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)
And in the middle of seeing that, I felt something in me settle.
Not excitement. Not orgasm. Not fear. Wholeness.
The best word truly was refreshment, just as my master’s chief had told me, though it sounded laughably mild in my mind, when I applied it to what happened. The riven, overtaxed, used parts of me seemed to drink. My mind, strained by analysis and shame and wonder, unclenched. My body, a battlefield of penetration and ritual and revelation, felt bathed from within by a coolness that did not erase soreness but made it meaningful and bearable. I became aware, somehow, of being not merely broken open but filled rightly.
Mary touched my hand. We stood there and looked outward, and then we turned to each other. Then, as if we constituted one unit, our eyes widened at the very same moment, because back down on Earth, in the chamber of brotherhood, we had all started to come.
The change from refreshment to climax happened with no mercy at all. One instant Mary and I stood in that high clear place with our fingers linked, full of the tree’s cold nourishment; the next, something surged up through the vast trunk beneath us and through the fact of our bodies below, and I knew with a shock that the men had begun to fuck us into orgasm. Mary’s hand tightened convulsively in mine. I felt my own answer in it.
In the bed my body arched so hard that the furs bunched up under my shoulders. Henrik had not withdrawn. He drove into me with long, sovereign strokes that now seemed to come not merely from a man’s body but from something even harder… the trunk itself, the natural embodiment of some downward, earth-seeking masculine force to which my whole frame had become obedient.
Above me Mary cried out into my convulsing vagina, and when the vision doubled with the chamber again I saw, with unbearable vividness, Sven’s cock thrusting in and out of her bare little cunt while her thighs trembled and her lower belly quivered with the effort of taking him.
The sight undid me afresh.
In the branches, Mary and I faced each other, still holding hands. Though in the chamber of brotherhood I couldn’t actually see her, somehow I perceived what she looked like through this vision of her atop the canopy of Yggdrasil. Her mouth was open. Her cheeks were scarlet. Sven’s hand held her hip in a grip so complete it made my own body clench in sympathy.
Henrik’s cock filled me from underneath my whip-bruised bottom with each deep plunge, and the rhythm of it seemed to tell me something my mind could only half grasp: I was bound. Claimed. Set in the order of things by the hard root of my Herra inside me.
Mary had the same knowledge. I could see it in the look that flashed over her face as Sven thrust again and her pussy took him, and at once the vision translated the sight without any consent from me. She too was rooted. Not metaphorically. Not only metaphorically. Rooted by male possession into the tree’s hidden economy, not as a victim merely but as a conduit and future-bearer and vǫlva. Our masters’ cocks made that fact literal.
I came so hard I lost all the breath in my lungs.
The first orgasm took my body in waves, each one seeming to begin where Henrik entered me and spread outward until my fingertips tingled and my scalp tightened. I cried out, “Herra… Herra…” and then another climax chased the first before I had truly returned from it. My cunt fluttered helplessly around him. He made a rough, satisfied sound behind me and fucked me through it, not slowing, only deepening.
Mary shuddered over me in the same helpless rhythm. Sven’s shaft gleamed with her wetness, only inches from my naughty, prurient eyes, in the firelight as he used her. The visual shock of that, the undeniable movement of him in her body while Henrik moved in mine, fed the whole impossible structure at once. In the highest branches, in the vision, Mary’s fingers crushed mine. We stared at one another as if we had reached the end of language and found something simpler and more overwhelming there.
Below, in flesh, our bodies bucked and trembled together.
One climax melted into another with no clean boundary between them, only a series of collapses and risings. I felt Henrik’s hand brace my waist. I felt the thick intrusion of him, the hard drag of his cock in my used, oversensitive body. I saw Mary’s breasts jump with Sven’s thrusts. I heard her little breaking sounds. Each sensation made the next orgasm more certain. I came again and felt the tears slip hot into my hairline.
Then everything whitened at the edges.
I had the queer sensation, in both places at once, that Mary and I were fainting like girls in a folktale, from excess of… of magic… of enchantment. Too much sight. Too much use. Too much certainty. The tree blazed. The bed rocked. The rootedness held. And then consciousness, or ordinary consciousness, gave way.