Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I was in Yggdrasil. The World Tree. Not metaphorically, though not in ordinary reality either, but somehow actually there, my consciousness split between the physical sensation of Aksel using my mouth and this impossible ascent through cosmic branches. It was what I had felt when Aksel had put the tile in my hand, but magnified by a hundred… a thousand.
I could see threads everywhere—golden, silver, black, red—connecting everything to everything else. Takken’s corruption was a spreading rot, black tendrils reaching from node to node, but there was something else. A pattern within the pattern. The Synergy Group wasn’t just one entity but many, their threads weaving together into something ancient and terrible.
“That’s it,” Aksel’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating through the branches. “Let the sight take you. This is what the völur knew—that submission opens the doors between worlds.”
Images flashed through my mind as his thick cock slid deeper into my throat. Flashes of meetings I’d never attended, conversations in languages I didn’t speak but somehow understood. Takken signing documents in rooms I’d never seen, his signature sealing fates he didn’t comprehend. The Synergy Group’s true masters, faces obscured but their intent clear as crystal—to drain the North of its power, both literal and spiritual.
“Try to relax into it.” Aksel’s voice cut through the visions, grounding me even as my consciousness floated through impossible spaces. “Even with the collar, you’ll need extensive training in sexual submission before you can truly understand what you’re seeing. But you’re making remarkable progress already.”
The praise sent an unwelcome warmth through my chest. I hated how his approval made me feel—proud, accomplished, as if I’d done something worthy rather than debased myself at a stranger’s command. Worse, I felt a flutter of something dangerously close to affection for this man who’d stripped me, bound me, and was currently using my mouth for his pleasure. The contradiction made my head spin, or perhaps that was just the lack of oxygen as he held himself deep in my throat.
“Your mouth is already exquisite on the tól,” he said, his fingers gentling in my hair. “You’ve learned quickly how to serve. I’m quite pleased with this hole.”
He withdrew slowly, and I gasped for air, strings of saliva connecting my lips to his length. My jaw ached, my throat felt raw, but beneath the discomfort was that treacherous pulse of pride at his praise. I’d pleased him. My Herra was satisfied with me.
I heard his footsteps on the ancient wood as he moved around the bench, positioning himself behind me. The ropes kept me spread and vulnerable, unable to close my legs or shield myself from his gaze. His hands settled on my welted bottom, and I whimpered at the contact.
“Such beautiful marks,” he murmured, tracing the raised welts with one finger. “You color magnificently under discipline.”
His touch moved lower, and I tensed as his fingers found my pussy, my little fisse, still shamefully wet despite—or because of—everything that had happened. He explored me with the same methodical precision he’d shown with everything else, spreading my lips to examine me thoroughly.
“So responsive,” he noted, sliding two fingers inside me. I clenched around the intrusion, unable to stop the moan that escaped. “And tight. Once you’re smooth and bare, this fisse will look truly adorable and irresistible. Your Herra will take you so often that you’ll walk differently when you leave your training sessions. How many men have used this sweet cunt, Lorna?”
“Just… just my husband,” I gasped, burning with humiliation at the clinical way he questioned me while his fingers worked inside me. “And we haven’t… not for over a year.”
“Hmm.” His fingers withdrew, and I bit back a whine at the emptiness. Then I felt him spreading my bottom cheeks, his thumb circling my most private entrance. “And here? Has anyone claimed your røvhul?”
“No!” The word burst from me before I could stop it, my face burning so hot I thought I might actually combust. “Never. I’ve never… no one has ever…”
“And your mouth?” His thumb pressed against that forbidden entrance, not penetrating but making its presence known. “Before today?”
“Once,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut against the humiliation. “A boyfriend in university. Just once, and I couldn’t… I didn’t finish it.”
“Ah.” His hand moved away from my bottom, returning to stroke along my inner thigh. “You’ve been terrified of your own nature, haven’t you? Afraid that if you ever truly submitted, you’d discover needs so deep they’d swallow you whole.”
Before I could respond, the strap whistled through the air again. But this time, as it connected with my already burning flesh, his other hand found my clit. The combination of pain and pleasure short-circuited something in my brain. I screamed, but the sound that emerged was nothing like the protests from before. This was pure animal need.