Chapter 1 – Welcome Home?

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Kirsty Dickens stared out at the fjord. Its sheer beauty took her breath away. The waters were relatively still this morning, not the choppy waves of the storms. It was the way that the majestic peaks rose almost straight out of the blue water and how green vegetation, primarily sturdy pines, grasses and low shrubs, hung stubbornly to the sides of those rocks, except for the places where the ascent was so steep that nothing could hang on. There was such a rustic beauty to this place, even as Petrine warned her a harsh winter would close in fast.

Already it was practically dark all day long, only a couple of hours daylight in the middle of the afternoon. Still, the Northern lights that she had heard about all her life fascinated her. A couple of times these past few days, when she could not sleep all alone in that monstrosity of a bed, she had snuck out and just sat on this pier and watched them dance like the gods and goddesses across the dark night sky. She was confident she had never seen anything as beautiful and could not imagine anything that could compete with their magnificence.

Kirsty was still a bit awed with all the changes in her life in less than two weeks. She had gone from being virtually alone in a city of eight million people to being part of a family, odd though they were. Petrine was everything that she had always wished her mother could be.

And working one-on-one with her step-daughter, Monica, was fulfilling in a way that her job with dozens of autistic children, whom she saw for an hour once a week or less, never could be. Watching the almost daily progress in the little girl was rewarding in a way she had never imagined. She had not realized until coming here, but the truth was that she had begun to burn out on even the career, which was the highlight of her old life.

Of course, her ‘marriage’ to three über hot fishermen was beyond anything she had ever dared imagine. Better even than the embarrassingly spicy erotica by her favorite author Raquel Graffen. She chuckled, “Damn if the woman only knew.” Hell, Bjⱷrn alone, with his stunning good looks that belonged on the cover of one of Graffen’s books, was more than a girl like her could ever hope for.

Kirsty knew she was not ugly, but with her flaming red hair and freckles that covered way too much of her zaftig body, she was far from what fashion magazines or society would consider beautiful or even pretty. She could buy that some men might find her full breasts and round hips appealing, but it was her tummy that never seemed to get any flatter or tighter, no matter how many hours she spent on the treadmill at the gym or how many crunches she did, that bothered her most. At best, she was…average.

But none of them were, especially Bjⱷrn. She knew that men were not supposed to be called beautiful, but he was. His longish blond hair begged her to touch it and those entrancing green eyes. His body looked like he spent hours in the gym but was instead fashioned from his work. And that smile could light any room but hid the darkness of Loki himself.

If that was not enough, he was even more intelligent than he was good-looking. Whether it was philosophy, ancient mythology, or the sciences, the man was one of the best-read people she had ever met. Let alone for a ‘simple fisherman’ as he said. As a lover, he was more than any woman could ask for, passionate and yet tender, gentle, and so damned sweet, it stopped her heart sometimes.

If that was not enough, Mikael was a devastating combination of caring single dad to Monica and ‘bad boy.’ He might not be as classically handsome as his ‘baby brother’ with his darker hair and thick beard that she suspected hid a face as attractive as Bjⱷrn’s. No, Mikael was more like this land – rustic beauty that reached something deep inside of her.

Especially those grey eyes that could transform into molten silver with the heat of passion. She smiled as her fingers automatically rose to trace the spot just over her left breast that bore his silvery-white mark. Knife play was not something she would have thought she would find so intensely erotic, but she did…just as much as she loved Bjⱷrn’s floggers or Svein’s ropes.

Honestly, this place, these people, her new life were almost perfect. Almost…

Except for him. Svein. He reminded her of the peak she saw in the distance. It rose taller than any of the others around it. It stood at the fork of the waters, just as he did between tradition and modernity, trying to fight the tide and navigate his family safely through the rough seas. Its white-grey face reminded her of the man too. Though he was barely forty, his hair was already thickly laced with the same silver as his mother’s. His blue eyes could reflect the same icy cold of the waters he had fished for longer than she had been alive.

Sometimes her heart broke for the man, who had never been a little boy, who felt as if he must bear the whole weight of his family upon too narrow shoulders. Her Atlas. She sighed as she reminded herself…that was his choice too. She had tried so hard to reach out to him, to comfort and care for him as she did Bjⱷrn and even Mikael. It seemed that all Svein knew was taking. Taking what he wanted, when he wanted, and tossing it aside when he did not.

Her hand went to her lower abdomen. She knew that she should be happy, glad that she was not pregnant. Not yet, anyway. Not this soon. Not with so much still unsettled, especially between her and Svein. Of course, she knew that was going to be a major disappointment to him. His need to breed her like a prize heifer at a summer fair still bothered her, hurt her deeply.

It was not that she did not want a baby. She did. Almost desperately. When her six-year relationship ended a few months ago, she had been more upset about all the time she had wasted on the wrong man than the fact that Raj had succumbed to his family’s pressure to an arranged marriage with a second cousin from India. Of course, when they had announced his new wife was pregnant. Kirsty chuckled at the memory; well, that was how she had ended up in this mess.

Was it a mess, though? Really?

She and Bjⱷrn had almost immediately bonded, despite her initial reserve around her sexy Thor. Though things had been a bit rougher with Mikael, she could never resist his hot daddy side any more than she could the bad boy in her bed. She did not doubt that they both loved her too. Hell, she had even gained an instant family with Mikael’s daughter and a mother-in-law that was more mother than an in-law. She loved the quiet, peaceful beauty of the Holding after a lifetime of London’s discomforting noise, hustle, and fast pace.

No, honestly, only two things still bothered her — Svein’s attitude towards their relationship and the unconventionality of it all. She had not even broached that sensitive issue with the one person she considered a genuine friend, the cranial osteopath Roz from work. And Roz was as open about her kinks as anyone she had ever met. Just that when they messaged, she was never quite sure how to explain three husbands.

And after a disastrous first experience, she had not dared go into town with Olaf and Petrine, though they offered every time they went. The idea of knowing stares and whispered foreign words that she might not know the exact meaning of, but she knew exactly what they were saying behind her back. It was a bit too daunting to the woman that has spent a lifetime trying to live up to everyone’s expectations – being the good girl.

Her nipples hardened within her bra at those words. That had nothing to do with trying for over a quarter of a century to please her parents, especially her career-driven mother. No, these past few months, as she went deeper and deeper into her submissive nature through her saucy e-books, those words had taken on new meaning. And when one of the guys said them to her in those sexy Dom voices, she got so incredibly wet. So wet…and horny.

She laughed, and the sound echoed off the water and cliffs. Kirsty had been practically a virgin until she had agreed to meet her online friend for a ‘simple coffee’ while his boat was docked in Tilbury. She was in university before she gave into to a boyfriend that she had been dating for months. That had quickly faded, though.

Sex had just never played much of a role in her six-year relationship with Raj, either. At first, she had thought it sweet and old-fashioned that they had been dating for several months before they became intimate. If the sex was nothing spectacular and infrequent, well, there were more important things she told herself, like shared goals and values. But that had been nothing more than an excuse for not rocking the boat with the man of whom even her picky mother approved.

It was for certain that Nancy Dickens would not approve of her current situation. Three husbands aside, the fact that Nordic fishermen did not meet her mother’s relatively narrow list of acceptable occupations for her future son-in-law… sons-in-law. Not even Bjⱷrn’s brilliant conversation and thoughtful insights would impress her mother. Then again, Kirsty should be accustomed by now to being a disappointment.

So, why should any of that matter? What her mother thought? What a town full of people that she did not even know said? Wasn’t what mattered the fact that she cared for them…and they cared for her?

And the smoking hot sex did not hurt either. Hell, she had come more in the past two weeks than she had in her whole life up until then. Not that sex was everything, but great sex sure beat occasional bad sex any day. But after an all-you-can-eat buffet of it with three hot husbands, this starvation diet was wearing thin after less than a week.

She was just about to get up and head back to the house when she noticed it. A boat turned up the fork in the fjord that led to the Holding. Boats were familiar enough around here. She saw hundreds every day. They were as common a means of transportation as cars…maybe more so.

But not boats this size. There were not many of those. But Njörður’s Captive was one of them. She held her breath, hopefully, as the ship drew closer. All the boats around here were the same plain black and white, so that would be no help. She could only wait until it was close enough to read its name.

Patience had never been one of her biggest virtues, but she had no choice this time. Until she saw that familiar name. She was not certain what to do. Should she run back to the house, call Petrine and Monica? She realized that some part of her selfishly wanted a few moments alone with them. Things had been so incredibly tense before they left. Bjⱷrn was jealous of her growing feelings for Mikael.

And well, Svein was…Svein. Since he called the shots as the captain, he was the one that decided they had to make a sudden and unscheduled trip. Had the past few days helped? She would hate to think that they had killed one another. She laughed again as she remembered Bjⱷrn’s suggestion that he and Mikael would tie Svein up and throw him in the hold with the fish if they had to. Had they? A part of her almost hoped they had…she would love to see the high and mighty Atlas brought low and lying with the fish.

She smiled as the boat turned towards the pier on which she stood. She saw Bjⱷrn’s larger form working ropes and readying to tie it off. Then she was relieved to see Mikael waving from her at the back of the boat. If she were married to three fishermen, maybe she needed to learn the language; was that the stern or the bow?

Of course, if both Bjⱷrn and Mikael were on deck, that meant that Svein was at the helm as usual. So much for seeing him surrounded by dead fish. Oh well, maybe that was a good sign. She would know soon enough, as her guys threw the ropes toward the pier and Bjⱷrn leaped off the boat and began tying it off.

She fought the urge to run to him and fling herself in his strong arms – but just barely. She did not have to worry about that for long. The boat was no sooner secured than she was engulfed in not one set of muscular arms but two. Passed back and forth between heated kisses until she was intoxicated. And breathless – totally breathless.

One thing was certain; Bjⱷrn and Mikael seemed to have buried the hatchet…and not in one another either. Things were definitely looking up. At least until she looked up and saw his dark countenance staring down at them all from the boat.

“God morgen, my sweet wife,” but the steely cold of his voice did not match his words. Svein turned to his brothers and said, “Toffelhjälten.”

She watched both Bjⱷrn and Mikael fist their hands at their sides and blush. She frowned as they nodded at him and released her slowly. “What did he say?” she demanded, holding onto Bjⱷrn’s coat.

Bjⱷrn blushed even redder and looked down at the weathered wood as he replied, “Slipper hero.”

She shook her head, “I don’t get it. What does that mean?”

This time it was Mikael who responded, “It means that you have us under your foot. Pussy whipped, I believe you would say. It is just one of the many colorful phrases used here.”

Kirsty felt the air whoosh from her sails. It seemed that this trip had not been as successful as she hoped. At least not when it came to him. She nodded and smiled weakly as she kissed them both on the cheek. “See you back at the house. I will make sure that lunch is ready.”

Squeezing Mikael’s’ hand, she added, “Monica will be so glad to see her Papa.” She could tell he wanted to ask more about how the child had been in his absence, but Kirsty only smiled, “Go on and finish up here. We will be waiting.”

She looked up at Svein before she turned to head back to the house, “Glad you are home safely too, husband.”

“I am sure,” he replied. “Did you obey?”

She knew exactly what he was asking. How could she not? She had spent the past hour shifting uncomfortably from cheek to cheek on the cold, hard surface of the pier. The butt plug was not painful, merely uncomfortable, especially sitting down. It took all her strength not to tell him to go fuck himself once more.

But she had spent the last week planning this one too. She knew that if she were to make this work, this new life of hers, she could not settle for anything halfway. Or, in this case, two-thirds. She needed it all. This husband, as well as the others. So, she inhaled deeply and smiled, “You may see for yourself tonight. I choose you, Svein.”

She caught only a glimpse of his and Bjⱷrn’s shocked faces as she turned to leave. Mikael, though, clasped her hand and smiled as he whispered, “Good girl.”

She returned his smile though she feared it was far weaker than she would have liked. She hoped with all her heart that this was the right course. And that she dared to go through with it.

“Be with me on this one, my sweet Freyja,” she prayed to the ancient Norse goddess of love, fertility, and battle. Bjⱷrn might have selected her as Kirsty’s pseudo-patron saint, but when it came to his oldest brother, she would need all the goddess’s gifts – in love, reproduction, and definitely battle. With Svein, this was war, one that she must win if she were ever truly to be happy here.

Svein spent the rest of the day in an exceptionally foul mood. He could not figure the woman out. After their parting, he had expected her to be angry and deviant. To run to his brothers and their newly formed alliance. He had thought she might even have trouble picking which of the two shared her bed this first night back. Hell, he had considered the possibility that she might choose both. But he never had for a moment thought it would be him that she called this night.

He knew he was delaying the inevitable at this point. Dinner had been a rather austere occasion with little conversation, other than the odd comment between him and his uncle about the trip. Even it had been over for a couple of hours. She had spent most of it by the fireplace with Mikael and Monica playing the good mommy to his niece.

Fuck, not even that seemed to be going to plan right now. His baby brother had been almost gloating the morning that he informed him that she was not pregnant. Although he had managed to take Bjⱷrn down a couple of notches when he reminded him that news meant he too was not to be a daddy. But clearly, she was doing an excellent job as a surrogate mother to his niece.

And loving wife to his brothers. Damn them. Damn them to Helveti. Damn her, especially. Why did she have to be so… Fucking real? That damned face and those eyes that could hide nothing. How had someone like her survived as long as she did in this fucked up world without a protector?

That was a big part of the problem. She brought out his need to protect, something no other woman ever had. She made him want things no other woman ever could. Damn her for that.

He was the one that was truly damned, though. Damned to a night in that monstrosity of a bed and that farce of a bedroom. Not that he did not love dungeons, he did. But he did not particularly like the idea of sleeping where you played. Or the generations of brides who had called that place home. He had seen his mother’s pain in this lifestyle first hand. It was one of the reasons he had wanted no part in this family tradition.

He had spent days trying to figure a way out of this one. He supposed he could walk away. It was not like he had to join the happy little threesome. He could do as he had proposed all along…continue as he had for a lifetime in casual, non-committed relationships with married women who were safe.

But every time he had almost convinced himself that was the right thing to do for everyone, her face would appear in his mind. His cock would get rock hard. He would be forced to admit just how fucking impossible it would be watching her live happily ever after with his brothers…under the same damned roof – her room right fucking next door to his own.

Virtually soundproof or not, he could not imagine twenty or thirty years of sleeping in his bed, wondering what was happening on the other side of that door. Of course, nothing stopped him from doing like his uncle. There were still plenty of places on the Holding for another cabin. Perhaps Mikael would even consider letting him finish the one he had begun for Greta.

None of that mattered tonight, though. He looked around the deck that had been in perfect order for hours. He could not find another single reason to delay this any longer. He considered one more time bringing her back here. It was the strategy that had worked up until now…keeping her in his territory, his terms.

But he had given pretty specific instructions after dinner, and even if she had opted to help Mikael bath their daughter and put Monica to bed, she had probably been kneeling way too long on that hard floor already. The bright guy that he was. He just had to be obsessive-compulsive with his subs.

She was not just any sub, though. She was his wife. There was a difference. A huge one. The fact that he still hoped that she would be the mother of his child one day soon was just part of that difference. After a lifetime of condoms, being overly cautious, none of his subs could become pregnant; the feel of her tight cunt wrapped around his bare cock was more intense sometimes than he had ever imagined.

Everything about the woman was intense. And that was an emotion he had spent a lifetime pushing aside. Until that first afternoon in his cabin with her, he had never felt that thrill. That alive…except when he stared Njörður and Rán in the face during the fiercest storms, challenged them and snatched his life back at the last moment.

How did he snatch it back from her, though? That was what he had spent days trying to figure out. How did he escape her loving arms when for the first fucking time in his whole life, he looked forward to bringing the boat into port? When he wanted nothing more than to swing her up in the air as his brothers had, watch her smiling and laughing…and know that she genuinely was glad he was home. Him. Not Bjⱷrn. Not Mikael. Not them. Him!

He hopped from the boat onto the pier and headed back to the house. It was too damned bad that it was so fucking close; he could use more time to figure this all out. Then again, if he had not come up with any answers during a week at sea, he was not likely to in a two-minute walk back home. Of course, he could delay that a bit longer with a shower, but what was the point? Not even standing beneath scalding hot water until it ran cold would wash her from his mind. Nothing seemed to do that.

“Damn her. Damn her to Helveti.”

“Damn him. Damn that man to Helveti,” Kirsty cursed.

Could Svein have thought of anything more embarrassing and demeaning? Kneeling on the floor, her naked bum and freshly shaven cunt in the air, her arms extended in front of her, her chest and face pressed against the hard floor for so damned long that the wood was no longer even cold but had become heated by her body.

If that were not bad enough, the butt plug would be the first thing he noticed when he opened the door to her bedroom. If he opened the door. She was beginning to believe he was not coming at all. Five more minutes. No more than that. Then she realized she had no idea what time it was. How long had she been kneeling like this? Or how long five minutes was at this point.

But she was not going to let that stop her. Not now. “One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand….” She tried to focus upon her counting and not how incredibly naked and open she felt at that moment. How vulnerable.

Kirsty bit her lower lip and fought back the tears as she continued to count. She considered what to do next? She wanted to be held, comforted, and told that everything would work out. The obvious choice for that one was Mikael. He alone seemed an ally in this war for his brother’s heart. From the shocked and almost angry look on Bjⱷrn’s face when she chose Svein, she knew she would get no sympathy there, not the kind she needed anyway.

There was only one problem with her plan…she still did not know which of the bedrooms were which. What if she knocked on the wrong door? Damn it, why had she not thought to go exploring behind the closed wooden doors while they were away.

She had covered most of the Holding. Well, maybe not most. Their island home was way more extensive than she had thought, even with the four-wheeler. But so far, she had climbed halfway up the rocky face of the mountain that rose hundreds of feet in the air behind the cabins. She had spent hours laying on her back in the rolling field of browning grass that in the spring would bloom like a rainbow with Petrine’s wildflowers. She had even dipped her toes in the icy spring that ran through it. Of course, she had found her way back to the small forest and the fort where she and Bjⱷrn had made love among the storm that afternoon.

For a city girl, it might seem strange, but the truth was that she felt as connected somehow to the majestic beauty of this place as she did the men, who called it home. The woman who was becoming the mother she had always dreamt of having. And the child that though she had not grown in her body was growing in her heart. She had never felt so at peace, so complete. She knew that she could be happy here, if only….

“Flenk Pia,” his voice was as rough as his hands as they caressed across the curve of her round bottom.

It took her a moment to figure out what he was saying. Though she had learned both words, she had not heard them together. When she did realize, though, she smiled. Was it possible that those words were even sexier in the local dialect of Norwegian than they were in English? Did it matter? She would take her ‘good girls’ when and where she could get them, in any of the half dozen or more languages her guys spoke. “Takk herre,” she whispered, “Thank you, Sir.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingers run slowly from the top of her bottom down between her legs. She inhaled sharply when his thumb circled her clitoris. Had it been hard all long or merely at those words? She whimpered when he stopped, biting her lip to keep from begging. She had not realized just how incredibly horny she was until this moment.

Not that she had not followed all the other kinky instructions that Mikael and Bjⱷrn fed her each night. She had discovered that the toy box in her bedroom contained as many sex toys as it did implements of pain. Each night their conversations had ended with another challenge; what toy, what to do with it, even what to think about while she did. No, she had not gone a single night without an orgasm. But masturbation, even when they directed it, just was not the same.

Definitely not the same as she could not stifle her cries when Svein’s fingers slipped into her wet cunt. Neither could she stop the single word, “More.” If that was not good enough, she added, “Meir,” in his tongue.

His only response was a sound slap to her right butt cheek, “You will come when I want you to come, Kirsten.”

Kirsty wanted to fight, wanted to tell him to ‘go fuck himself’ again, but she reminded herself that what had gotten through to Mikael, in the end, was her submission, her surrender. That was why she had decided to use it with him too. Especially her über Dom, for whom submission and high protocol meant so much.

So, why the hell did he of all of them bring out her brat? Why was it that she, who had always done what was expected, what others wanted, why was it that she wanted to disobey him so damned much? Hell, she would have never thought there was a brat in her at all…except with him — Svein of all people.

But she fought all of that back. She forced herself back to the path she had chosen…submission. Being his good girl. The best sub he had ever had. Surely if she became that, then he would have to love her. If it had not worked with her mother, well, she had to believe it would with him. “Ja herre,” she replied as she forced her body to relax when everything inside of her screamed ‘fight.’

“Is this,” his fingers pressed against the curved end of the butt plug that protruded from her sphincter, forcing it deeper until she flinched, “the next one?”

“Ja herre,” she kept her response simple.

He pushed against it once more. It was the first time that she had used the wider and slightly longer plug, and just as it had that first couple of times with the smaller one, this one felt uncomfortably tight. Not painful as such, but right on edge. And when he did that, it almost crossed the line. Still, she forced herself to relax, willed her body to open for him.

She wondered how far he would take it this tonight? How far did she want him to? Because even with the discomfort, pain, and yes, fear, she also could feel her juices dripping down between her legs, coating her hard clitoris in slippery heat and even beginning to pool on the floor. Did she want this? Want more? To feel more than just the cool silicone in her virgin ass? Was she ready for his cock? Hell, did that even matter?

Damn the woman. Why did she alone seem to test his control? Domination and submission had always been his release valve, how he de-stressed. Perfect control over his submissive always calmed and soothed him no matter what had happened. So, why was it that her submission had the opposite effect? Why did it lose something wild inside of him, test the limits of his control, and make him want to break her in a way he never had any other sub?

The fact that she answered him in Norwegian should have pleased him exceedingly. His mother had made certain he learned English. By necessity, he had taught himself German, Russian, and French as well as a smattering of Spanish, Italian, and Greek. But he was never as comfortable or confident speaking any of them as his brothers, especially Bjⱷrn for whom English was as natural or more than Norwegian. The fact that she was trying to learn their language meant that she wanted to fit in, yes? So, why did that not reassure him?

Though she could not see it, he shook his head as he tried to figure it out. Figure her out. Plan a course of action. For the man that spent days planning the perfect scene, she was complete anathema. He chuckled quietly to himself as he realized that not once had he indeed been the one in control with her. She was his chaos.

Why change that now? His fingers clasped the curved end of the silicon, “Exhale slowly, Kirsten.” He listened and applied slow, steady pressure as he gently pulled the teardrop-shaped plug from her ass. “Så jæv pia,” as he watched her virgin hole close quickly. “Such a good girl,” he translated, uncertain still just how much of his language she comprehended.

He reached for the bottle of oil, which was precisely where he had told her to put it, as was the rope and the five-headed Wartenberg pinwheel. Damn her; she had followed his instructions to the letter. Why did that irritate him more than please him?

He poured a generous amount of the lube at the top of her crack and watched it sliding down. He used his fingers to scope it back towards her tight ass. He thrilled at the quick intake of breath as they brushed her clit. He considered giving her an immediate release; something told him it would not take more than a couple of strokes to send her over the edge. But right now, he wanted all of her attention centered where his was…her virgin asshole.

He began the same erotic dance they had performed that first night he introduced the plugs, except this time he could easily start with two fingers as he stretched her open once more. He did that for a couple of minutes, moving his fingers gently in and out.

Last time, he distracted her with dirty talk and playing with her sweet cunt, but not this time. This time the only stimulation he allowed was anal play. He wanted, no, he needed her to feel it all. There would be time, all night, for all the other. Right now, there was only one thing that mattered, one thought in his mind…burying his cock in her ass and claiming what was fucking his.

He rubbed his other hand across the cheek of her ass as he bent forward, the weight of his body pressing her down further as his tongue licked the rim of her ear. “I am going to fuck your ass, Kirsten.” Svein felt her body tense and heard the quick intake of her breath. For a moment, he thought of his little Valkyrie standing toe-to-toe with him on the deck of his ship, challenging him in front of all of them. He was confident that he was about to face her once more.

Then he felt her body relax beneath his, her head nod as much as it could, pressed as it was against the hard floor, “Jæv.” If her ‘please’ answer surprised him, what she said next floored him, “Vær så jæv, herre.” As she pleaded with him in the old dialect.

It was every fantasy he had ever had brought to life. Her complete submission, though he knew that this had not made her fetish list, that it even frightened her a bit. Still, she had met his challenge with true submission. Not about what she wanted, but about obedience, what he wanted.

Why the fuck did that anger him so? Make him want to push her boundaries even further. Until she broke. Until his shieldmaiden challenged him once more. It was so unlike anything he had ever experienced in these games. But with her…

‘Damn her to Helveti,’ he thought as his fingers bit into the soft flesh of her ass as the ones on his other hand slipped from the too-tight channel of her sphincter. He picked up the bottle of oil and poured even more along the throbbing hard ridge of his cock. He gritted his teeth as his hand moved up and down its entire length, spreading the lube. Damn, she had him on edge already. That might not be a bad thing, though; her virgin ass could not handle prolonged fucking, not this first time.

“Jæv? Please, Kirsten? You are sure, my sweet wife?” He held his cock and pressed the head against her asshole. He smiled as she tensed involuntarily at the unfamiliar invader, but he did not back off. It was long past that. He was done with games. She was his wife too. And she was about to learn what that meant as he pushed the head of his erection through the resistant ring. He bit back a moan of pleasure at the way her sweet ass enveloped his hard cock.

He knew how this should go. How many subs had he introduced to anal play? He had long since lost count of the number of anal cherries he had taken, wives who would so fucking easily give to him what they had denied their husbands for years. Wives? Not his fucking wife, though, as he did the one thing he knew better than to do then, pressing half of his cock deep inside of her before she even had the chance to adjust to this new sensation.

He felt her tighten even more, but rather than soothe her with calm words of encouragement, he forged ahead until his cock was fully buried inside her no longer virgin ass. Only then did he stop, then only long enough to bury his head in her shoulders and bite down hard on that sensitive spot where it met her neck. His hands were on her hips and his teeth buried deeply in her neck as he began to pull out, almost entirely before pushing back in quickly and fully.

He was damned glad that he had used so much lube and that she had obeyed his command to use the butt plug. If not, he knew this loss of control would do damage. As it was, he felt her tense beneath him, try to move away from his deep thrusts. He was having none of it, not this time. He reached up and wrapped his hand through her hair, pulling her head back in the process. “Min,” he growled into her ear.

Even that was not sufficient. “Du tilhøre mæ,” he increased the pace as he pounded away at her ass. His teeth released their hold on her neck, only to sink into the tender flesh of her ear lobe as he added in English, “You belong to me.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath at the words, felt her shudder beneath him. He was not finished yet as the hand that had remained on her hips slipped around to find the slick folds of her cunt. His fingers circled the swollen flesh at the apex as he repeated his claim in his tongue and hers like a mantra that kept perfect time with the thrusting of his cock inside her too tight ass.

He gritted his teeth and fought the inevitable as he felt her sweet ass tighten even more around his throbbing cock as her orgasm hit them both full force. He thrust quicker and more shallow as he sensed his release taking him. He cried out, “Min,” as he emptied himself inside of her until his whole body and soul were drained, and he collapsed on top of her.

He closed his eyes and buried his face between her shoulders. He knew he should apologize. He had lost control. Again. The Dom, who prided himself on always being in control, especially of himself, seemed to have none when it came to her. His wife. And that bothered him more than anything. ‘Damn her to Helveti.’

‘Damn him,’ she thought as she fought back the tears. It was not the rough way that he had taken her that bothered her. No, as Mikael had taught her, she was a pain slut. Damn the man; it had been the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. She might have been able to handle that even, but what she could never manage was how fucking quickly this man turned her own body against her. It was the power of her orgasm that rocked her. Svein made her feel and want things that she did not, could not, with either Bjⱷrn or Mikael.

That too she might have been able to handle, if… If the man gave a damned about her as something other than a piece of property and fucking incubator for his son. But he did not. All his protestations about ‘mine’ were more about asserting his rights as the eldest than actually wanting her as a woman, as his wife. No, this man would never allow himself to do something as simple as open up to her – love her.

Instead, he wanted only to own and possess. To use. And that left her feeling dirty, like nothing more than his whore. That was what had her in tears. Not the pain that even now was adding a delicious spice to the aftershocks that continued to pulse periodically through her.

She was grateful that he had taken her from behind; this way, he could not see the tears that had slipped down her cheeks to saturate the wood floor. They all said that she could hide nothing from them. She was glad too that he could not see the pain, emotional pain of being used that she felt then.

“Æ e lei mæ,” he breathed across the bare skin of her shoulders. She shivered as she had that first day just at the sexy sound of his voice. His.

That was the problem. He was the one she had fallen for first. Almost loved even before she had met him. It was his touch on her elbow that even through the thick layers of her coat and jumper had sent her pulse racing and made her go weak in the knees. He liked to boast that ultimately she had been his choice; he had claimed her first. And he had. Claimed her heart even before she knew the truth about Bjⱷrn or Mikael. It was Svein.

She fought back the tears as his rough hands ran along her arms, whether to comfort her or to return the blood flow from her prolonged prone position. Why did he have to do the ‘caring’ Dom thing now? When she wanted nothing more than to hate him. Did he know that her defenses were at their lowest?  

She swallowed back the bitter taste in her mouth. She had been so sure that her submission, her perfect obedience, could reach him. But once more, she had not been a good enough girl. And she hated herself even more as his gentle touch now was re-igniting fires that should have been extinguished by the almost cruel way he had taken her.

Taken. That was all he did. Perhaps all he was capable of. And Kirsty was not sure that even she was altruistic enough to give that much. Not even to a man she loved. And she did love him as much as she might wish otherwise; she loved him just as much as his brothers. Which left her where?

Especially as his lips began to trail light kisses across her back and shoulders, which had her nipples painfully hard against the wood floor. Even now, she could not stop her body from reacting to his touch, be it rough or gentle. And when his hands slipped around her to stroke and caress her breasts, her body ignored her brain’s reluctance as a whimper fell from her throat.

Even that was nothing as one hand trailed lower along her side until it wrapped about her hips and slipped between her legs. The pad of his thumb found her clitoris that was still slick with her juices and the oil. It was also hard and throbbing in perfect timing with her too-fast heart. He had barely touched her, only a couple of slow, light circles, and her whole body exploded in a powerful orgasm.

She cried out at the strength of her release, but still, it was not enough. Even though his cock in her ass remained hard as he rocked gently within her, she felt empty. Then just as she felt her orgasm begin to abate, his fingers slipped lower. Into her soaking wet cunt. This time she feared that even the soundproofing of this room would not be enough as he found her g-spot, sending her careening at the speed of light into the white-hot blaze of the brightest stars.

And he held her there, milked her body for every single ounce of it until he was forcing her orgasms, until she was so sensitive that this too was painful. “No more, please,” she begged as she felt sweat dripping down her face. “Please, Svein. No more, please, Sir.”

He gave one final plunge of his fingers as deep as he could within her. She caught her breath at the intense sensation of being stuffed, his cock in her ass, and she would have sworn his whole damned fist in her pussy.

“One day, Kirsten. One day it will be my cock that fills your sweet ass as my brother fucks your pussy. You will be even fuller then than you are now. Trapped between our bodies. Helpless. Completely ours. That is what you are meant for. What you want, is it not?”

His words that should have thrilled her instead disgusted her, but still, she could not deny her body’s reaction to the erotic picture he painted. She closed her eyes tight to hold back the tears of self-loathing. What was wrong with her? Why could she not control her need with him? Knowing that he did not feel the same way towards her that she felt for him. The love that she shared with his brothers. That he might never, still, she could not deny him anything?

She felt his weight that had crushed her against the floor shift as he slipped from her body. She cursed at how empty she felt. Empty. Void. Like nothing. No one.

Then she felt the soft, coolness of the washcloth as he cleansed her, beginning at her shoulders and back where their sweat combined. She sighed as he stopped to rinse the cloth in the bowl of warm water that she had prepared earlier, another of his instructions. Though she had altered them slightly, adding just a touch of his wash so that the water was scented as well as soothing.

She wanted to cry again at how gentle he was as he washed her tender ass. If that was not bad enough, when he finished, he bent and softly kissed each of the cheeks of her ass. He placed another tender kiss at the small of her spine as he whispered, “Så go ei pia.”

She searched her memory for a translation, but sometimes she felt that she was fighting a losing battle to learn the language. Svein especially seemed to prefer the local dialect that could be so different from the Norwegian that she studied through an app on her tablet. With this one, she caught enough to know it was some form of ‘good girl.’ “Takk herre,” she answered with her limited knowledge of the local language that she had managed to pick up from Olaf and Petrine.

His hand on her shoulder lifted her and turned her to face him. He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss across her knuckles, once more the perfectly considerate Dom. His eyes were the most intense blue as he studied her face for a long moment as if considering what to say then. For a split second, she would have almost sworn she saw a glimpse of pure tenderness in them rather than the icy cold of the sea that they mimicked.

Then he dropped them, looking away from her. His face scrunched into a dark scowl as he dropped her hand. His finger traced over the faint white mark on the swell of her left breast. Mikael’s mark had healed quickly and completely.

“Ka i hælvette?” he growled as his other hand gripped her upper arm so tightly that it was painful, that he might even leave bruises.

She shook her head, not understanding anything he said other than ‘Helveti.’ “I don’t understand,” she whispered as much at the sudden change in him as at what he said.

Svein glared at her as he felt the anger rolling like waves in a storm. She was not the one he was angry with…not really. But she was the one there. For the moment, anyway. “What the hell? It means what the hell. Specifically, what the hell is this?” His finger traced the offensive mark once more.

She smiled. And he changed his assessment of the situation instantly. Hell, yes, he was angry with her too. Mikael would have never dared such a thing without consent. The problem was as ‘their’ wife, his brother had failed to get consent from everyone involved.

He inhaled deeply and reminded himself to remain calm, not that he had had much luck with that at all this night. Not the way he had promised himself he would with her. “I asked a question, wife. What is this?” He shook her what he would consider gently, to snap her out of whatever silly daydreams women had.

Her face darkened. He watched as the sweet sub disappeared and his warrior wife returned. He prepared for another ‘go fuck yourself,’ but he was determined to get the answers he wanted this time. He gripped both of her upper arms and shook her more solidly.

“Do you not understand, Kirsten? Ka i hælvette? What the hell? What the fuck? What is this? Do you need French, German, and Russian too for good measure? Because I promise you, dear wife, I will get my answer.”

He lowered his face towards hers until they were nose to nose, “Then I will punish your ass and kick my brother’s.”

Why did she have to look so incredibly cute with her face scrunched up like that? But this time, he was not going to be swayed as he stared her down and waited for an explanation. They remained like that for several long moments, a childish game of chicken to see who would look away first. Then he gripped her arms more tightly and stood up, dragging her with him. He slowed down only long enough to grab the towel off the floor and wrap it about his waist.

“What are you doing, Svein?” Kirsty tried to cross her free arm over her tits and down between her legs at the same time, but only a gorilla’s arms would be long enough for that, and their wife might be a fool, but she was no monkey. He said nothing as he threw open the door and dragged her out even when she tried to dig her heels in.

“What do you think you are doing? Let me get dressed. Damn you.”

He shook his head as he ignored her protests and pulled her further out the door. He turned left and used whatever force was necessary to drag her after him. It was not like the bruises on her upper arms would be the only ones he had ever given her. And right now, she should be damned grateful it was not that long, soft red hair that he was using to drag her with.

Besides, it was only a few feet down the hall, past his bedroom to his brother’s. He pounded loudly on it, “Din satans hæstkuk!” He screamed through the door, not giving a damn that he had just called his brother a devilish horse cock almost loud enough to be heard in the village. He heard a shout through the door but was unsure what Mikael said or even what language he used.

It was Bjⱷrn’s door that opened first. His baby brother looked almost as shitty as he felt just then. He was still wearing his clothes, though they were wrinkled and his feet were bare. His long hair looked tangled as if he had been running his fingers through it like he did when he was thinking.

“What the fuck, man?” he demanded in English, whether for her benefit or because his little brother had always been more comfortable with it. Another thing to thank their sainted mother for.

Svein was just about to explain…if it could be called that. Mikael’s door opened. His brother filled the doorway clad in his jeans only. “Hva I helvete?” he asked in Norwegian.

“Ja, ka i hælvette. What the hell is that?” He pointed to the silvery-white letter ‘M’ that marred Kirsty’s tit.

Mikael sighed, and his shoulders slumped, “Æ e lei mæ,” he mumbled.

Even Bjⱷrn glared at Mikael as he too saw his brother’s mark on Kirsty’s body for the first time. “What the hell were you thinking? Okay, I never got it, but knife play is your thing. But this? Damn it, Mikael. How could you? Without even fucking asking us?”

Kirsty squared her shoulders and, for the first time, dropped her arms. “Asking you? Why the hell should he have to ask either of you? It is my god damned body, and he had my consent.”

Svein could no longer trust himself not to throttle her, so he shoved her at his baby brother. “You deal with your wife. This is between Mikael and me now.”

Bjⱷrn reached for Kirsty, and it was a good thing. Otherwise, she might have stumbled and fallen he had pushed her so hard.

“Damn straight, this is between us, big brother. I said I was sorry. I should have thought it through more before doing something so permanent. I made a mistake. I admit that. But that is no excuse for how you are treating her. Then again, you always treat her like a piece of meat, don’t you?” Mikael stood toe to toe with him. 

“Makes it easier to deny how you feel for her. Or maybe I am wrong about that. Maybe you don’t give a gods be damned more about her than you do any of the rest of us. Just servants, vessels to be used, like Njörður’s Captive. Well, here is some news for you. Bjⱷrn and I might take your shit, but we are not about to let you treat her like that.”

Svein blanched at his brother’s accusation, but he was not to be deterred. He was not the one who had done anything wrong here. Maybe he could have or should have been gentler with her, but that was beside the point. He had done nothing that left permanent damage.

Bjⱷrn nodded his head in ascent with Mikael as he shrugged out of his shirt and wrapped it around their naked and shivering wife. “He’s right on that one, Svein. Be mad at Mikael, I am. But leave her out of this. She did nothing wrong.”

“Dokker e nokken førbanna tøffelhælta,” he replied to Bjⱷrn.

“Fine, you made your point before, big brother — slipper heroes. Pussy whipped. Whatever you choose to call us, but we mean it. No more. If you cannot treat Kirsty with the respect that she deserves as our wife, then stay the fuck away from her,” Bjⱷrn drew Kirsty against his body and used his thumb to wipe away tears that were gathering in the corner of her eyes.

“As for me, I said I was sorry. There is not much more that I can do about it now. But honestly, neither of the two of you have that much room to talk. You, Svein, with your obsession about breeding her like some damned livestock,” Mikael accused him.

Then turning to their younger brother, “And Bjⱷrn, did you fucking think for a moment how messing in her head with that orgasm conditioning shit might affect us? I mean, what if somehow or the other, it all got screwed up, and she could only come on your command. Where the fuck would that leave Svein and me?”

Bjⱷrn nodded, “Touché, dear brother. Though that does not seem to be a problem since it is the words and not the man who says them that seems to be the trigger.”

Svein whirled on Bjⱷrn, “Trigger? Orgasm conditioning? Is he fucking talking about what I think he is, baby brother?” Bjⱷrn blushed as he nodded his head and looked down. “What the fuck were you thinking? That is serious stuff. Even experienced Doms don’t dare go screwing in someone’s mind lightly.”

“Experienced Doms? And what makes you such a fucking expert, dear brother? A string of married whores that none lasted more than six months? Since when did you make a fucking commitment to anyone?” Bjⱷrn turned on him, “So, don’t go giving me advice on being a Master. I might not have dozens of women under my Dom belt, but that is for one simple reason; I take it seriously.”

“I may have only topped in clubs a few times, but that was because I chose to wait for something worth having. Wait for a woman that I loved…and was committed to. So, you are the last person on this planet that I want advice from on how to care for what’s mine. Cause nothing and no one has ever been yours.”

“If you will excuse us, I will go and do that now…take care of what’s mine,” he drew Kirsty closer and kissed the top of her head before turning to Mikael. “When you are through with him, join us if you want. Assuming that either of you can still move after what I fear is to come.”

Svein felt the cold wetness of the mud seeping into his bones, a couple of his ribs, in particular, that was likely broken. His brother had given as good as he got. As family tradition dictated, after Bjⱷrn had taken a visibly shaken and still angry wife back into her room, he and Mikael had both dressed and agreed to meet in the ‘fighting’ fields as only the males in the family dared to call his mother’s beloved wildflower patch at the far back of the property. Not even the fifteen-minute ride on the four-wheelers had managed to cool either of their tempers.

They had gone at it the moment they got there. The Northern Lights, which they had grown up with and long since taken their beauty for granted, proved more than sufficient lumination for their tussle. Svein doubted that many boxing champions had fought as long or as hard as they had. Fought until both were bloody, bruised, and broken. Fought until they both collapsed in the mud that bordered the small stream that cut through the field and separated the Holding from their neighbor’s property at this point.

“He’s right about that too, you know,” Mikael’s voice broke the night that was eerily silent as winter ones often were, without even the occasional hoot of birds of prey.

“Right about what?” Svein tried to lift himself using his elbows but quickly collapsed back into the oozing brown sludge when the pain in his side proved too much for him to endure without fainting.

“If you cannot treat her with respect, then it is best if you stay the fuck away from her…until you can,” his younger brother managed somehow to raise himself into a sitting position.

Svein considered Mikael’s words. Maybe they were right. Maybe he just was not cut out for this marriage thing. If his brothers were to be believed for any type of human relationship, even family. He felt the sharp shooting pain across his chest but was glad to blame it on the broken ribs. He nodded his head slowly as he heard another vehicle approaching.

“Ja, agreed,” was all he said as his uncle drew the other vehicle to a stop a few feet away.

“You two feel better now? Get anything settled?” Olaf asked as he held out his hand and helped the mud monster that was his son to his feet.

It was Mikael who turned and held out his hand to him. He braced his other arm about his chest, and he reached for his brother’s hand. “Ja, they can have her,” he said with a guttural curse as he fought back nausea and dizziness from the pain.

His uncle shook his white-grey head slowly, “You sure that is what you truly want, son?” Olaf asked as he too reached out to try and help steady Svein as he got to his feet.

“I am not your son, old man. I am no one’s son,” Svein shook the man’s hand off as he pushed Mikael aside too. Though he was not sure if he could make it as far as the ATV, he was determined to try. He managed to make it by sheer will.

“Du kainn sjite i deinn eine nævven og ønske i deinn aindre, og så kainn du se kaslags nævve du får mæst I,” he heard his uncle say.

Svein smiled; if not for the pain, he would have laughed at his uncle’s words, ‘You can shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which you get most in.’ Another of the colorful local sayings that just about summarized his life.

He revved the engine and took off across the field too quickly. He paid for it with another sharp shooting pain in his chest, but he supposed he should be thankful at least the broken ribs had not punctured a lung.

Yeah, maybe this was for the best, even if it would be living hell watching them, the two of them, his younger brothers, touch and love her. The woman that should have been his too. He thought about the sons he would never have with her. Maybe that was for the best also. He knew all too well what it felt like to grow up without a father. No, this was for the best. He would love and groom whatever nephews she gave him, just as he did his niece.

And her? How long would it take to forget how sweet her cunt tasted? How tight her ass had been? How perfectly she had assumed the submissive pose even from that first time? He had never felt more a Dom, more a man than he did when she knelt before him. But that too was over. He would find a way to live with it.

He turned the vehicle towards the boat. Yes, moving onto Njörður’s Captive would be an excellent first step. Give him…and them a bit of space. Of course, it was the lucrative winter fishing season now, so they would all be on the ship more than in her bed. Not that the thought made him glad or anything.

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