Page 27 of Her Viking Master

“Good girl,” Sven praised, his finger circling my clit teasingly. “Honesty is important. You must never lie to your master.”

I moaned softly as he continued to work me, my hips moving of their own accord to seek more friction. Behind me, I could hear the other girls shifting in their seats, their breathing quickening as they watched my degradation.

Suddenly, Sven withdrew his hand. “Stand up and turn around,” he ordered.

I obeyed, my legs shaky as I faced him. Sven’s blue eyes bored into mine, dark with lust.

“You’ve pleased me this morning, Mary,” he said. “But now it’s time for your first lesson. Take your seat with the others.”

On unsteady legs, I made my way back to the empty chair, acutely aware of my nakedness and the wetness between my thighs. As I sat down, I couldn’t help but notice the other girls’ flushed faces and wide eyes. They had watched everything, seen my submission and my shameful arousal.

Sven moved to stand at the front of the small classroom. His presence seemed to fill the space, commanding our attention completely.

“Girls,” he began, his deep voice resonating through the room. “Welcome to your first lesson as operatives of the Sons of Odin. Today, we will begin to explore the rich history and mythology that forms the foundation of our order.”

I blinked in surprise. This wasn’t what I had expected at all. As Sven began his lecture on Norse mythology, I found myself drawn in despite my confusion and lingering arousal. His words painted vivid pictures of gods and giants, of cosmic trees and epic battles. I listened, captivated, as he spoke of Odin’s sacrifice, hanging himself from Yggdrasil to gain the wisdom of the runes. I thought of the flashes of the enormous tree that I’d had when Sven had forced my orgasms upon me, and wondered: surely a connection existed. Had I somehow seen the world tree itself?

“The runes,” Sven said, his blue eyes intense as they swept over us, “are not just an alphabet. They are a system of magic, a way of understanding and influencing the very fabric of reality.”

I blinked, looking around the room at my new sisters. I saw a wide variety of reactions: Camille seemed just as skeptical as I would have expected, while Sophie had a smile on her face that seemed to say she had known all along… all the young-adult novels of magic and mystery she, just like me, must have read had just come to life.

Sven turned to the blackboard behind him, picking up a piece of chalk. With quick, sure strokes, he drew a series of angular symbols.

“These,” he continued, “are the Elder Futhark runes. Each has a name, a sound, and a meaning. But more than that, each represents a concept, a force in the universe that can be harnessed by those who understand its true nature.”

I leaned forward, involuntarily fascinated. This was so far beyond anything I had learned in Sven’s university classes. My master’s lesson for his and his brothers’ bed thralls seemed to go deeper, to touch on something primal and powerful.

“Now don’t mistake me, girls,” myHerrasaid. “I’m not talking about wizardry and witchcraft.”

I glanced again at the rest of the class. Camille and Sophie had practically changed faces: the former now wore an interested—fascinated, almost—expression, while the latter seemed dissatisfied, as if hoping Sven would reveal that the magic he meant was even better than wizardry and witchcraft—sorcery, perhaps.

“The magic I mean,” he continued, though, “is something that happens in the spirit, with long study. The runes do not bend reality; it isyou, girls, who will bend reality in the world, through the skills you gain, both mental and physical.

“For example,” Sven said, pointing to one of the symbols, “this is Uruz. It represents the aurochs, the wild ox. But it also embodies strength, untamed potential, and the masculine principle.” His gaze lingered on me as he spoke, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “In our work, we often use Uruz to invoke the raw, primal energy of masculinity. You may find it surprising, but thisweincludes you, girls. At moments when you need more strength, Uruz will be your guide.”

He moved to the next symbol. “And this is Berkana. The birch tree. It represents fertility, new beginnings, and the feminine principle. Together, Uruz and Berkana form a powerful combination—the union of masculine and feminine energies. In the field, to invoke these runes can clear the mind for a new beginning, a new solution to a problem.”

In the field—as the strange kind ofoperativemy master had mentioned?Völva—was that the word? As Sven continued his lecture, I found myself hanging on every word. Despite the strangeness of the situation—my nakedness, the lingering ache between my legs, the memory of what had transpired in the bathing chamber—I found myself genuinely engrossed in the lesson.

Sven’s voice took on a more serious tone as he moved on to discuss the role of women in Viking society. “Contrary to popular belief,” he said, “women in Norse culture held significant power and respect. They were the keepers of the household, yes, but also of sacred knowledge. Thevölva, or seeress, was a figure of great importance, consulted by kings and commoners alike.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over us once more. “You girls,” he said softly, “have the potential to become modern-dayvölur. Through your submission, through the sacred union of masculine and feminine, and through your diligent study, you will gain access to knowledge and even to your own kind of power.”

I felt a thrill run through me at his words. Was this what he had meant by becoming an operative? Was there truly some greater purpose to all this?

“Yggdrasil,” Sven said, his voice taking on a reverent tone, “is the cosmic tree that connects the nine worlds of Norse cosmology. Its roots delve deep into the underworld, while its branches reach up to the heavens. But more than just a mythological construct, Yggdrasil represents the interconnectedness of all things—all life, all culture, all of humanity.”

He turned to the blackboard once more, sketching out a simple yet evocative image of a great tree. As he drew, he continued speaking, his words painting vivid pictures in my mind.

“Imagine, if you will, the trunk of Yggdrasil as the core of human civilization. The roots represent our past, our history, the foundations upon which we’ve built our world. The branches are the various cultures, belief systems, and ways of life that have sprung from that common source, and the futures we shape together as a species.”

Sven’s hand moved deftly across the board, adding detail to his drawing. I watched, mesmerized, as the tree took shape before my eyes. He added small figures at various points—some climbing the trunk, others perched on branches, still others tending to the roots.

“Now, girls,” he said, turning back to face us, “I want you to understand your role in this grand cosmic drama. Asvölurand operatives of the Sons of Odin, you are the caretakers of Yggdrasil. It is your sacred duty to water this tree, to prune its branches when necessary, and to ensure its continued growth and health, even as at times you may, in your prophetic minds, travel its branches.”

I felt a shiver run through me at his words. The weight of responsibility they implied was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“ButHerra,” I heard myself say, surprising even myself with my boldness, “how can we possibly do that? We’re just… we’re just… you know… girls.”

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