Now.”

With a sob of resignation, I obeyed, slowly bending my knees, lowering my body toward the waiting saddle. The moment my pussy lips made the slightest contact with the leather surface, the saddle came alive beneath me. A subtle vibration began, humming against my sensitive flesh, making me gasp in shock.

“Oh!” I cried out, instinctively trying to pull away, but the restraints held me firmly in place. The vibration was mild, almost teasing, but its unexpectedness made it all the more alarming.

“Lower yourself completely,” Marmareus instructed, moving to stand beside me where he could observe my reactions. “The more firmly you press against it, the more intense the stimulation becomes. It’s calibrated to respond to pressure.”

I let out another sob as I comprehended what he intended. This was no ordinary saddle—it was a diabolical device designed to force pleasure upon me whether I wanted it or not. With trembling thighs, I lowered myself further, feeling the central ridge of the saddle part my labia as I settled onto it.

Immediately, the vibrations intensified, sending jolts of unwanted pleasure radiating outward from my core. The leather felt sinfully soft against my tender flesh, the contours of the saddle fitting my body with disturbing precision, as if it had been molded specifically for me.

With a shudder I remembered the bride saddle in Rouen, the one in Sven’s house—and then the circle of them in the Hall of Training. I remembered how mortifying I had found it at first, and how Sven had taught me to ride his saddle as an act of submission to his pleasure, and my own. This tormenting saddle seemed a cruel mockery of the idea.

“The device reads your body’s responses and adjusts accordingly,” Marmareus said matter-of-factly.

As if to demonstrate his point, the vibration pattern shifted, becoming more rhythmic, pulsing against my clit in a way that made my hips jerk involuntarily. I bit my lip hard, determined to keep my wits. I lifted myself off the saddle, and the hum ceased from beneath me.

“You will remain here, Columba , positioned exactly as you are now, until I return,” Marmareus told me.

His words sent a panic thrilling through me. “How… how long?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“We’ll see,” he replied. I could hear in his voice the cruel smile his mouth must wear.

“But…” I whispered.

“You may come as many times as you want,” Marmareus said, as if I hadn’t uttered a sound. His voice seemed almost kind. “In fact, I encourage it. I hope each orgasm will bring you closer to the truth—your truth, Mary.”

Craning my neck to peer over my shoulder, I watched him step back, straightening his tie and smoothing a hand over his immaculate suit. Then he turned and walked to the door. It slid open silently at his approach, then closed behind him with a soft hiss, leaving me alone, bound and exposed, my pussy almost touching the awful vibrating saddle.

I hung there, spread between the posts, every muscle quivering with the effort to keep myself from touching the saddle beneath me. The position was agonizing—arms stretched wide, legs spread, thighs trembling as I tried to maintain the awkward hover just millimeters above the warm leather surface. Sweat beaded on my forehead, trickled down my spine, gathered in the hollow between my breasts.

“I can do this,” I whispered to myself, focusing on the rough texture of the stone wall in front of me. “I can endure this.”

But my body betrayed me. First came the subtle burn in my quadriceps, a warning of fatigue to come. Then the deeper ache as my muscles began to exhaust their reserves. Five minutes? Ten? I had no way to mark the passage of time in this windowless cell, no reference point beyond the mounting distress in my straining limbs.

My right leg buckled first, just a slight give in the knee, but it was enough. My pussy brushed against the saddle, just the lightest, briefest contact. The device hummed to life instantly, vibrations pulsing against my sensitized flesh for a heartbeat before I could lift myself away again.

“No,” I gasped, redoubling my efforts, ignoring the screaming protest of my muscles.

But it was too late. That fleeting touch had awakened nerves already primed by Marmareus’ earlier attentions. My body remembered pleasure, craved more of it, even as my mind recoiled from the manipulation. I felt wetness gathering between my legs, my treacherous arousal making the next accidental contact slicker, more electric.

Another few minutes passed in desperate resistance. My calves began to cramp, sharp pain shooting up the backs of my legs. My thighs shook more violently, muscles failing despite my determination. Each time I slipped, each inadvertent brush against the saddle, the vibrations seemed to grow more insistent, more precisely targeted to my most sensitive spots.

“Please,” I whispered to the empty room, to whatever gods might be listening. “Please help me.”

But no help came. No vision of Yggdrasil appeared to rescue me from this torment. There was only the cell, the posts, the restraints, and the saddle waiting patiently below.

When the collapse finally came, it wasn’t gradual. My legs simply gave out, muscles surrendering all at once after being pushed beyond endurance. I dropped onto the saddle with a strangled cry, my full weight pressing my pussy against the vibrating leather surface.

The sensation was overwhelming. The device responded instantly to the increased pressure, the vibrations intensifying, patterns shifting to target my clit with merciless precision. The central ridge of the saddle parted my labia, pressing directly against the entrance to my aching sheath, while the forward portion buzzed against my swollen bud.

“Oh, God,” I moaned, my hips jerking involuntarily over the saddle. I couldn’t stop myself. The vibrations consumed every rational thought, reducing me to pure sensation, pure need. My hips began to move of their own accord, grinding down against the humming leather, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of the diabolical pleasure that made my mind fragment like shattered glass.

“No, no, no,” I chanted, the words dissolving into incoherent moans as the saddle’s vibrations found a new rhythm, pulsing against my clit in perfect counterpoint to the throbbing of my inner walls.

The leather grew slick beneath me, coated with my shameful arousal. Each shift of my weight, each involuntary rock of my hips changed the pattern of stimulation, as if the saddle were learning my body’s responses, adapting to maximize my pleasure whether I wanted it or not. The central ridge pressed insistently against my entrance, not penetrating but teasing, promising a fullness it withheld.

I tried to focus on something—anything—beyond the mounting tension in my core. The rough texture of the stone. The cool air against my sweat-dampened skin. The distant hum of ventilation systems. But the saddle’s vibrations seemed to travel through my entire body, making concentration impossible, fragmenting my thoughts before they could fully form.

“I won’t,” I gasped, even as my hips circled faster, pressing harder against the leather. “I won’t give in.”

But I was already giving in, had been from the moment I’d collapsed onto the saddle. My body knew what it wanted, what it needed, even as my mind rebelled against the forced pleasure. The first orgasm was building inexorably, a tsunami I could neither stop nor control.

When it crashed over me, I screamed, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the cell. My entire body convulsed, my vagina clenching rhythmically around emptiness as surge after surge of pleasure radiated outward from my belly. I pulled desperately at the restraints that held my wrists, my back arching, toes curling as the climax seemed to go on forever.

In that moment of release, I felt it—the familiar rushing quasi-sound that preceded a journey to Yggdrasil. My consciousness began to expand, to rise up and out of my trembling body. For a heartbeat, I glimpsed the cosmic branches, the vast expanse of the world tree stretching through dimensions I could barely comprehend.

But before I could fully enter that state, before I could receive whatever vision awaited me there, the saddle changed its rhythm again. The vibrations intensified, focusing with laser precision on my oversensitive clit. The pleasure was so acute it bordered on pain, yanking me brutally back into my physical form.

“No!” I cried out, genuine tears of frustration streaming down my face. “Please, just let me see!”