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)
The bed itself seemed built to withstand exactly this kind of use. It gave under the rhythm but held us in place. Furs brushed my shoulders and my bottom cheeks. Firelight flickered red around the bodies that blocked my view of anything but my shameful, thrilling sexual service.
Sven fed his cock to me with steady, dominating thrusts, then pulled his hardness from between my lips and thrust it into Mary’s soaking pussy while I, shuddering with shame and need, tasted the salty skin of his tight scrotum. Henrik fucked my pussy from behind in deep strokes that made my whole lower body rock, then made Mary taste my cunt on my Herra’s demanding length.
I tried to serve them all, through the avalanche of sensation. I licked and sucked at Mary’s clit while the huge penis moved inside her vagina. I took Sven’s cock as deeply as I was able, when he elected to use my mouth. I remembered that he was not my master and yet I knew he was entirely entitled to my mouth in this place, under this law. That thought made everything more embarrassing, and hotter. Henrik’s hands came to the backs of my knees and held me still for the particular angle he wanted, and then his thrusts found something inside me that made my eyes flood at once.
“That’s it,” he said roughly. “Take him in your mouth. Take me in your cunt. Be what you are.”
Mary was coming apart above me, I thought. It had become difficult to tell where one girl’s trembling ended and the other’s began. I sucked Sven with all the obedience I had in me, swallowing around him when he pressed deeper, breathing through my nose, trying desperately to please him while Henrik drove me on.
The bed, the chamber, the men’s voices, the taste of Mary and Sven, the hard insistence of Henrik inside me—somewhere under the unbearable totality of it, a familiar opening began.
At first it was only that doubling of perception I had already learned to dread and crave. The furs under my cheek seemed also to be bark. The firelight seemed also to be moving against an impossible brightness. Then the verticality came, the sense of trunk and ascent and life too vast to fit into a human nervous system without symbolic disguise.
I made a muffled cry around Sven’s cock.
Mary answered with the same sort of sound against my cunt.
I knew at once she was there too.
I came off Sven long enough to gasp, “Herra—”
He did not stop fucking me. “What is it?”
“The tree,” I said, and Mary’s broken little voice echoed from above me.
“We’re there,” she breathed. “Together.”
The men grew stiller, though not still. Sven withdrew enough that I could breathe properly. Henrik’s thrusts slowed but remained deep, holding me in the state I now understood they wanted.
“Then go on,” Sven said. His hand stroked down Mary’s back. “Find what the tree offers. Find refreshment.”
The word struck me oddly—less like an order to investigate than a permission to drink deep of some potion.
Then the chamber of brotherhood receded.
Mary and I stood together, if standing was the word, on a bough so high and broad that it seemed made not merely to support worlds but to connect them. This time I did not feel the urgent drag toward the Chinese structure, nor the danger of looking too far into hostile lights. The atmosphere had changed. The tree felt calm, immense, winter-clear. Mary turned to me with a smile unlike any expression I had yet seen on her face below: not submissive exactly, or frightened, but luminous with certainty.
“Come,” she said, and whether she actually spoke or whether I understood her intention directly I could not have said.
I followed.
The movement upward did not feel like climbing in any physical sense. It felt like relinquishing weight. Branches widened and simplified. Leaves became fewer, brighter, almost abstract. The air thinned into light. Below us I sensed not merely one world but many—systems, histories, roads, cities, rituals, men and women and hidden orders all suspended in one unimaginable architecture. Above us there seemed to be no above at all, only a widening.
Mary guided me as if she knew the path by instinct. Perhaps she did. She had the quality there of a girl at home in submission and therefore strangely free in this one dimension where our abasement became access. I felt no jealousy in that recognition, only relief. I did not have to lead. I could be led.
At the highest point—or the nearest thing my mind could make of such a concept—the whole tree opened.
I could not describe what I saw without betraying it into metaphor, and so metaphor came at once. It was as if the universe had roots and every root had stars in it. It was as if every system of meaning human beings had ever built was only a local growth on some larger living order. It was as if Norse, Roman, Chinese, scientific, and mystical were all partial diagrams of the same impossible body.