Swedish Bedding Ceremony

"Truce," Sybille said and held both my hands.

I didn't know what was happening. Her facial features had softened from the sweat. She seemed ten years younger. Her pores had opened up to give her skin a glow and beauty that surprised. As crude as Matteo had been, her plain appearance at the airport was hiding a knockout of a woman. I wanted us to be like sisters and bond. I said, "Yes!"

She pulled me up and off the bench. She dragged me through the door. We both stepped outside at the same time. I realized what she had meant with truce. If we stepped out at the same time, nobody lost. She pulled me up the stairs and out into the backyard. The sub-zero freezing temperature felt like a welcome relief to my burning skin. She dragged me into the snow. My bare feet pressing footprints into the pristine snow, not feeling any cold. My boiling skin only felt soothed by the cold. The heat had been so extreme. The fog was wafting off my skin. My heart was pounding. The dark, majestic forest energy hovering over the backyard sunk into me. A clear sky with stars sparkled above us.

She formed a snowball with snow off the ground. She rubbed it into my neck. The first touch was sharply cold, but then the feeling of excess heat seeping out of my body felt like such a wonderful release. She bathed my arms and legs in the snow to show me how the Swedes cooled down after a hot sauna. I heard a wolf singing in the distance a song for the moon. I had arrived in another culture and another world.

"Sweat to me that you'll hate Elias with all your heart!" she pleaded with me, her blue eyes looking deeply into my eyes. Elias was Sjorgen's best friend from growing up. "He's a toxic narcissist," she added. I liked the sister bond she was exuberating, but I felt unease about already taking sides in the family dynamics. I had hoped to be the Switzerland and to be loved universally.

I met Elias at breakfast the next morning. There were more of these terrible Swedish fish. I had learned to reject them as politely as I could, but they were terribly disgusting. There was a whole category of foods that had been fermented in the backyard, buried in a hole. A land that's mostly night in winter had to probably get good at preserving food. However, any person not used to having to eat it to survive harsh winters simply couldn't tolerate that food.

Elisa seemed like a nice guy at first. His hair was slicked back in a hommage to Elvis Presley. He wore a nice shirt made from an expensive Italian fabric and a midnight blue shade that glimmered in the morning sun. His leather loafers were expensive, possibly made bespoke. Yet all that refinement couldn't cover up how he kept looking at me with hungry eyes. It was clear that he wanted to fuck me. He slapped me on my black Alo yoga pants butt. Even when I protested, he knew that he'd get away with it. Nobody would uninvite him. The way how his smile rose up on his lips said how much of a rise he got out of staring at me. Then when he told the table how much of a lucky guy my fiance was, he fuzzed and rubbed my hair like I was a little boy. I fought him back and told him to stop. He continued a bit, then smiled, and implied that he'd keep doing it. Nobody put him in his place.

I felt like I had to constantly fend him off. And if I'd for a moment get tired, he'd take the relent to start kissing me. He definitely would have fucked me in a bathroom if he had gotten the chance. And everyone seemed to know it. When I carried dishes into the kitchen, he caught me in the hallway and pulled me in for a hug. I pushed him off and slapped his shoulder. He smirked and said how he loved my fire. I could feel how the family relations were tight and loaded.

After breakfast, Sybille wanted to show me the rabbit cages in the yard. Curiously, nobody had an interest in joining us. We walked out into the snow. The sun was still up. The snow glimmered with sparkles. There was a well-worn footpath in the snow leading past wooden raised vegetable beds to the edge of the yard. I expected to see a little hut for the rabbits but couldn't we were getting to the edge of the treeline. I thought that perhaps the rabbit hut was in the woods. Then three lads jumped out from behind the nearest trees. They made their most intense Viking scream and ran towards me while Sybille held both of my hands so that I could run.

The tallest was a long-haired lad - very limp straight hair. He seemed barely eighteen. He seemed to thin-boned that I thought he couldn't carry me, but he threw my body over his shoulder. The five of us disappeared into the forest. I bounced on his shoulder. There was a small footpath that let down the hillside in a crisscross way. It led through a tunnel under the road. I heard pots banging behind us and a dog barking like it was very excited. Sybille cheered on the lads, "Quickly!"

We arrived at the foot of the fjord. Ice had grown between the rocks. Only the deeper current had kept ice from forming. A small rowboat was tethered to a pole. I was placed inside. The lads pushed off. The tallest was rowing. Arnold was his name. He was a nephew of Sjorgen. As the story had it, he was still a virgin. Even though he was tall and a rowing champion, none of the girls had taken an interest in him. He even played the guitar for the sixth year. It seemed like a family curse to have good assets and lack the ability to close the deal.

His attitude was so innocent. When he handled my body, he had been so careful to avoid contact with my boobs. He handled me with such delicacy that he seemed worried about breaking me like I was some precious doll. He blushed near me and seemed to be scared to make eye contact. I felt all-powerful near him because he was so terrified and unsure about my presence.

We quickly arrived at the island the father had pointed out to me the night before. It was a tiny thing, thickly covered with trees. We entered a cabin, a single, sparse room. There was a couch and a TV. The lads quickly started playing a shooting game on the X-Box. I understood that we were to be holed up here for a while. It felt like a beautiful childhood getaway to grow up here and escape to the hut to play as a kid. I marveled at the childhood Sjorgen might have had growing up here.

At noon, I heard the father's voice call across the water. The negotiation began. The negotiation was quick. I was sold for five boxes of hazelnut chocolate, but there was a side deal that really cinched the deal. Each of the lads got a bottle of beer. I had always thought that I'd be at least worse a camel if I were to be sold as a bride. Upon the return, I was sitting on the shoulders of Matteo and the father. They paraded me around. And the wedding celebration could start.

More family and guests arrived the whole day. I was introduced to different people. A room was set up for me to hold audience with new guests as they arrived. The room was like my social office. I had a settee of honor to sit on. I had tea and biscuits to offer guests. I would sojourn with a guest for twenty minutes and then invite the next guest in to meet.

One guy stood out to me in particular. He had something unusual about him. The way how he held his body implied that he had a kind of familiarity with me. No, it wasn't like he knew me from somewhere. It was more like he knew something about me or something that would happen to me. He didn't make the usual small talk. It was like he meant to tell me about himself something that was important for me to know. It was like he couldn't tell me why but it was important for me to know. He sat on the same stool with his wife, but his wife leaned away like she didn't want to have any part in what he was telling me.

Ricardo was from Italy. He had moved to Sweden because of his wife. He told me that he was a painter. He insisted on me understanding that this made him an artist, which gave him not only great liberties but also an obligation to serve art like art was his god. His worship was to bring into this world what needed to come out. He was profuse like he was confessing to something and apologizing for something.

And then he showed me his folder of drawings. He had come prepared to show them to me. At first, I saw a naked figure and simply expected him to be an artist and to study the human shape. But then I noticed her engorged sex and her juices dripping down the inside of her thigh. The drawing was utterly sexual. The next drawing was a rough pencil sketch that showed a woman chest on the ground and ass high, offering both of her holes. The way how her torso was elongated was supernatural and emphasized her submissive state and sexual offering. Each subsequent painting was more depraved and the women more tormented by horniness to surrender themselves to be taken. His face was glowing red. He was fully aware of the inappropriate nature of the drawings.

"Now, you know," he said and got up to leave. His wife held his hand and followed limply without saying a word.

When I went to our room to change into an evening dress for dinner, my husband intercepted me. He immediately fondled me like he had been missing me and was horny. I tried to get ready for dinner and fended him off a bit, but I also rather liked the break from all the family schmoozing. The idea of being a little late for dinner to get some mild chiding in exchange for a little bit of liberty sounded inviting to me. And then in between kisses lavishing over my neck, he looked at me.

"There is one more wedding tradition that I have to tell you about. Tomorrow after we are officially married, there will be a bedding ceremony. It's tradition. Everyone does it," he explained. He clearly knew that I didn't know what it implied. So he added, "Six of my friends will witness that the marriage is consummated. It's from the old times when it was important to prove that a marriage pact has been sealed. Don't worry about it!"

I would have simply nodded if he hadn't been so defensive about it. Witnessing consummation sounded proforma. However, I couldn't help the implied meaning. "So your buddies are going to watch us having sex?" I asked him.

"Yeah, that's what that means," he explained. "I handpicked them."

I suddenly understood the different men I had met and what they had already known about me.

"What if I refuse?" I asked.

"Then the marriage is not legal," he replied with a shoulder shrug.

We went for dinner. By now, there were about seventy people. Simply to sit next to me or talk to me had become a great honor. The house had been large, but every space had been converted to host more guests. I could feel how eager the guests were to be here and to be part of it. I was served wine in a human skull to give another nod to tradition. I had to cut the first chicken with a dagger and pull the first chicken flesh off the dagger with my teeth. The whole room and adjoining room roared when I did so. I felt the whole thing had become larger than me. I was playing a role like a queen played for her court. If I didn't participate in the rites they put in front of me, everyone went disappointed.

I eyed up the guys. I was sure that Matteo as the brother was part of the select guys. Elias was my fiance's best friend. Ricardo had given away that he was selected. They had given a seat to Arnold as well. I was probably the first woman he would see naked. They wanted him to grow up as a man. I understood their reasoning. I wasn't sure about the other two men. I kept my eyes open.

Fast forward, the wedding the next morning was beautiful and went by in a blur. It was at midnight on Sunday that my husband rose up and took me by the hand. Six other men stood up. We all walked silently up to our room. Matteo took the chair. Arnold sat on the floor. They surrounded the bed in silence. Sjorgen took my dress off me. I felt suffocated by the attention. I felt tired from the day, too tired to protest. I stood there in my underwear, beautiful, light pink lace underwear that exposed plenty of my butt cheeks and hugged my breasts with underwire and exposed most of the top of the breasts. I'm pretty tall and lean with a few definitions of muscle.

Sjorgen took off my bra. Ricardo swallowed audibly when he saw my breasts. He was shocked and breathless by the display of my breasts. My nipples hung low on a beautiful tear-shape. I could smell the scent of a boner. I took a glance around. I was surrounded by hard boners. They all ravished me like wolves but held themselves back to placidly watch me with red rouge running over their cheeks, the eyes slightly watery. Sjorgen was so gentle, he felt like a king for having the prize of taking me when everyone desired me so intensely in that moment.

He pulled down my panties. My sex, the inner lips peaking past the outer lips was exposed. I was exposed. My sexual nature was exposed to them. They had seen me naked now. They had seen my deepest secret (I thought there were no deeper at that point) that they had wished to see the last two days. It seemed like a big revealing had happened.

Sjorgen lifted me up into the air and placed me on my back on the bed. I thought he'd take me. His dick was hard and as large as I had ever seen it - a monstrous, beast-like thing with veins and hard edges. Yet he gently kissed me all over until the gentle, sensual sensation made me melt. He gently licked my nipples until shivers were running all over me and my nipples shriveled up tight into diamond cutters. A moan escaped my lips. I hadn't expected that the men would see me in such a vulnerable aroused state. I hadn't expected that they'd see me melting in arousal becoming a horny mess, pliable to Sjorgen.

At breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I had been the polite and put-together fiance. I felt the heat filling my cheeks from horniness and hunger. Air crossed my lips softly panting because my body was so aroused. I slowly morphed into a sex kitten, unable to control myself while Sjorgen caressed and stroked me, exactly knowing that now a sharp bite to my neck would turn me on even more. Slowly, dripping out of my pussy like a snow drifting down on a Christmas night were the juices belieing any composure that I might have tried to feint. All six men so how horny and possessed I was.

"Please, take me!" I begged Sjorgen. The moment I had whispered those words, I had realized that his withholding was aimed at making me beg for sex in front of his best men. And I knew that the plan was to show the men not only me having sex but to how sex-starved I could act. It wasn't simply to exhibit my body but to exhibit my horniness and sluttiness.

"Do you want this?" he asked, holding his hard-on in front of my face.

I knew what he wanted me to do. I grabbed his dick and took it into my mouth. I took the penis as deeply as I could. I wanted him to feel proud of me by showing his friends and family how deeply I could take it. I gagged a little. I knew that they liked that. I could feel them drawing close to see my mouth distorted by the big cock and my big eyes looking back up at Sjorgen. Their warmth was so close. They were right on the edge of the bed. I was the performer in front of them, their entertainment.

"Touch yourself!" he ordered me.

My fingertips instinctively went to my clit, the point where I usually press and rub myself swiftly towards orgasms. My well-routined hand knows how to go for it. I could easily propel myself towards orgasm. I wasn't quite thinking about coming too quickly, but he had a plan. He took the back of my head. When his penis was positioned at the back of my throat, he pushed down. His dick head slipped into my throat. I gagged and revolted. He held me there. I knew that I wanted to make him proud in front of his friends. I furiously leaned into rubbing that spot around my clit to make me forget everything with arousal. I simply had to make myself feel more pleasure in my pussy to last through the protest of my belly. When white strands of saliva started shooting out of my nostrils, he let go of me. I heard near-silent ahs around me like the most genuine admiration and the most thunderous applause because they were so sincerely heartfelt. He smeared the spit and snot all over my face with his palm to make me look messed up and depraved in front of his friends.

"Good girl!" he praised me.

Then he took me while I was on my back. He pulled the back of my knees up with the crook of his elbow to penetrate me and penetrate me deeper. I felt an immense release to finally feel his cock filling me. My head fell to the side. I looked directly into the eyes of Arnold, the barely of age virgin teenager, who saw a woman have sex for the first time. His face was so deeply red. He felt so ashamed to witness it. He felt so turmoiled about all the horny feelings inside of himself. I watched his face as my husband railed me with thrust after thrust. I became hypnotized by the sensation in my pussy and kept staring at the lad. We were eye-locking. He was right there with me getting thrusted, feeling into me what I might be feeling to get such a savage pounding.

Sjorgen rolled me over and hoisted me on my hands and knees to do me doggy style and get a better angle at reaching all the way to my cervix. Ricardo was right on the edge of the bed, resting his chin on his elbows. He studied my face, flush with heat and overcome with an abandoned expression, unable to close my mouth as sexual feelings were overcoming me and made me close my eyes and roll them back to only reveal white through barely open slits. Whenever I glimpsed his face, his eyes were studying a different part of me. He seemed to take in the way my boobs hung down, how their contour had shaped by hanging. I could sense that he studied and memorized me to endlessly bend me and mold me for hours and days into whatever depraved drawings he would produce in his studio. I was exposed for all of them to witness.

Then Sjorgen rolled me over so that he was on his back with me on top of him, both of us facing the same direction. He held my legs open. The six guys crowded to between my legs to watch his penis thrust in and out of my pussy. The scent of my sex had filled the room by now. Elias' eyes were locked on my pussy. He was sniffing the air. I could tell that he had a very long dick. I could tell that his horniness for me was only inflamed by smelling my sex. And that every moment he savored me more like this, his hunger to fuck me only grew. He would be very dangerous. He would take any chance to fuck me after this even if it seemed completely unrealistic. He was like a hungry tiger barely contained by a crooked fence.

At this point, I wasn't even chasing an orgasm anymore. I was in a constant rolling high of simply feeling different kinds of pleasures. I was in the zone and didn't plan on coming down. I did notice that Sjorgen's thrusts had gotten harder that he had lost attention to my pleasure by becoming completely lost in his own. Then I felt the pulsing of his cum shooting into me. He held me for a while. As I came a bit down from maximum horniness, I started feeling the embarrassment in having acted out like that in front of his friends and family.

He pulled his penis out with a soft flop of the already deflating member. It was a wet flop. From my juices and the plentiful injection from him. He spread my legs open. He separated my lips. He presented me. He waited. I wasn't sure what for. Then I felt a spurt of his semen running out. Matteo nodded. One by one, each one of them held their face close to my pussy to inspect the creampie. Then they nodded.

While I was still sprawled out on the bed covered in sweat and juices, he found his jacket on the floor. He pulled the wedding license out with a pen. Each one of them signed. With a finger touch to the head, they left, not saying a single word. Sjorgen took me again numerous times.