Page 7

CHAPTER 7

S ven

The bathing hall echoed with the playful boasts of my Viking brothers. Pride filled my chest at the mixture of warrior dominance—arrogance, even—and tenderness for their new bed thralls that I heard.

Steam rose from the large saltwater pool as we lowered ourselves into its warm embrace, muscles relaxing after our vigorous claiming of our new bed thralls. The scent of sea salt filled the air, bringing to my mind long voyages across stormy seas.

“By Odin’s beard, did you hear the sounds my little Amélie made?” Henrik boasted, his voice carrying over the gentle lapping of water. “She must have thought I’d split her in two when I first entered her, but by the end, she was begging for more!”

Laughter erupted around the pool, a chorus of deep, masculine voices reveling in our shared conquest. I smiled, remembering the sweet cries of my own Mary as I’d claimed her virgin body. Her red hair had gleamed like fire in the torchlight, her pale skin flushed with an arousal that didn’t come entirely from her fear.

“And what of your Camille, Erik?” I asked, turning to my shield-brother. “Did that defiant spirit of hers hold out?”

Erik’s grin was wolfish as he replied, “Oh, she pretended to fight me at first, cursing in that lovely French of hers. But by the second time I fucked her, she was moaning my name like a prayer.”

More laughter filled the hall, along with good-natured jeers and jests. We passed around horns of mead, toasting to our success and to the blessings of Odin.

As the initial excitement settled, our talk turned to the metaphorical voyage that lay ahead. The ritual cleansing complete, we would soon return to our thralls for the next phase of their training.

“I can’t wait to feel those soft lips around my cock,” Aksel mused, his eyes glazed with lust. “Sophie’s mouth looks made for sucking.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. I nodded, picturing Mary’s full, pouty lips and imagining how they would look stretched around my manhood.

“Remember, brothers,” I cautioned, my voice taking on the authoritative tone of a leader, “this is about more than just our pleasure. We must train them not just in providing enjoyment, but in the mental process that accompanies their obedience to our wishes: it is their minds, as much as their bodies, that will send them to Yggdrasil.”

The other men nodded solemnly, understanding the weight of our responsibility. We were not simply using our new bed thralls’ pussies, mouths, and—when the time came—backsides. These intimate acts, for all their lewdness, represented an ancient tradition that would make the young women whom we had bound to the rowing benches into something much greater.

“We’ll use the straps if needed,” Erik added, his voice hard. “They must learn to suppress their gag reflexes, to take us deep into their throats, if they are to reach the necessary state of perception.”

I felt my cock stir at the thought, imagining Mary’s eyes watering as she struggled to accommodate my full length. Yes, I would train her well, mold her into a skillful bed thrall—and, I hoped, much more.

As we climbed out of the pool, water streaming down our muscular bodies, I noticed a faint red glow coming from the far corner of the bathing hall. My brow furrowed as I realized it was the warning light on our lone concession to modern technology here in the ritual caverns—the control panel that connected our most ancient sanctuary to the outside world.

“Brothers,” I called out, my voice echoing off the stone walls. “Continue with your preparations. I must attend to something.”

They nodded their ingrained understanding of the importance of my hereditary role as leader. I strode across the damp floor, my wet footprints leaving a trail behind me. As I approached the control panel, I felt a sense of unease settle in my stomach. We rarely received communications through this channel—it was meant for emergencies only.

I entered the access code and the screen flickered to life. My eyes widened as I saw the source of the alert: Groupe Synergistique . Our supposed allies in the corporate world, though I had always been wary of their true motivations.

The message was brief, but concerning:

Urgent: Detected major Pretorian Guard construction activity near Arctic Circle. Possible threat to our mutual interests. Immediate discussion required.

I frowned, running a hand through my damp hair. The Pretorian Guard had long been a thorn in our side, their pseudo-Roman ideology clashing with our Norse traditions, making it difficult at times to gather necessary intelligence without revealing ourselves. We had managed to keep ourselves hidden from them, though, even as they worked against our allies. What could they be planning that would draw the attention of Groupe Synergistique ?

I glanced back at my brothers, still laughing and preparing for the next phase of our ritual. They deserved this night of triumph, this celebration of our ancient ways. But duty called, and as their leader, I could not ignore it.

With a heavy sigh, I typed out a brief response:

Acknowledged. Will make contact within twenty-four hours to discuss.

I shut down the terminal, my mind already racing with possibilities. Whatever the Pretorian Guard was up to, it could not be good for the Sons of Odin. We would need to tread carefully in the days ahead.

For now, though, I pushed those concerns to the back of my mind. Tonight was about claiming our thralls, about continuing the traditions that had sustained us for over a thousand years. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges.

I turned back to my brothers, forcing a smile onto my face. “Come,” I called out. “Our new bed thralls await us. Let us show them the pleasure and pain of serving the Sons of Odin.”

* * *

Mary

I strained my ears, trying to make sense of the muffled shouts coming from the adjoining chamber. The words were indistinct, but the tone was unmistakable—boisterous, triumphant, masculine. My cheeks burned as I imagined what the Sons of Odin might be discussing; boasting, perhaps, about their conquest of their new bed thralls.

A faint splashing sound reached my ears, and I furrowed my brow in confusion. Were they… bathing? The thought of those powerful bodies submerged in water, droplets cascading down muscled chests… I shook my head, trying to dispel the unwelcome image.

“This is all so strange,” I murmured, more to myself than the others. “Like something out of a fever dream.”

“I have to pee,” Amélie’s soft voice broke through my musings. “Oh, God, I have to pee so badly.”

I suddenly became acutely aware of my own bladder, uncomfortably full. How long had we been bound here? Hours? It felt like an eternity.

“Be quiet,” Camille hissed. “Don’t give them any more reason to come back and… and…”

She trailed off, but we all knew what she meant. My body ached from the rough claiming, and I wasn’t sure I could endure another round so soon.

“Please,” Amélie whimpered, her voice rising in pitch. “I can’t hold it much longer. Herra! Please, I need to use the toilet!”

“ Tais-toi! ” Camille snapped. “They’re not going to?—”

But Amélie was beyond reason now. “ Herra! ” she wailed. “ Ma?tre , please, let me go to the toilet! I’m begging you!”

My heart raced as I waited for a response, terrified of what punishment her outburst might bring. But only silence answered her pleas.

Sophie’s calm voice cut through the tension. “I don’t think the Vikings are going to let us go to the toilet,” she said matter-of-factly. “Amélie, you should accept your situation and let go.”

I shuddered at her words, my own bladder painfully full. The thought of wetting myself like a child filled me with shame, but Sophie’s tone left little room for argument. She sounded so certain, so resigned to our fate.

“ Non, je ne peux pas! ” Amélie wailed, her voice thick with tears. “I can’t! It’s too… too…”

I could hear her struggling against her bonds, the wooden bench creaking with her efforts. My heart ached for her, even as my own discomfort grew. How long could any of us hold out?

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber. My breath caught in my throat as I realized the Sons of Odin were returning. The massive door swung open with a groan, and the scent of saltwater and male sweat filled the air.

“ Herra! ” Amélie cried out, her voice desperate and pleading. “Please, Master Henrik, I beg you! Let me use the toilet!”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Henrik’s voice rang out, cold and stern. “Be silent, thrall. Make your water on the bench. Do it now. Here, I’ll help you.”

The sharp crack of a whip filled the air, followed by Amélie’s agonized scream. I flinched at the sound, my body tensing in anticipation of my own punishment. Would Sven whip me too? The thought sent a confusing mix of fear and shameful excitement through me.

“You will learn obedience,” Henrik growled, punctuating each word with another lash. Amélie’s cries grew more frantic, a stream of French pleas and apologies pouring from her lips.

As the whipping continued, I became aware of a new sensation. My bladder, already painfully full, spasmed with each crack of the whip. I bit my lip, trying desperately to hold on, but I could feel my control slipping.

At the third lash, I heard a sudden change in Amélie’s cries. There was a moment of shocked silence, and then the unmistakable sound of liquid hitting the wooden floor of the longship. She had lost control, unable to hold back any longer.

The realization was too much for my overtaxed body. With a sob of shame and relief, I felt my own bladder release. Warm urine flowed down my thighs, pooling beneath me on the bench. I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control the flood of relief that washed over me even as tears of humiliation streamed down my face.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

But then I felt a large, warm hand on my bottom, and Sven’s deep voice rumbled above me. “Good girl, Mary,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “You’ve done well.”

I whimpered in confusion and shame as he began to rub my little cheeks in soothing circles. How could he praise me for this? I had just wet myself like a child, unable to control my own body. And yet… his touch felt so comforting, so right.

“This is part of your voyage, lille en ,” Sven continued, his hand never ceasing its gentle ministrations. “You must learn the ways of your masters, and this is but one brief tack on that journey.”

I felt his other hand come to rest on my lower back, warm and reassuring. Despite my embarrassment, I found myself relaxing into his touch, grateful for the comfort he offered.

“Warriors returning from a long voyage,” Sven’s voice took on a storytelling quality, rich and mesmerizing, “would reward well the service provided by their new bed thralls. Those women who pleased their masters most skillfully often found themselves elevated to positions of honor within the clan.”

His words brought back the carvings to my mind, their vivid pictures of men’s bravery and women’s subservience.

“You must learn to perform this service now,” Sven said, his voice growing firmer. “To give your bodies over even more fully to our use and our pleasure.”

His hand moved from my bottom to my thigh, and I gasped as I felt his fingers play with my still-sensitive folds. Even in the shame of my accident and feeling the ache from my earlier defloration, I sensed a new warmth building low in my belly.

“Remember that your bodies are no longer your own,” Sven continued, his touch growing more insistent. “Do not forget that all of you belong to us now, to use exactly as we see fit. Whether for our pleasure, or to tend our hearth fires, to craft the things we need.”

I blinked at his words, wondering at their implications. Surely, like this ‘voyage,’ the ‘hearth fires’ my master meant were a metaphor, but for what? Sven must intend for me to understand that I would serve the Sons of Odin in some more practical way, and my mind searched for what exactly that might imply.

Disquieting though my Herra ’s words were, I found myself pressing back against Sven’s hand, seeking more of his touch. My breath came in short gasps as his fingers explored me, expertly stoking the fire of my arousal.

“That’s it, lille en ,” Sven murmured approvingly. “Embrace your new role. Let go of your shame and your fear. There is only service now, only devotion to your master. In a few moments, you will have my pik in your little mouth, until you learn to make the seed come and fill your little belly. Prepare yourself for that new duty.”