Page 47

CHAPTER 47

M ary

I felt the big man behind me place a hand on my belt, his massive fingers curling around the leather with possessive confidence. The restraint, which had felt so alien when first fastened around my waist, now seemed to burn against my skin, like an emotional, as well as a physical, reinforcement of my role in this terrible ritual.

“I am Nymphobus Lucius,” he announced, his deep voice resonating through the chamber like distant thunder. “I thank you, brothers in power, for the loan of this cunt.”

A moan escaped my lips before I could suppress it as I felt Lucius position the head of his cock at the entrance to my vagina. The blunt pressure against my sensitized flesh sent shivers racing along my spine. Cassandra’s ministrations had left me wet and ready, my body’s natural response to stimulation regardless of what my mind might prefer.

I turned my head as much as the restraints would allow, seeking reassurance in Camille’s presence beside me. What I saw made my breath catch in my throat. The other Nymphobus stood behind Camille, positioning his enormous manhood at the entrance to her pussy. His free hand gripped her belt in the same proprietary manner as Lucius held mine, his massive frame dwarfing her bound form.

“I am Nymphobus Brutus,” he intoned, his voice a perfect echo of his companion’s. “I thank you, brothers in power, for the loan of this cunt.”

I watched, transfixed, as Brutus pressed the head of his cock just inside Camille’s entrance. Her face contorted in a mixture of discomfort and unwilling pleasure, her dark eyes wide with the same conflicted emotions that churned within me. In that moment, our gazes met across the small space separating our benches, and I felt a surge of solidarity with my sister volva . We had remained together, through all of this; that counted for something, in our own eyes, at least—and perhaps even in the eyes of our masters.

Brutus looked over at Lucius, their eyes meeting in silent communication. I recognized the look—they were timing their first thrusts, coordinating their use of our bodies as if we were instruments to be played in unison. I felt Lucius’ hand tighten on my belt, his grip becoming an anchor point, a fulcrum against which he would leverage his penetration. At the same moment, I saw Brutus do the same to Camille’s belt, his massive fingers digging into the leather.

Then, as I watched Brutus thrust his hardness inside Camille, I felt Lucius do the same to me. Both Camille and I cried out, the sudden, complete invasion of our bodies drawing the sounds from our throats without our intention. The Nymphobi , both hands on our belts now, held themselves in at full length, their cocks buried fully inside our wet sheaths.

“Are they tight?” Marmareus asked, as if the question were part of a ritual. His voice carried across the chamber with the weight of ancient tradition, the formal inquiry seeming to transform the raw obscenity of the scene into something sacred.

“Tight indeed,” Lucius replied, his massive body perfectly still as he savored the sensation of my inner walls gripping his rigid penis. “This cunt is a gift from heaven on my manhood.”

I felt my face flame with humiliation at being discussed so crudely while my body was impaled on a stranger’s cock. The leather restraints creaked as I shifted slightly, trying to adjust to the overwhelming fullness stretching me from within.

“The same,” Brutus said about Camille, his voice a rumbling bass that seemed to vibrate through the stone floor beneath us. “A gift from heaven, indeed.”

I glanced at Camille, saw her eyes squeezed shut, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she processed the same invasion I was experiencing. The bench beneath her trembled slightly with the force of Brutus’ grip on her belt.

“Ride them hard, then,” Marmareus commanded, his tone shifting from ritualistic to imperious. “These Columbae must learn the ways of civilized men.”

As Lucius began to move within me, I turned my gaze toward Sven, desperate for some connection, some reminder that I belonged to him despite what was happening to my body. What I saw in his ice-blue gaze made my breath catch in my throat.

There it was again—his permission, explicit and absolute, to find pleasure in the satisfaction of my most forbidden needs. More than that, I saw the pleasure he took in watching me used by another man, a man with whom he had deliberately shared me. The knowledge sent a new flash of confused arousal washing through me, making my inner walls clench involuntarily around Lucius’ invading hardness.

My pussy was already sore from the diabolical saddle Marmareus had forced me to ride in my cell, the hours of stimulation having left my most sensitive flesh tender and overly receptive. Yet even amid the discomfort I found myself quickly approaching the edge of climax as Lucius established a steady, powerful rhythm.

Each thrust drove me forward against the restraints before the grip on my belt yanked me back to meet the next penetration. The dual sensations of being pushed and pulled, of being completely controlled in my movements, intensified the building pleasure in my core.

I tried to focus on Sven’s face, on maintaining that tenuous connection across the chamber, but the mounting tension in my body made concentration increasingly difficult. My vision blurred as Lucius found a particularly sensitive spot deep inside me, the head of his cock pressing against it with unerring accuracy.

It was only as my body trembled on the precipice of release that I realized the true extent of the Nymphobi ’s skill. Just as the first delicious waves of orgasm began to build, Lucius altered his rhythm, slowing his thrusts to a maddeningly deliberate pace. The change was so subtle, so expertly timed, that I might not have noticed had I not been so desperately focused on what was happening to my body.

“No,” I whimpered, my voice small and desperate in the vast chamber. “Please…”

Beside me, Camille let out a similar sound of frustration, her body tensing against her restraints as Brutus denied her her own climax with an equally masterful change in tempo. The synchronicity of their movements was uncanny, as if they shared a single consciousness divided between two powerful bodies.

Lucius leaned forward, his breath hot against my ear. “Not yet, little Columba ,” he whispered, the words for me alone. “The Leo has not given permission.”

I sobbed as understanding crashed over me like an icy wave. This wasn’t merely about physical domination—it was about controlling my consciousness. Every time Lucius yanked me back from the edge of climax, I could feel my journey to Yggdrasil reversing, the mystical pathways closing before I could traverse them. The branches of the world tree, which had seemed so tantalizingly close moments before, now receded into the distance of my consciousness.

It was the same problem I’d encountered on the saddle in my cell, but inverted. Where too many orgasms had scattered my vision, making it impossible to focus on any single branch of possible futures, now the deliberate denial of release prevented me from reaching the tree at all. My volva senses fluttered uselessly at the edges of my awareness, like a bird with clipped wings attempting flight.

“Please,” I gasped again, no longer certain who I was begging—Lucius, Marmareus, or Sven himself. “I need to… I have to…”

But Lucius only chuckled, a dark sound of satisfaction as he continued his relentless rhythm, bringing me to the edge only to deny me at the crucial moment. My body burned with unfulfilled need, sweat slicking my skin as I strained against the leather restraints. The metal rings securing my cuffs to the bench jangled with my efforts, a counterpoint to the wet sounds of penetration and the harsh breathing that filled the chamber.

I cast my gaze desperately toward Sven, trying to communicate with my eyes what I couldn’t say aloud. The information about Georgy’s computer virus felt like a physical weight in my mind, pressing against my temples with increasing urgency. If I could only reach Yggdrasil, I knew I could find the right branch, the right future where I could warn Sven properly. But the pathways remained closed, my volva senses muddled.

“As you can see,” Marmareus said, his voice carrying across the chamber, “the Nymphobi are skilled cocksmen. Trained for years in the arts of pleasure and control.”

I moaned as Lucius brought me to the edge once again, his massive cock hitting that perfect spot inside me before he deliberately slowed, denying me release with cruel precision. My entire body trembled with frustrated need, sweat trickling down my spine to mingle with the welts from Sven’s punishment.

“Mary and Camille,” Marmareus continued, his dark eyes moving between Sven and Erik with calculating intensity, “will not be allowed to orgasm until the end of the ritual, once an agreement has been negotiated.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. My pussy clenched helplessly around Lucius’ invading hardness as I processed their meaning. Not until an agreement was reached? How long would that take? Minutes? Hours? I wasn’t sure I could endure this exquisite torture much longer without breaking.

“Oh, no,” I moaned, my voice cracking with desperation. “Please… Herra … Leo …”

The moment the words left my lips, I knew I’d made a mistake. The chamber fell silent except for the wet sounds of the Nymphobi ’s continued thrusting. Even they seemed to slow, as if sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere. I felt Lucius pause, his massive cock still buried deep inside me, as all eyes turned toward me.

Marmareus’ expression changed, his eyes narrowing as he studied me with renewed interest.

“Is there something you’d like to tell your masters, Mary?” he asked, his voice stern, carrying an undercurrent of danger that made my blood run cold.

I saw a look of unease flicker across Sven’s face—there and gone in an instant, but unmistakable to one who knew him as intimately as I did. That tiny crack in his impassive mask terrified me more than anything that had happened since our arrival in New York. If Sven was worried, then the situation was truly perilous.

With a deliberate calm that somehow intensified the menace of the moment, Marmareus reached beneath the obsidian table. When his hand reappeared, it held a sleek black pistol, its surface gleaming dully in the chamber’s ruddy light. Without haste, without drama, he pointed it directly at Sven’s head.

“I think,” Marmareus said, his voice betraying no emotion whatsoever, “that it’s time we dispensed with the pretense. You are not Pretorian Guard. You are not Groupe Synergistique . And this girl—” he nodded toward me, “—knows something she’s desperate to tell you.”

My body reacted instinctively, straining against the restraints that bound me to the bench. I managed to thrust my whipped bottom backwards just enough to change the angle of Lucius’s latest thrust so that he hit my g-spot with devastating precision. The sudden, intense pleasure crashed through me, overwhelming the careful control the Nymphobus had maintained over my responses.

I started to come, my pussy clenching rhythmically around the Nymphobus ’ massive cock, my vision blurring as waves of pleasure radiated outward from my core. Though I had caused it, the power of the orgasm took me by surprise, its intensity magnified by the long minutes of denial that had preceded it.

And in that moment of release, my consciousness expanded, transcending the limitations of my physical form. I went instantly into the branches of Yggdrasil, the cosmic tree unfurling before my inner vision with breathtaking clarity.

Time seemed to slow, to stretch like warm honey, as I navigated the tangled pathways of possible futures. I saw countless branches spreading before me, each representing a different outcome, a different path forward from this perilous moment. Some led to darkness, to violence and death. Others offered the faintest glimmer of hope, of survival and eventual triumph.

I moved through them with the instinctive knowledge of a volva , my consciousness drawn inexorably toward the branches that glowed with the greatest potential for balance, for the preservation of what truly mattered. And as I traveled, I saw with perfect clarity what I needed to do.

It wasn’t the virus I should speak of. No. If I mentioned Georgy’s plan to attack Paris’ power grid, the Pretorian Guard would assume the Sons of Odin had planted it themselves. They would see it as confirmation of their suspicions, as proof that Sven and Erik were agents of chaos rather than of civilization. But… if I could somehow reinforce the two groups’ shared values…

“ Herra ,” I cried through the overwhelming ecstasy of my stolen orgasm, “in the Arctic… they’re… they’re building a space station to… to save civilization.”