Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 96271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
His finger moved again in a slow, shallow rhythm that made coherent thought nearly impossible.
“The Sons of Odin don’t speak of the act the way the Pretorian Guard speaks of it. Giovanna told you about it, and called it the act of civilization. For her and her masters, it’s about imposing order on wilderness.” A pause in which he pressed inward a little further and I cried out and gripped the iron posts with everything I had. “For us it is different—as perhaps it is for this Chinese fellowship you may have caught a glimpse of. Among us, the bed thrall fights her nature. She is wild. She resists. And the act of taming her, here…” Another press, deliberate and slow. “Here especially, embodies that wildness as much as it subdues it. The warrior who takes his thrall’s røvhul takes her in the place where she is most herself, most animal, most untamed.” His thumb and forefinger found my nipple again. “He doesn’t impose civilization. He meets the wilderness in her and claims it.”
I was crying. I hadn’t noticed when it had started. The tears fell onto the stone beneath my face and joined whatever older tears had fallen there before them.
“I can’t find her in the tree,” I said again. The admission this time carried a different quality—not failure but recognition. I understood, with the part of me that assembled patterns below the threshold of awareness, why she wasn’t there. The tree was present and vast and beckoning, and I was on its lower branches, barely above its roots, held there by whatever I hadn’t yet given up.
“More,” I whispered. “I need… if I could go further… I think she might be…”
The words fell apart.
His finger withdrew, and his hand moved down and forward. The orgasm rose so suddenly and so completely that I heard myself make a sound that belonged in the carvings, if the artist could have incorporated audio. It echoed off the stone of the cell as I felt certain the same kind of sound must have come from kneeling columbae more than a thousand years.
“Please,” I said, and it was the new meaning of the word, the inside-out meaning, the meaning that had no relationship to any decision I had made but was simply true. “Please, Herra. Please… I need you to… please, I need it…”
“I know what you need,” he said, and his voice had roughened entirely, the careful construction gone, nothing left but the stripped timber of it. “I’m going to take your sweet fisse now, lille en. I’m going to put my seed inside you.” He moved, repositioning himself behind me, and I felt the heat of his lap against the back of my thighs. “Your røvhul I will take when you’re truly ready. When I’ve made your sweet cunt my prized possession. When your body knows me well enough to welcome me there the way a thrall should welcome her Herra, and we can begin your true training as a vǫlva.”
“Yes,” I said, or tried to say.
The blunt heat of him pressed against me, and I shuddered so violently that I felt the iron posts shake in their stone sockets.
He didn’t rush. It undid me: his absolute lack of urgency even as I could feel the hard, insistent pressure of his cock against the virgin entrance to my body and the warmth of his thighs’ fronts against the punished backs of mine. He held himself there with his left hand flat on my hip, steadying me, letting me feel the full implication of what was about to happen. I pressed my forehead into the stone and tried to remember how to breathe.
“You’re going to have my seed inside you,” he said. His voice had gone very quiet, with a roughness in it that layered something else atop his authority… the sheer animal masculinity of his will… his power to possess me as men possess women, and had possessed them from the dawning of the world.
“Whatever else happens. Whatever the Norns have already spun out for you and for me.” His hand moved on my hip, and I felt the pressure increase, just slightly, against the maiden barrier of my needy pussy… the place where I had never been entered by a man, and thus had never become a woman in that ancient way. “If they spin it so, lille en, I will breed you. I will put a strong warrior in your belly, or a fair maiden.”
I had never thought about having children. Not seriously, not in the way one considers actual futures rather than abstract theoretical possibilities. My dissertation, my career, the next conference, the next excavation season… those had represented my futures. The idea of a child had lived in some vague, deferred elsewhere that I had never examined closely.