Page 6

CHAPTER 6

M ary

I heard Sven’s voice ring out again. Erik buried himself inside me with a final thrust, and then withdrew. It only seemed another moment before I had a different rigid penis, a third one, in my little fisse . I could feel myself getting sore. I realized I wouldn’t walk comfortably when my master loosed my bonds and let me up from the bench where he had made a woman of me, but that idea only made me cry out anew, and come again, under Henrik’s huge manhood.

As the night wore on, my whole body began to ache from the relentless fucking. Each Viking warrior took his turn with me, using my ravaged body for his pleasure. The growing sense that Sven had been right about me, that somehow—alongside the abject humiliation it stirred in me—I needed this, warred against the shame of having lost my virginity in this shameful way.

Six men, well-endowed and brutal in their ‘lovemaking’—if I could even call it that. My professor, the forbidden fruit of my sophomore fantasies. Five of his hulking, rough friends, men I had never met. All of them turning the tender moment of my defloration into a forceful gangbang where I had just become a woman alongside five other girls. All of us made to pledge our complete sexual service to our terrifying, lustful masters. I should have felt used, violated, but instead, I found that part of me shamelessly reveled in the attention.

With each new penetration, my embarrassment seemed to lessen, and a strange sense of… of belonging to increase. Belonging to Sven, and his brothers—and belonging to something bigger than myself. These men were my masters now, and it was my duty to please them. I was their thrall, theirs to do with as they willed. The very thought sent a shiver down my spine and made me wetter than ever.

Finally, Sven’s turn in my pussy came round again. His blond head appeared above me as he positioned himself behind me. “Mary,” he whispered in my ear, his voice a soothing balm to my senses, “this time will be different.”

He entered me slowly, his cock sliding in with ease thanks to the generous lubrication provided by his brothers. But this time, there was no pounding or roughness. Instead, he moved in and out with a tenderness I never thought possible from such a large man. His hands caressed my breasts gently, thumbs flicking my nipples to hard points.

“Oh… God…” I moaned loudly as he hit an especially sensitive spot deep inside me. My back arched involuntarily as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. The pain of taking his enormous manhood seemed only to build my need higher.

“That’s it,” Sven murmured in my ear, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how well we fit together.”

I closed my eyes, lost in the terribly ambiguous sensations whirling inside my body. I sobbed at even these gentle thrusts, unable to discover how Sven’s cock could feel so good inside me, so right, and yet could hurt so much. Each slow stroke was a painful, ecstatic declaration of ownership, a reminder that I belonged to him now, and only him. I would take what he gave me, even when he had to punish me. He would choose where to put his hard penis, when to whip me, spank me, fuck me.

I cried out as a final orgasm shook me, and I felt Sven go still as his hardness pulsed out his seed. His hands tightened on my waist, and he shouted in his pleasure. As if they had waited for their leader, I heard the triumphant cries of the other Sons of Odin, mingled with the moans and sobs of the girls they had taken as bed thralls.

My face burned like the sun, and yet the warmth in my chest represented a very different sort of response. A man had just come in my no-longer-virgin pussy. My fisse belonged to him, and he, my Herra , would plant a baby in me if he wished and the gods allowed the seed to blossom.

I felt Sven’s cock twitch inside me one final time before he slowly withdrew. The loss of his presence left me feeling strangely empty, and I whimpered softly at the sensation. My entire body ached, muscles I didn’t even know I had protesting from the hours of vigorous use.

Sven’s hand came to rest on the small of my back, his touch surprisingly gentle. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly through the cavern, the French words rolling off his tongue with the lilting Scandinavian accent I recognized more clearly than I had before.

“Bed thralls,” he began, “you have sailed into the shallows, on your voyage into servitude. Your bodies have been claimed, your virginities offered up to your masters. But this is only the beginning. There is deep water to cross, on our longship.”

I shivered at his words, my mind reeling as I tried to process everything that had happened. The sensations in my body were overwhelming—the soreness between my legs, the ache in my muscles, the sticky wetness of semen and my own arousal coating my thighs.

Sven continued, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone. “You will remain here, bound to these benches, available for your masters’ use until we reach our destination. Remember that your bodies are no longer your own—they belong to us, to use as we see fit.”

A chorus of soft whimpers and muffled sobs echoed through the cavern at his pronouncement. I felt my own eyes prick with tears, a confusing mix of emotions swirling within me. The logical part of me demanded that I protest, to fight against this insanity. It screamed its anger at that other part that to my confusion seemed to be growing stronger with each passing moment—the unnamable, archaic part that felt a thrill of helpless excitement at the idea of being so utterly possessed.

I heard the rustle of clothing as Sven and the other Sons of Odin dressed themselves. Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls as they moved about the cavern, gathering their things. I strained my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening, but the way I was bound made it impossible to see much beyond the rough wood of the bench beneath me.

Finally, I heard Sven’s voice once more, speaking in that rough but also graceful language to his brothers. Their responding grunts of assent sent a shiver down my spine. Then, with a final caress of my bottom that made me gasp, Sven moved away.

The sound of heavy footsteps receded, followed by the creak and thud of a massive door closing. Silence fell over the cavern, broken only by the soft sobs and ragged breathing of the other girls.

For a long moment, no one spoke. I lay there, my cheek pressed against the bench, listening to the sounds of the other thralls around me. The air felt thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and I could hear the occasional drip of fluid hitting the stone floor beneath us.

Finally, a tentative whisper broke the silence. The words were in French, too soft and rapid for me to make out. I strained to grasp a thread, but the words went beyond my limited comprehension of my peers’ daily speech. Frustration welled up inside me. I needed to understand, to connect with these other girls who had shared this bizarre, terrifying experience with me.

Gathering my courage, I cleared my throat and spoke up in my halting college French. “ S’il vous pla?t… parlez plus lentement et clairement. Je ne comprends pas bien. ”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Camille’s voice rang out, sharp with anger. She spoke in heavily accented English, but much more fluidly than I could manage in her French. “You! You dare to speak to us? You, who clearly knows our captor?”

I flinched at the venom in her tone. “ Non, je ? — ”

“Don’t lie!” Camille spat, sticking to English as if to shame me. “We all saw how he looked at you, how he spoke to you. You’re in league with them, aren’t you? Some kind of… of collaborator!”

Tears sprang to my eyes at her accusation. “ Non, c’est pas vrai! Je vous jure… je ne… ”

“ Camille, arrête! ” Another voice cut in—softer, gentler. Amélie. She spoke in slow French. “Be kinder. Can’t you see she’s as frightened as we are?”

I heard Camille scoff, but she fell silent. Amélie’s voice came again, slower and clearer this time. “We were discussing the Vikings, Mary. Their connection to this… this madness.”

“ Merci , Amélie,” I said gratefully. “I… I don’t understand what’s happening. Please, tell me what you were saying.”

Amélie’s voice sounded thoughtful as she explained. “We were talking about Normandy’s Viking heritage. How this might be connected to that somehow.”

The words struck a chord in me, tickling at some half-remembered lesson. “Viking heritage?” I repeated, struggling to piece together the fragments of knowledge floating in my mind.

Camille’s voice came again, dripping with scorn. Again she spoke in her heavily accented English, even more clearly meant to mock my incomprehension because of how slowly she uttered the words. “It’s in the name, you ignorant American. Norman. North-man. Don’t they teach you anything in your schools?”

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment, but Amélie spoke up again before I could respond. “The Normans were originally Danish Vikings,” she explained patiently. “They sacked Paris, attacked Chartres. Eventually, in 911, Charles the Simple gave them the land that became Normandy to stop their raids.”

As Amélie spoke, the pieces began to fall into place in my mind. Sven’s lectures on Norse culture, the ancient ship we were bound to, the talk of thralls and Odin… A chill ran down my spine as a terrifying thought occurred to me.

“Do you think…” I began hesitantly, “do you think they’ve been doing this for… for centuries? Kidnapping girls and… and… you know…?”

“ Fucking them?” Camille said, as if disgusted that I couldn’t say the word, or maybe didn’t know it in French.

“But,” I protested, my mind reeling at the implications, “they couldn’t get away with it, could they? Not for centuries. Someone would notice, would stop them.”

Camille let out a harsh laugh. When she spoke again, her English was even more deliberate, each word dripping with disdain for my apparent naivety.

“Not unless they are very powerful,” she said. “We are all girls from the bourgeoisie, but they set it up to look like we drowned and got swept out to sea. To do that, they have to control the government in this department at least.”

Her words sent a chill through me. I remembered the university staff member I had recognized among our captors. How deep did this conspiracy go? How many people were involved in this… this cult?

“But surely someone would notice,” I argued weakly. “Our families, our friends…”

“Think about it,” Camille snapped, lapsing back into French. To my relief I found I could understand her, now that I had a context for her words. “How many girls disappear every year? How many bodies are never found? It would be easy to fake our deaths, to make it look like a tragic accident.”

As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew she was right. The pieces continued falling into place, forming a picture too terrifying to contemplate. I thought about my own situation—a foreign exchange student, far from home. How long would it take for anyone to realize I was truly missing, not just out of contact?

“But why?” Amélie’s soft voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. “Why go to all this trouble? Why us?”

“Power,” Camille said grimly. “Control. The same reasons men have always sought to dominate women.”

I shuddered, remembering the way Sven had looked at me, the possessive gleam in his eyes as he claimed me as his thrall. There had been something ancient in that gaze, something that spoke of centuries of tradition and ritual.

“And the… the sexual stuff,” I said hesitantly, my face burning. “That’s part of it too, right?”

“Of course,” Camille replied, her tone bitter. “What better way to assert dominance than to control our bodies, our pleasure?”

I squirmed uncomfortably on the bench, acutely aware of the ache between my legs, the sticky evidence of my own unwilling arousal. Shame washed over me as I remembered how my body had responded to Sven’s touch, how I had begged for more even as my mind recoiled in horror.

“But it’s more than that,” Amélie mused. “Did you see the carvings on the walls? The rituals, the chanting… This isn’t just about sex. It’s about… about…”

“Power,” I finished for her, the realization dawning. “They believe they’re tapping into some kind of ancient power.”

“Absolutely,” Amélie agreed. “ Masculine power. Like… like they’re keeping faith with the old ways, the old gods, to ensure their masculinity doesn’t fade, as it has in so many places.”

To my distress, I heard admiration in Amélie’s voice. My brow creased as I tried to decide how I felt about that, given that the same feeling seemed to lurk in me, deep down, in my heart and my body.

“Bah,” Camille said. “You are worse than Mary, Amélie.”

Another girl, the one on the other side of Camille, spoke. Sophie, maybe? Yes, and she belonged to the warrior named Aksel, I remembered.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t come as hard as the rest of us, Camille,” she said with a quiet authority that made my eyes go wide. “All you’ll get for your defiance is a whipping from your Herra .”