Page 89 of Her Viking Master

Then, without warning, the flames died down, receding into the depths of the pit until they were merely flickering tongues lapping at the darkness. The sudden absence of their roar left an eerie silence in the vast chamber, broken only by the sound of our labored breathing.

I blinked in confusion, my eyes struggling to adjust to the relative dimness. As my vision cleared, I gasped at what I saw. Rising from the darkness of the pit, a bridge had materialized—a narrow walkway of what appeared to be solid stone, spanning the chasm. It gleamed faintly in the low light, its surface smooth and unmarked, as if it had existed for millennia rather than materializing from nowhere.

“Walk,” Cassandra commanded, tugging gently on my leash.

My legs trembled as I took the first step onto the bridge. Even with its seemingly substantial appearance, I half-expected it to give way beneath me, to send me plummeting into whatever lay below. But it held firm, solid as bedrock beneath my bare feet. The stone felt warm, almost alive, carrying a subtle vibration that traveled up through my soles and into my body.

Camille followed, her face determined despite the fear I knew she must be feeling. TheNuptaewalked behind us, the sensation of slack in the leashes keeping us moving forward across the narrow span, so as not to invite any punishment. I forced myself not to look down into the red-tinged darkness on either side, focusing instead on the far end of the bridge where another chamber awaited.

As we crossed the midpoint of the bridge, I felt a strange shift in the energy around us. The air seemed to thicken, to take on a weight and presence that hadn’t been there before. Myvölvasenses, heightened by the stress and the lingering effects of Sven’s punishment, detected currents of power flowing through this place—ancient, primal energies that reminded me of the way Yggdrasil’s branches had felt in my visions, yet somehow different, shaped by human hands and human desires over countless generations.

My rational mind told me that the idea must have come from my mind’s attunement with countless details unnoticed in themselves. At the same time, I realized yet again that even if such feelings hadn’t originated in anything beyond reality they nevertheless carried essential information: emerging knowledge to which I must lend close attention.

We reached the far side of the bridge and stepped into what could only be the Hall of Mithras Marmareus had referred to. The space opened before us, as vast and imposing as the Hall of Initiation on the other side of the abyss, its ceiling lost in shadows above. Unlike the Hall of Initiation, with its dancing flames and intricate mosaics, this chamber was more austere, more functional in its design.

At its far end, six feet or so from the wall, stood a long table of polished stone, its surface gleaming in the ruddy light. The table was immense, seemingly carved from a single slab of obsidian, so polished I could see the distorted reflections of torchlight dancing across its surface. Behind it stood five high-backed chairs that resembled thrones, their frames wrought from some dark metal, cushioned with blood-red velvet. The chairs seemed positioned for observation of the center of the room, where I now saw something that made my breath catch in my throat.

Two low pieces of furniture stood there, constructed of a wood as dark as the obsidian of the table. I saw leather, too: surfaces padded and upholstered. The raked angle of their tops and the platforms for elbows and knees made their purpose unmistakable, even before I noticed the metal rings embedded at various points along their length. These were not merely benches, of the sort aboard the Sons of Odin’s ritual ship—the Pretorian Guard’s versions were elaborate fucking apparatus, designed to display and position a woman’s body for maximum accessibility.

I couldn’t help reveling for a moment in the difference: myHerraand his shield-brother didn’t need such fancy appurtenances. The Sons of Odin brought a subtly different sort of civilization, I abruptly understood… a simpler one, walking a sort of middle road that kept alive their wild Viking spirit while building on the knowledge the human race had developed over the millennia.

Marmareus stepped forward, his red robe swirling around him. His skin seemed aflame in the chamber’s dim light, his classical features set in an expression of solemn purpose. He gazed at Sven and Erik, then at the enormous men—theNymphobi, I remembered—who flanked them, before turning his attention to Camille and me.

“Futuamus has columbas una,” he intoned, his voice resonating through the chamber with ritualistic gravity.

I heard Cassandra’s whispered translation beside me, her breath warm against my ear. “TheLeosaid, ‘Let us fuck these girls together.’”

A shiver ran through me at the words, at their casual brutality clothed in ceremonial language. My pussy clenched traitorously, my body responding to the promise of use even as my mind reeled with confusion and fear. I looked to Sven, desperate for some sign, some clue as to what I should do, how I should respond.

His ice-blue eyes met mine briefly before turning to Marmareus. Then, in a voice that carried the weight of ancient forests and frozen fjords, he replied in Danish, “Lad os nyde deres mund, deres fisse og deres røvhuller.”

The few words of Danish I had picked up in my days of training in the Sons of Odin’s base beneath Rouen were enough to guess with a bit of confidence at a translation of his words. They sent a jolt of shocked arousal through my core: “Let us enjoy their mouths, their cunts, and their assholes.” MyHerra, my master, offering me up to these men, agreeing to share me with them—not just my body but, specifically, every intimate opening I possessed.

I should have felt betrayed, should have felt abandoned. Instead, I felt a perverse relief, a surrender of responsibility. If Sven commanded it, then it was right. If he gave permission for my use, then I could yield without guilt, could do as he had given me permission to do at the beginning of this confusing mission: I could enjoy it.

That relief gave way almost immediately, though; I had to tell Sven about the virus, didn’t I? Should I just blurt it out? What really was going on here, among the men—among our various masters?

Then Marmareus’ next words stole away those thoughts, too.

“Nuptae, bind theseColumbaeto the fucking benches,” he said, spreading his hands in a solemn gesture, his words slow and weighty.

Cassandra and Viola guided us to the benches with firm hands on our shoulders. Viola tugged at Camille’s leash, positioning her at the first bench, while Cassandra did the same with me at the second. I felt the cool touch of the leather padding against my knees as I was directed to climb onto the apparatus, the strange contours of it forcing my body into an obscenely exposed position.

“Wider,” Cassandra murmured, her hands pressing against my inner thighs, spreading my legs further apart. The position made me feel utterly vulnerable, my pussy and anus completely accessible, displayed like offerings to the men who watched from behind.

She worked with brisk efficiency, securing my leather restraints to the metal rings embedded in the bench. First my ankle cuffs, ensuring my legs remained spread. Then my thigh cuffs, pulling them slightly backward to enhance the display of my most intimate parts. Next came my wrist cuffs, fastened to rings at the sides of the bench, forcing my upper body to remain low, my face turned toward the obsidian table. Finally, my collar and belt were secured, completing my bondage.

I turned my head as much as the restraints would allow, watching as Viola performed the same procedure with Camille. My friend’s face had flushed with humiliation, her eyes widening with apprehension, but she submitted to the binding without resistance. Like me, she understood that our best chance lay in cooperation, in playing our roles perfectly until we could determine what was truly happening here.

Once they had secured us both to the benches, theNuptaestepped back and to the sides of the hall, assuming their positions of perfect submission—knees spread, backs straight, hands resting on thighs, eyes downcast. They looked like living statues, embodiments of the feminine ideal of civilization as envisioned by the Pretorian Guard. I wondered briefly how long the Guard had trained them, to achieve such perfect posture, such unquestioning obedience.

Marmareus gestured toward the high-backed chairs behind the obsidian table. “Please, be seated,” he said to Sven and Erik, his tone courteous despite the bizarre circumstances. “We have much to discuss, and what better way to do so than while enjoying the fruits of our mutual interests?”

I watched, my heart hammering against my ribs, as Sven and Erik moved to the table. They took seats on either side of Marmareus, their movements fluid and controlled, betraying no hint of discomfort or uncertainty. The blood-colored robes they wore seemed to emphasize rather than conceal their powerful physiques, the fabric draping over broad shoulders, hinting at the muscular forms beneath.

TheNymphobi—Lucius and the other man, whose name I hadn’t heard—remained standing, positioned behind Camille and me. I could feel their presence like a physical weight, their eyes on my bound, naked form, assessing, anticipating. The frightening, shameful, and yet exciting suspicion that one or both of them would soon use me, possess me, penetrate me, sent a terribly confusing mixture of signals coursing through my nerves and my veins.

“The Pretorian Guard has always made its most solemn agreements through the sharing of the tamed bodies of beautiful young initiates,” Marmareus said, his voice carrying easily across the vast chamber. “I am happy to do so today with an organization that seems to share our values.”

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