Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Sven and Erik walked behind Camille and me, their bare footsteps soft against the stone floor. My heart hammered against my ribs as I felt Sven’s presence behind me, the heat of his body radiating through the space between us. I whimpered as he spread my bottom cheeks, his touch so different from Lucius’—familiar, even comforting despite the distressing idea that my Herra meant to punish me with his huge cock, while Camille experienced a much gentler reunion with hers.
I heard Camille moan as Erik began to fuck her bottom gently. The sound of her pleasure-pain sent shivers down my spine, a prelude to what awaited me at Sven’s hands. I felt his powerful presence behind me, his breath warm against my neck as he positioned himself. His fingers spread my cheeks wider, exposing my most intimate opening to his gaze.
“Such a beautiful flower,” he murmured, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “So perfect for a man’s pleasure.”
I felt the broad head of his cock press against my puckered entrance, slick with something—oil of consecration, surely, courtesy of Marmareus, which my master must have applied while I was distracted by the scene before me. The pressure built steadily, inexorably, as he pushed forward with deliberate restraint.
Then came the burning stretch as my body yielded to his invasion. I cried out, the sound torn from my throat by the exquisite agony of penetration. Sven’s cock felt enormous inside me, stretching the tight ring of muscle beyond what felt natural. Unlike Marmareus and the Nymphobi, who had seemed to use my body with casual force, Sven’s possession carried the weight of ownership, of reclamation.
“That’s it,” he growled, his voice dropping to that register that made my inner walls clench with recognition. “Take me, lille en. Take all of me.”
CHAPTER 49
Sven
I pushed my cock deeper into Mary’s adorable little røvhul. My gorgeous völva let out a sob, as if the searing sensation had intensified almost past her breaking point. I could feel her trying to control her reactions, to relax into the invasion as she’d been taught. I watched as her fingers curled into fists against the leather padding of the bench, her knuckles white with tension.
Then, as I knew I must, I abandoned gentleness. I gripped Mary’s hips with bruising force and began to fuck her whipped, spank-reddened bottom roughly, each powerful thrust driving my cock deeper into the narrow passage of her thoroughly punished ass. My lovely bed thrall’s back arched, and she strained against the complex set of leather restraints the Pretorian Guard so obviously favored for the training of new acquisitions.
I could sense how Mary’s pain had begun to blossom into something more complex, a mixture of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her consciousness. Her sweet, ambiguous cries echoed off the stone walls of the chamber, mingling with Camille’s softer moans as Erik continued his more measured penetration of his own bed thrall’s bottom.
Good, I thought. I need you overwhelmed, your adorable fisse empty and aching.
The ways of the völur remained mysterious—even to the wise women themselves. But certain things, we knew, had greater potential to unlock true, extensive, saving visions. The kind of orgasm I now meant to force on Mary, with her Herra’s hardness in her backside, had the chance to render everything clear to her in a way that I knew even my intellect couldn’t see.
There was great danger here, in the heart of the Pretorian Guard’s Mithraeum—perhaps so great that Mary wouldn’t be able to find a way out, as far as she might search the branches of Yggdrasil for one. Matthew Apollis might like us, even admire us—but if he decided he had to kill all four of us, I knew with absolute certainty that he would.
I knew it because I would do the same myself, if our positions were somehow reversed. Somehow, though, I had a confidence beyond reason that Mary O’Toole was the exact girl, the exact völva, who could find a solution.
Through a haze of dominant pleasure that clouded my vision and my mind a little, I saw Matthew move to stand before the fucking benches. He had opened his ceremonial robe fully, revealing a body sculpted by years of disciplined training. His sizable cock jutted proudly from a nest of dark curls. He positioned himself between Mary and Camille, close enough that I felt Mary tense, as if his masculine scent had filled her nostrils.
“Taste me,” the Guardsman commanded, his voice carrying that same quiet authority that he had used since our meeting at the airport.
I lifted my gaze to his face, searching for some clue as to what game Marmareus meant to play, how he intended to counter my gesture. His dark eyes revealed nothing but calm expectation. I continued my relentless rhythm, my hands gripping the belt that bound Mary to the bench beneath me. Each thrust made the wood of the bench creak, and drew a cry from my little völva.