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"Get up."
“Yes, Master.”
The words came unbidden. As natural as drawing breath. Pain radiated from her crotch, deep in her core, where Shelly was immediately reminded of the ball of divine energy her Master had left in her, buzzing with its frenetic energy.
Distracted from the shuddering vibration by the whipping, the ex-valkyrie’s attention snapped back to its seductive hum when her Master stopped painting her skin. Heat from the inexorable crescendo to her climax joined her burning skin, the coolness of her evaporating perspiration providing no relief. Shelly whined. A pitiful mewling sound, the helpless complaint of a slut prodded to arousal, no place in the lewd calculus for her desires. She was going to cum for her Master—a fact as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun. It would not be the first time her scant inhibitions were released because of him, displayed at his pleasure. The memory stood red hot in her mind, the looming humiliation of getting off on abuse serving only to spur her up the heights to orgasm.
Shelly groped. Reaching for the chair that must be nearby. Finding a leg, she hauled herself upward, curled legs dragging against the wooden floorboards, whip marks protesting against sweat-greased slippage. Dark, depraved thoughts of her continued use flooding her mind.
Emptiness plagued her hungry holes, begging to be filled. That extradimensional object her Master put in her, that instrument of delicious torment, reminded Shelly how there was still space in her flesh, wrapped around nothingness. Which of her holes would he claim first? Anticipation growled its lustful song as her hands found the backrest.
What position did he command her to take? How should his toy splay herself for him? Already, Shelly was leaking again from the contemplation. Her fingers tightened around the metal, tongue lapping at the salts staining her face. Panting. A bitch in heat. Grip the chair with her thighs? Her smooth legs needed no convincing. They latched themselves to the furniture, as if it may try to escape from the ex-valkyrie’s all-consuming lust.
And now, the finale.
Back arching down, strained muscles shaking, Shelly bent backward like an archer’s bow being drawn by pure submission, her ass presented to her Master as requested.
Fuck me.
What was he waiting for?
Please put it in. I can’t take it anymore.
Nothing.
Use me to break this chair!
Wait…he wanted a vow. Ridiculous. They were a pair of animals and there was only one thing the male should be doing when the female in oestrus presented herself.
Her lust reached deep within itself to pull out the part of Shelly that could still speak, shoving it into the spotlight. If her Master wanted a spoken vow, he would have it. Shelly would have given absolutely anything to feel his skin inside her. She had stripped for him, crawled, sucked, been whipped. Had her service been found wanting? Every nerve quivered with need. To be touched. Rubbed. Filled. Taken. Until Skagul ceased to exist entirely, and only Azariah’s slave remained.
“Hasn’t this slut already called you Master? Given herself to you? No matter. She offers herself to you once more, in word and deed, for as long as you would have her.”
The ravens shuddered. They would have found their way here even if they were not caged.
“By stone and sea, by blood and bone, I swear.
I, Skagul, Daughter of Asgard,
Grovel before you, my Master, bent to your will.
With the Nine realms as witness,
I give you my body, my mind, and my soul.
Where you lead, I shall follow.
Where you fight, I shall strike.
Where you fall, I shall avenge.
Let no fear stay my hand,
Let no boon tempt my loyalty,
Let no doom break my word.
I shall keep the peace you declare,
Wreak the wrath you command,
And guard your will with my life.
Until Sköll devours the sun,
Until Naglfar sails forth,
Until Surtr sets the realms ablaze,
This I swear, by fire, steel, and the blood in my veins.
Hail my Master. Hail the fallen angel. Hail Azariah.
Take my holes if they please you, Master. Please grace this slave with your flesh.”
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