The circle of Ylmarach (Swedish fear)

[Nickamano]

People tell me I'm old all the time. Hence the graves in my garden.

To me, Agneta will ever live at that 19 / 20-ish stage of her life.

[Shocker]

@Nickamano and @Shocker

Has anyone ever told you that you're old?

The one from ABBA...how old is she? 70? Could be my grandmother

When we think of attractive Swedish women, I tend to think of Frida Gustavsson, Julia Henriksson, Stina Blackstenius, or Alicia Vikander.

Quite frequently, I don’t deny that Alicia Vikander is very attractive, and that ABBA was before my time.
As for the other 3 I‘ll have to google them to form an opinion,

[Claire]

Okay, I'm slowly catching up with your writing. I liked this one. It begins quite harmless. I even forgot for a moment that I was reading rape fantasy and thought I was just reading a road trip story with three Swedish women. I think the crazy cult is always a great setting for stories like this. If you are deep into believing supernatural ideas, even human sacrifice can become something you do out of the goodness of your heart in an attempt to assuage demons and vengeful gods. It's a great setup.

Assuming that part two wasn't the end yet, I would like to see more individual reactions from Linnea, Emma and Stina. Up to this point, these three are not registered as individuals in my mind but just as "the three Swedish girls", a collective. I could for example see one quickly give up and resign herself to her fate, one struggling like hell and the third one experiencing unwanted arousal (I know, neither your nor my favorite trope, but I would consider it to distinguish how these three experience their rapes). A bit more individual personality I would like to see.

And then I assume that this was again translated by AI from German? If so, the translation is much better than it was in Unhappy New Year but I think it still drags down the quality of the writing here and there. There is small moments like this one

Emma closed her eyes and hardly dared to breathe when he met her for the first time.

which should probably say "hit" instead of met. I assume that here the German "trifft/traf" was wrongly translated by the AI. And then there is a moment that was just hilarious to me:

It took a moment before the three young men who were taking the women by the fire gasped and apparently climaxed almost simultaneously, spurting their semen deep into each other's bodies.

I'm pretty sure these men did not withdraw from the women just before climax so that they could shoot their cum into the rapist next to them. And I don't know what went wrong there, but I suspect this to be another translation issue. As much fun as I had reading this, my laughter trying to imagine that moment did break my immersion somewhat.

[LaLia]

Okay, I'm slowly catching up with your writing. I liked this one. It begins quite harmless. I even forgot for a moment that I was reading rape fantasy and thought I was just reading a road trip story with three Swedish women. I think the crazy cult is always a great setting for stories like this. If you are deep into believing supernatural ideas, even human sacrifice can become something you do out of the goodness of your heart in an attempt to assuage demons and vengeful gods. It's a great setup.

Assuming that part two wasn't the end yet, I would like to see more individual reactions from Linnea, Emma and Stina. Up to this point, these three are not registered as individuals in my mind but just as "the three Swedish girls", a collective. I could for example see one quickly give up and resign herself to her fate, one struggling like hell and the third one experiencing unwanted arousal (I know, neither your nor my favorite trope, but I would consider it to distinguish how these three experience their rapes). A bit more individual personality I would like to see.

And then I assume that this was again translated by AI from German? If so, the translation is much better than it was in Unhappy New Year but I think it still drags down the quality of the writing here and there. There is small moments like this one

Emma closed her eyes and hardly dared to breathe when he met her for the first time.

which should probably say "hit" instead of met. I assume that here the German "trifft/traf" was wrongly translated by the AI. And then there is a moment that was just hilarious to me:

It took a moment before the three young men who were taking the women by the fire gasped and apparently climaxed almost simultaneously, spurting their semen deep into each other's bodies.

I'm pretty sure these men did not withdraw from the women just before climax so that they could shoot their cum into the rapist next to them. And I don't know what went wrong there, but I suspect this to be another translation issue. As much fun as I had reading this, my laughter trying to imagine that moment did break my immersion somewhat.

I think I still need to add the comedy tag.

I think it was the same problem here as with the other story, which made me try using Word Translate.

I'm not going to want to write in English anymore. I really hope it was just Word.

And yes, there will be more personal stuff coming. However, I'm missing someone here who hasn't commented yet....@Vela Nanashi Where are you?

[Vela Nanashi]

I am sorry that this comment of mine may lack in quality, I am not entirely well health wise still, and very tired, but I will try to capture moments and stuff as I read.

Chapter 1:

Old friends on a trip to try to discover ones roots, at least one of theirs.

An out of the way village, with a castle, wonder if that has any dungeons in it...

Suspicious old woman wondering if the three protagonists are alone.

Good capturing of senses, I like that, can see the place and even smell it

If they are not planning something bad maybe they think these three are a coven of scandinavian witches.

They sound like they fit into that all to common blondes fantasy, that people have especially of my people Except they are more practical than that

withstanding out -> with standing out, withstanding has another meaning that I don't think is intended here

Can almost smell the fire and taste the beer too

Bit confused by: They didn't seem to be there Unfriendly. But... aloof.
They didn't seem to be unfriendly, but aloof. Is how I chose to read it, hopefully that is right.

The alcohol might be making them ignore those feelings that something is wrong.

You paint beautiful pictures of the place.

It may be way too late to get out of there now, but I suppose it may be worth trying at least. Also probably impossible when drugged.

Seems to be some sort of fertility ritual so far, it is the right time of year for it after all, to help spring along and bring life fully back after the end of winter.

Don't like death in stories, even if I sometimes use it to, but I will finish reading it, but it does push me away. Not a fertility ritual at least of a kind I like.

She became a panic feeling - is a bit clunky, She felt panic rising, she felt a panic building, she felt panic (possibly better variants too)

---

Chapter 2:

which had obviously been made to fix it ?

Poor Stina, both her position and then getting fucked like that in her throat.

Was unclear if Emma also had a ring gag, should not be that hard to breathe wearing one, but maybe there was another gag in it that was pulled out before his cock replaced it.

Much like death I don't like things that leave visible marks on people like that whip seems to, but maybe those are superficial.

Speaking of men Otto, and Henry then gender In her long years of life... her vitality (I think translator messed up gender there)

Also yeah cult, sacrifices, etc, not really my thing at all.

Also although there are supernatural elements that I do like in this story, and vivid descriptions. It is too close to the real world for me, I know that will be true for 99% of stories on this forum, so don't take it as a bad thing. I am not drawn to this world as much as other places, and less so when it involves closer people and things to where I live. I am weird I know...

---

Like Shocker I love ring gags too, and when not a cock is there one could always shove down a dildo to plug it. You can make loud sounds when the ring gag is not plugged, and you can breathe in them, but it is true you can't make intelligible sounds, and mouth and throat will tend to get dry.

---

As for continuation of story, I may try to read more, but the whole sacrifices stuff is not really compatible with me.

Also I think it would be easier to sink into the characters for me if they were in first person present time, for their individual scenes, that would give us that trapped feeling and limit our senses to theirs.

However I am not sure I want to inhabit them, they seem like they will be sacrificed too based on the lore of the setting.

That is all for now, and I am sorry if I come off whiny, I think your writing is good, even mangled by the translator. You paint amazing pictures and include other senses too, I like that a lot, so keep up the good work.

---

[LaLia]

@Vela Nanashi

You don't have to apologize, and I wasn't mad at all that you commented later. Actually, it was more of a joke because of the combination of "Sweden" and the fact that the story will have supernatural influences.

So the topic of sacrifice in the sense of death shouldn't play such a big role anymore. At the moment, I'm still a bit stuck on the next part – too hot to think dirty But that was more of a means to an end than the content of the story. But I guess they're always afraid of what might happen to them.

And forgive me if my texts in English aren't always ideal. I also feel more comfortable writing in German, and I hope that will gain more importance here soon.

We'll be able to start a ring gag fan club soon.

And you don't sound whiny, and the quality of your feedback is really great. That's exactly why it's worth writing something in English. I would be happy if you continue reading and I think there are more things to come that you might like.

[Vela Nanashi]

I will try to read more when you post, though some things toss me out of a story really hard sometimes.

Also I know how hard it is to write in ones not preferred writing language, so no worries there. I only point out weird translation things that I notice to help. Especially when they feel like AI fails.

[LaLia]

Chapter 3 - Preparation begins

Aurelius had just sat back down at his desk, made of dark oak, when there was a knock on the heavy door. A dull, determined sound—not timid, not uncertain. Only two men in the entire Circle dared to knock on the door of the Rex Circuli in such a way.

"Come in," Aurelius said in a calm, deep voice, without lifting his eyes from the documents spread out before him.

The door opened, and into the dimly lit study stepped Magister Roland and Magister Berthold. Both men were almost as powerful as Aurelius himself, and in the secret structure of the Circle of Ylmarach, they stood directly beneath him. Roland, a gaunt man with snow-white hair and a face that seemed carved from ancient parchment, was the older of the two. His eyes were bright, almost transparent, and they always seemed to see something that remained hidden from others. Berthold, on the other hand, was broad-shouldered, with short, dark hair and a beard that gave him the appearance of a medieval general.

"Aurelius," Roland began in his usual calm, yet firm voice, "The septons are assembled."

"The three chosen ones are already being prepared," Berthold added, nodding toward the monitors.

Aurelius slowly rose, his gaze wandering back to the screens. There, deep beneath the castle in the old vaults, were the three young Swedish women who had already been orally raped three times and were now receiving their fourth visit from a man who, like his predecessors, plunged his cock into each woman's open mouth.

Fear was written all over their faces. But they weren't here because of personal transgressions, they were chosen ones. Sacrifice to what lurked beneath the mountain, what slept in the darkness and could only be appeased by the flesh of the living.

"What are the signs?" Aurelius asked quietly, his eyes never leaving the monitors.

"The moon is under the sign of the Grey Wolf. The stars have formed a bridge. The Old Path will be open at the new moon," Roland replied. "It will be a night like no other in six years."

Aurelius nodded. "Then it shall be done."

The number of members in the Circle had always fluctuated over the centuries—wars, disease, betrayal, and misfortune had repeatedly thinned its ranks. But one thing remained untouchable since its founding by Siegfried von Altenfurt: the structure of the High Council. Thirteen people formed the Circle's highest body: the Rex Circuli, two Magisters, and ten Septons. Around them, there were currently about fifty other members who proudly called themselves the "Sons of Ylmarach." Men from all walks of life, many with influential positions, some obscure, but all part of the same network.

But even outside this community, there were supporters—sympathizers who helped the Circle out of conviction, fear, or pure self-interest. In Falkenrade, no one dared to openly oppose the Circle anymore. The police had long since been infiltrated, and the mayor was a silent ally who nodded and remained silent on command. Even the town's old church, a seemingly fortified bulwark against the Dark, was permeated by men of the Circle. Only a few initiates knew the place's true history, those who did didn't talk about it.

Aurelius took a deep breath, absorbing the room's heavy scent of wax, old wood, and iron. This was his world.

"Bring the Codex," he commanded.

Berthold left the room without a word and returned a moment later with a leather-bound book, its pages made of yellowed parchment. The Codex of Ylmarach, the oldest surviving document of the Circle. It contained everything known about rituals, signs, sacrifices, and laws. For almost nine centuries, it had been passed down, expanded, and commented on—but never changed.

Aurelius opened the book at the marked place where the incantation of the "Three Souls for the Gatekeepers" was described. It was an ancient ritual designed to secure the favor of the Guardians and bring even greater power to the Circle.

He placed his hand on his side and spoke the ancient words:

"Ianitor Ylmarachensis. Servi tui fideles sumus, te ad noctem sanctam vocamus."

Roland and Berthold repeated the words in unison. At that moment, the candlelight flickered, and a faint, cold breeze blew through the room.

Aurelius closed the book.

"Go," he said firmly. "Prepare everything. I'll be down shortly."

The two magisters bowed and left the office. Aurelius remained, alone with the images on the monitors and the knowledge that in a few days the circle's fate would change again.

Something was waiting in the darkness. And it was hungry.

Several hours had already passed since Emma, Stina, and Linnea had fallen into the strangers' power. Each of them had been bound and restrained in a different way. Emma was bent forward on her knees, Linnea was on an X-shaped frame, and Stina hung helplessly from a chain from the ceiling.

Each of them felt the plug in their anus, constantly stimulating them and reminding them of their humiliation. The ring gag in their mouths prevented them from speaking or even screaming. They could only make silent sounds, helplessly enduring their shared fate. One after the other, they had been fucked in the mouth by five men. The cum ran down the pretty young faces and dripped from there to the floor, mingling with the women's tears.

Emma heard the door to her room open and sighed, fearing that the next man would fuck her mouth. Then she realized that it was three men who were freeing her from her bonds. But they weren't rescuers. They were dressed in black cloaks and had hidden their faces behind masks, like the men who had used them before.

Stina and Linnea were also freed from their positions and led, each by three men, out of the rooms where they had spent the last few hours.

For a moment, the three women found themselves alone in a large, tiled room. They were all naked and covered with whip marks. They hardly dared to move, afraid of the unknown men who had brought them there. Emma, Stina, and Linnea looked at each other and could see the fear in each other's eyes. They tried to speak, but the gags in their mouths made it impossible. They could only make silent sounds and stare at each other helplessly. Suddenly, footsteps were heard, and the door opened. Five masked men entered.

Deep beneath the ancient walls of Falkenrade Castle, where no sound from the upper world penetrated the thick stone walls, Emma, Stina, and Linnea sat in a cold, dimly lit chamber. The floor was made of rough, damp stone, and the air was filled with the sharp, metallic smell of blood, mixed with the musty breath of centuries.

They trembled—from fear, from cold, from the unknown.

The door opened without a word. Four men in long, dark robes entered. Their faces, too, were hidden behind masks. Their movements were precise, almost ritualistic. Slowly, they began washing the three young women. Cold water was poured over their bodies from clay jugs, and they rubbed each one with coarse cloths, as if the water were removing not only dirt but also everything earthly and worldly from them. The room was filled with the dripping of water, the rattling breath of the women, and the silence of the masked men.

Emma sobbed quietly, Stina's tears streamed down her face, while Linnea stared blankly at the ceiling. They didn't know what awaited them—but fear hung like a veil over everything. The men's hands touched them everywhere. They roughly grabbed their breasts, massaged their buttocks, and slid into their most intimate areas. And yet none of them dared to move or actively resist the touches.

After each of them had been thoroughly cleaned, they were dried. The masked men's hands were cold and rough, but surprisingly gentle. Then, without a word, they removed the gags that had sealed the young women's mouths until that moment. Hoarse, strangled sounds escaped their throats, but no one dared to speak out loud.

One of the men stepped forward and placed three dresses on an old stone table. Innocently white, made of thin, translucent fabric that concealed nothing. They seemed like the garments of an ancient time, simple, without decoration, and yet it was clear to everyone that this was more than mere clothing. It was a covering for a ritual, a sign of their role.

"Put them on," said a voice, rough and muffled behind one of the masks.

Emma hesitated, about to speak, but a warning look from Stina silenced her. Trembling, they reached for the clothes, letting the thin fabric slide over their bare skin. The fabric clung to their damp bodies, outlining every contour. There was no shame left—only a dull, paralyzing veil of fear.

The men nodded to each other. Without further words, they opened the old, iron-clad door that led out into a narrow, torch-lit hallway. A damp, musty draft met them.

"Go," the voice said again, and one of the men gestured outside.

Emma, Stina, and Linnea stepped onto the cold stone floor of the corridor, feeling the countless gazes of the masked men on their backs. The corridor was narrow, ancient, with strange symbols on the walls that seemed to dance in the flickering light of the torches.

The men lined up behind them and began to move without a word. A dull, steady sound of footsteps echoed off the walls. Ahead of the three women lay the path to a place from which no one had ever returned.

A faint whisper seemed to come from the darkness. Old words, strange sounds, barely audible, as if the mountain itself were breathing.

The three women were urged forward with silent gestures. The corridor narrowed, the torchlight casting ghostly shadows on the walls ravaged by moss and age. The path led past old dungeons—empty cells still oozing the odor of centuries-old decay, and a torture chamber whose rusty tools, in the dim light, seemed like dark reminders of past horrors. Iron hooks, a taut wheel, a rack whose wooden frame splintered—everything lay there as if it had been used yesterday.

The footsteps echoed, and with each step, the fear grew within them like an icy weight settling around their chests. What kind of devilish game had they stumbled into? What did these men want from them? Where was the way out of this nightmare? But no one spoke. Not a word.

Then they reached a narrow, winding stone staircase leading upward—a contrast to the path they had expected. Wasn't this a dungeon? Yet the ritual had a place of its own. A place created for this calamity.

The steps were worn smoothly by the tread of countless feet that had walked here over the centuries. The whispering and murmuring seemed to grow louder as the three young women continued climbing. It was as if the walls themselves were whispering, as if the stones were telling ancient secrets that should have been forgotten long ago.

At the top, the corridor led into a vast hall. Candles. Candles everywhere. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of flickering flames bathed the room in an unnatural light. The smell of wax and smoke was omnipresent, mixed with a coolness emanating from the stones.

Men stood along the walls and along the pillars. Masked, like those who had led them here. Over 50 pairs of eyes stared at them, following their every move. No one spoke aloud, but a constant murmuring and whispering hung in the air, as if the room itself were alive.

In front of them rose a stone elevation, a platform to which four wide steps led. On it stood 13 seats. In the center, an old bronze throne, heavy and intricately crafted, covered with strange symbols whose meaning no one knew anymore—except those who had guarded the hidden knowledge for centuries. To the right and left of it, an ornate chair, less sublime, yet still designed with dignity. And next to each of them, five simple, yet still dignified chairs. These seats were still empty.

The women held their breath. Their wet hair clung to their skin and necks; dark strands silhouetted against the thin, translucent fabric of their white robes. Every contour of their shapely bodies was visible to the countless gazes that rested on them. They felt those gazes resting on their skin like cold fingers, probing, examining.

Emma closed her eyes briefly, Stina swallowed hard, and Linnea bit her lip. None of them dared to speak. Only murmurs filled the room—words in an ancient language that had long since lost its meaning, but never its power.

A man in a mask with horns stepped up to the podium and raised his arms.

"Bring her before the Great Council."

The voice was like an echo, a cold knife cutting through the air. The masked men grabbed the three women by the arms, not roughly, but firmly, and led them up the steps until they stood before the empty throne and the still-empty seats.

A dark, deep, slow toll of the bell sounded from nowhere. Three times.
Then everything fell silent.

A cold shiver ran down Emma's spine as the dull, lingering toll of the hidden bell faded away. The entire room seemed to remain in an eerie stillness, as if even the breath of the men present had stopped.

Then, almost as if at an invisible signal, a massive door opened on the opposite side of the hall. It was made of dark, centuries-old wood, reinforced with iron bands, and inscribed with ancient runes that glowed ominously in the flickering candlelight.

Thirteen figures entered.

First, Aurelius.

He wore a long, black robe of heavy fabric, over which was a cloak woven with a dense pattern of golden threads. His mask was an intricately crafted grimace of dark bronze, meant to represent the face of an ancient god—with empty eyes and a narrow, cruel mouth. In his hands, he held an ebony staff crowned with a bronze symbol: an eye surrounded by flames.

Behind him followed Magister Roland and Magister Berthold, also in dark robes, their masks differently designed—one bore the face of a wolf, the other that of a skull, covered with silver engravings. In their hands they held small scepters, symbols of their power.

Then came the ten septons, clad in simple black robes, their masks made of iron, but each adorned with a symbol of Ylmarach: an eye, a dagger, a snake, a key... symbols familiar to the initiated for centuries.

One by one, they took their places on the dais. Aurelius slowly sat down on the bronze throne, leaned back, and let his gaze sweep around the hall. Behind the mask, Emma, Stina, and Linnea could not see his eyes, yet they felt his gaze resting on their bodies, sensed the power emanating from him.

The magisters sat at his sides, while the septons silently took the outer seats.

Silence reigned again.

Then Aurelius rose and struck the stone floor three times with his ebony staff.

"The circle is complete."

His voice was deep and solemn, each note echoing in the walls.

"The ancient rules, handed down for many hundreds of years, shall be fulfilled. The gatekeepers of Ylmarach demand their sacrifices. Three strange women on the night after Easter."

A murmur of approval arose, carried by the more than 50 masked men gathered around the hall.

Aurelius nodded slowly to the Magisters. Berthold rose, took a few steps forward, and spoke in a solemn voice:

"Emma Jönsson, Stina Nyström, Linnea Karlsson—you came from the north, unsuspecting, but fate has chosen you. Your names will be forgotten, but your bodies will nourish Ylmarach."

The three women took a step back, but the masked men behind them grabbed their upper arms and held them tight. Cold panic flickered in their eyes, even though Linnea and Stina didn't understand the words Aurelius was speaking in German.

Emma whispered, "Please... why...?"
But no one answered.

Stina began to cry, while Linnea tried with her last strength to pull away, but it was in vain.

Aurelius raised his hand.

"Prepare them."

Two men stepped forward and began wrapping wide, dark red silk ribbons inscribed with symbols around the young women's wrists. The skin beneath the fabric shimmered in the candlelight, the thin dresses revealing every movement, every heartbeat.

The ground vibrated slightly, barely noticeable, but it was there, a faint pulse, as if the mountain itself were reacting to what was coming.

Aurelius slowly turned to the assembled brothers.
"Tomorrow night, brothers, Ylmarach shall once again increase our strength."

A unanimous, muffled murmur went through the hall.

"So be it."

"So be it."
The words echoed like a dark prayer.

Slowly, almost solemnly, the procession began to move. The three women were led to the dais and then to the right, to a narrow door framed by ancient wards. The hall seemed to grow cooler and heavier with every step they took. The air was filled with ancient smoke, strange herbal scents, and the heavy odor of wax.

The door opened creaking, as if it had been pushed open for a single purpose for centuries.

A circular chamber, deep underground, its walls and floor made of black, polished stone that seemed to shimmer strangely in the light of the countless candles. It was as if the stone itself were breathing, as if it were responding to an ancient longing that had now, after centuries, been reawakened.

In the center of the chamber, a large circle of silver inscriptions was set into the floor. Symbols, strange characters, and ancient runes formed a flawless circle around a single stone slab engraved with a symbol: the burning eye of Ylmarach.

Aurelius was the first to step through the door, followed by Roland and Bertholdt, then the ten septons, who silently took up positions along the walls. The remaining masked men from the hall stayed behind for a while.

The three women were led to the center of the chamber. Above them, attached to iron rings in the ceiling, hung heavy bronze chains.

"Bind them."

Aurelius's command sounded like a death sentence. Wordlessly, the men bound their hands to the chains with the blood-red silk ribbons and fastened the iron shackles. The three Swedish women trembled, tears streaming down their cheeks as the flickering candlelight played across their translucent robes.

Aurelius approached Emma with deliberate steps. The sound of his heavy boots on the cold stone floor echoed in the silence of the room. In his right hand, he held a dagger, the blade of which was made of old, dull silver. The hilt was decorated with black stones and engraved symbols, some of which still seemed to glow slightly reddish, as if they led a dark life of their own.

Emma trembled all over, her hands still bound to the chains with the blood-red silk ribbons. For a moment, her gaze met Aurelius's behind the bronze mask—and in that instant, she knew that behind that cold face lurked more than a human being.

Without a word, Aurelius raised the dagger, gently placed the blade on the young woman's delicate shoulder and slowly ran it across the thin fabric of the white dress. It was little more than a wisp of translucent silk, and with a single, light cut, the fabric slid aside. He made a second, third, then a fourth cut, slowly letting the dress slide from her shoulder. The fabric fell to the floor, exposing Emma's naked body.

A low murmur ran through the circle, the septons silently held their places, but the atmosphere changed noticeably. It wasn't a sneer, no malicious grin behind their masks—it was a dark, reverent listening, as if an invisible veil between the worlds had thinned in that moment.

Emma stood there, her arms clenched at her sides, bright red with shame, her bare skin glistening in the flickering candlelight. Her knees trembled, and yet something in the air, an intangible pressure, compelled her not to turn away. The room was filled with an oppressive silence, only the crackling of candles and the occasional rustling of fabric could be heard.

Aurelius approached Stina, whose face was filled with fear. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she silently turned her face away, but she, too, dared not take a step, not make a plea. Using the same ancient dagger, he slowly slid along the thin seam of her robe. The fabric tore easily and slid to the floor, exposing her body white as marble, yet flushed with shame. Her breath was ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Another murmur ran through the ranks of the masked figures. Not laughter, not mockery—it was a murmur of ancient ritual, like an echo from a time when life and death were controlled by alien powers.

Then Aurelius approached Linnea, who had endured the two previous scenes with gritted teeth. But as he raised the dagger, a spark appeared in her blue eyes. Despite the fear, despite the shackles and the oppressive atmosphere, there was suddenly anger.

"You damned bastards, let us go!" she hissed in a trembling voice, her words cutting through the room like a knife.

A moment of silence, then a laugh—deep, throaty, and full of dark amusement behind Aurelius's mask.

"Brave, little thing..." he said, his voice rough and smoky, like old parchment dust in an abandoned chamber.

Without hesitation, he ran the dagger down the thin dress, cutting it open at the shoulder, then at the side. The fabric fell off, and Linnea stood there just as naked and defenseless as her friends. But her gaze was defiant, full of disgust and burning hatred.

Aurelius leaned toward her, speaking softly so only she could hear:

"I'll take care of you personally. It'll be my cock that fucks you. Will you still be so cheeky then!?"

Linnea flinched. For once, Aurelius hadn't spoken in German, so even Linnea understood what he had in mind for her.

[LaLia]

Chapter 4 - Night one

Emma, Stina, and Linnea stood side by side in the middle of the room. All three of them were naked, their bodies illuminated by spotlights that shone on them from all sides. They felt the gazes of the men in the room on them, staring at them hungrily and greedily. Emma stood on the left, squirming slightly under the attention she attracted. She was slim and lithe, her skin glistening in the light. Stina stood in the middle, visibly trembling. To her right stood Linnea, her body toned and athletic.

Aurelius sat on a chair at the edge of the room, directly facing the three Swedish women. He watched the three women with a self-satisfied smile on his lips. He enjoyed the way they twisted and turned in their bonds, trying to hide their restlessness. He knew they had no idea what lay ahead. The three women weren't the first to await their fate here.

He stood up and approached, his footsteps echoing in the room. He stopped in front of the women and let his gaze wander over their naked bodies. He could sense their fear and insecurity, but also their pride and defiance. But he knew it wouldn't last long. He smiled wickedly and said, "Soon your pride and dignity will be but a distant memory. You will beg me for mercy, but I will not give it to you. I will enjoy watching you writhe and scream, begging for mercy. But our cocks will be only a prelude before you are thrown to the gatekeepers."

Aurelius slowly stepped behind Linnea. He could see her muscles tense as she sensed his presence. But she held her head high and looked him straight in the eyes. Behind Emma and Stina stood Aurelius's two masters, Roland and Berthold. Both had removed their robes and now stood naked behind the women. Emma glanced uncertainly over her shoulder as Roland took his erection in his hand and rubbed it against her bottom.

"Please don't," Stina begged as Berthold's strong hands grabbed her hips and pulled her toward him. She could feel his hard cock straining against her. squeezed her bottom, and she writhed in her bonds.

Aurelius watched as his Magisters prepared the women, and he could see their bodies tensing. He knew they were far from ready to submit to him. But that wasn't the plan either. No, he wanted them to fight, to resist, before he broke them.

Without warning, he grabbed Linnea's hips and shoved his cock deep into her pussy. Her scream was deafening as she felt the massive size of the cock filling her completely. He grinned at the sight of her writhing and trying to resist his thrusts.

Suddenly, Emma and Stina cried out as his Magisters, Roland and Berthold, also entered them without warning. He watched them thrash in their bonds, begging for mercy, but it was useless.

Aurelius thrust harder and harder into Linnea, and he could feel her tightening as she struggled to escape him. He didn't stop, however, until he finally came, spurting his cum deep inside her. He pulled his cock out of her and watched as Roland and Bertholdt continued their work. He knew the night would be long, but it was only the night of preparation.

When Roland and Bertholdt had finished pumping, the septons approached the three women one by one. Aurelius watched as they took turns ejaculating inside each of them as they grew weaker and weaker. He could see Linnea's body becoming increasingly limp as she was fucked again and again. Her pride had long since been broken, and she hung limply in the chains. Her screams were now weak and whimpering as she was passed from one man to the next. Emma and Stina were no better off. They too hung exhausted in their bonds; their bodies battered by the men's thrusts. One could see their eyes glaze over and their bodies finally give up.

Finally, all the septons were satisfied and released the women, who hung in their bonds, their bodies covered in sweat, semen running down their inner thighs.

Aurelius, the two Magisters, and the septons withdrew, leaving the women alone. The heavy door slammed shut with a dull thud, and the echoing sound vibrated in the humid air of the vault for a long time. For a long time, there was silence. Only the harsh, panting breath and the soft whimpering broke the stillness. Drops fell from the vaulted ceiling, the flickering candlelight cast twitching shadows on the walls.

"I... want to die," Stina finally whispered, her voice rough and brittle. When she opened her eyes, they held the faint glimmer of a broken will. Emma stood beside her, trembling, her body marked by the same cruelties. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she silently lowered her gaze, unable to speak.

Linnea took a labored breath, her throat aching with every movement. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "What... do they want with us?"

The words trailed off into the darkness, unanswered. This mysterious coven, the men in dark robes, the symbols on the walls, and the sinister chant they had heard—everything seemed from another age. Words of gatekeepers, of trials and sacrifices. None of them understood what was meant. Until now.

All three felt their bodies aching. They knew there was no way out. Whatever the Circle had planned, whatever lay beyond the gates—they were destined to know.

Minutes of silence passed in that dark room. Thirty minutes. Then an hour. The only accompaniment was their shallow breathing, the faint dripping somewhere in the distance, and the pounding of their own blood in their ears.

Then—without warning—a thick, whitish mist began to pour into the room. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, until it swallowed the walls, covered the floor, and finally enveloped the three naked, battered bodies. The candles flickered one last time before their light went out, and a numbing, sweet-and-tart aroma settled over the scene.

"What... what's happening here?" Emma gasped, her voice barely more than a breath. She felt her body reacting to something she couldn't see. A strange, vibrating tingling sensation moved slowly from the soles of her feet up her calves.

"Oh damn..." Linnea exclaimed as she, too, felt an invisible wave of warmth and excitement flooding her abdomen. Her skin tingled, her hair stood on end, and a sweet ache spread through her stomach.

Stina moaned softly, a sound somewhere between shame, despair, and unstoppable lust. "Hmmm..." Her fingers twitched, but she was still bound by the heavy iron chain. Still, she felt her thighs growing wet, her own juices mixing with the remains of the men inside her. A hot, sticky feeling that should have shamed her—and yet it drove her desire to unimagined heights.

"I... can't..." Emma whispered, arching her back as the tingling between her legs exploded, like invisible tongues licking her core. Linnea gasped, biting her lip as she felt her body tremble against her will.

All three felt the same.

A lust that was otherworldly. Hot, uncontrollable, controlled by someone else. A frenzied desire, stronger than any shame, stronger than any bondage, stronger than fear.

Vague shadows loomed in the fog. Movements none of them could identify. Were they hands? Tongues? Or something else lurking in this room? They didn't know.

But they wanted more.

The magic of the Circle began to take hold of their bodies—and they sensed this was just the beginning.

[Shocker]

Another excellent chapter, I agree with Aurelio‘s assessment that rape is an excellent tool to crush dignity into nothingness.