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)
“You will bathe together,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “And then you will shave one another’s cunts.”
My eyes widened in shock. “Shave… each other?” I stammered, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.
Sven’s hand cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. “Yes, lille en. It is an important ritual, a sign of your new status as our cherished servants.”
I swallowed hard, trying to wrap my mind around this latest demand. “But… why?” I asked hesitantly.
A small smile played at the corners of Sven’s mouth. “It is a reminder, Mary. Every time you look upon your bare fisse, every time you feel its smoothness, you will remember that you belong to me now.” His fingers trailed down my neck, across my collarbone. “Your body is mine to use as I see fit. Your cunt, above all, is reserved for my pleasure and the pleasure of those to whom I may give you.”
I gasped at his words, a confusing mixture of arousal and fear whirling inside me. “Give me to others?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I supposed I shouldn’t have been so surprised, given that I had been fucked by all six of the Sons of Odin on the ‘voyage.’ That had seemed like a special ritual, though—perhaps not to be repeated.
Sven’s hand tightened slightly on my throat, not enough to cut off my air, but a clear reminder of his dominance. “Yes, Mary. When I choose, and only then. But know this—here in our halls, no one but me is permitted to come in your sweet cunt. And no one but me may fuck your bottom. Those pleasures are mine alone, here.”
I trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the possessiveness in his voice. Part of me wanted to protest, to assert some small measure of control over my own body. But a larger part, a part that seemed to be growing stronger with each passing moment, reveled in his words. I belonged to him, wholly and completely. The thought sent a shameful thrill through me.
Desperate to change the subject, to give my racing mind a moment to process, I asked, “What… what will happen after the bath?”
Sven’s eyes gleamed with something I couldn’t quite identify. “Ah, curious as always, my little scholar. After the bath, you will have your first class.”
I blinked in surprise, certain I must have misheard. “Class?” I repeated incredulously. “You must be teasing me.”
But Sven’s expression remained serious. “I do not tease about such matters, lille en. This class is the first step in your becoming a völva of the Sons of Odin.”
Völva. He had said that before, without explaining it. I opened my mouth to ask, but Sven placed a finger against my lips, silencing me.
“All will be explained in time,” he said. “For now, you must attend the morning bath with your new sisters. After that, and your first class, we will break our fast.”
Sven turned away, and I realized he had picked up his handheld, the shiny device seeming very out of place in his primitive subterranean ‘house.’
“I’m calling Mor Astrid to come collect you,” he told me, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Mor Astrid?” I asked, apprehension crawling through my belly. “Who is… who’s that?”
“Mor Astrid is the crone who supervises our bed thralls. You will obey her as you would me.”
I felt my forehead crease hard, my lips parted with unspoken questions. Before I could form any of them into words, though, a sharp knock sounded at the wooden door.
“Herra Sven?” I heard a woman’s voice say. “Is your little thrall ready?”
I swallowed hard, looking at Sven’s handsome face. Surely he would say no, that I would be allowed to put some clothes on, or go to the toilet, or…
“Yes, Mor,” Sven said. “You may come in and get her.”
I gasped as the door swung open, instinctively pulling the furs up to cover my naked body. An older woman entered, her steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe braid. She wore a long, dark dress with intricate Norse embroidery along the hem and sleeves. The contrast between her conservative attire and my own nudity made my cheeks burn with shame.
“Herra,” I whispered, turning to Sven with pleading eyes. “May I… may I at least put on a robe?”
Before Sven could answer, the woman—Mor Astrid, I assumed—clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t be foolish, girl,” she said, her voice stern, but not unkind. “You have no need for such modesty now. Your body belongs to your Herra and to the Sons of Odin.”
I felt my face grow even hotter, if that were possible. My gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet either Sven’s or Mor Astrid’s eyes. As I did so, I noticed something that made my breath catch in my throat—a long, supple leather strap hanging from Mor Astrid’s belt. The sight of it sent a shiver of fear through me, memories of the whipping I’d received on the longship still fresh in my mind.