I swore my life to the gods. Virgin flesh untouched. Temple stones my only bed. Cold runes whispering vows I'd never break.
Until he stormed the mist-veiled fjord. This Norseman enforcer, all salt-lashed muscle and gravel command, sent to inspect my piety. His eyes stripped me bare before his hands ever did. I spat defiance at him, breathy curses from sacred lips. But gods, the way he loomed over my altar, promising discipline for every hidden sin. It woke something feral in my blood. Something I'd starved in silence.
He caught me faltering first. A stolen glance at his callused palms. Then came the punishment. Bent over rune-carved stone, thighs trembling under the sharp sting of his hand. Each smack branded me deeper, turning pious restraint to seething need. I fought it. Clawed at the air, whispering pleas to forgotten gods. But his tender ruthlessness pinned me, mocking my shivers as he wrung confessions from my body. Sweat-slick skin sprawled spent across the echoing temple floor. Eclipse shadows dancing on the altar as his grip fevered mine.
It's blasphemy. Yielding my flesh to an outsider's dominating will. Desecrating every oath with ecstatic shudders I can't silence. My authority crumbles under his weight, self-respect fracturing with every burn that makes me ache for more. The village watches, the gods judge. One wrong gasp, and I lose it all: sanctuary, heart, soul.
Yet here I am, chained to divine silence, craving his merciless hand again. Will I shatter my vows on his altar... or beg him to break me first?
