New series
This is the start of a new series I originally wrote in Dutch. The full story is already finished in that language, and I’ll be translating it chapter by chapter. Feedback is more than welcome.
In Balder’s Shadow takes you into a world shaped by tradition, ritual, and desire. In this alternate present, the old gods never faded—and neither did the roles they demand. Submission isn’t just accepted; it’s expected. Some boys run from it. Others resist. But a few… surrender so completely, it borders on devotion.
This series follows Jelte, a quiet, uncertain boy who never asked to be claimed—yet finds himself drawn to the leathered grip of Dominance in ways he can’t explain. His journey is tender, filthy, confusing, and holy all at once.
If you’re into obedient twinks, commanding men in leather, and the slow, sensual discovery of what it means to submit—you’re in the right place.
Introduction
This story unfolds in an alternate timeline where the old pagan faiths never faded. Instead, they remained the cornerstone of modern society. Christianity, never having spread widely, is confined to the Middle East.
The setting is Friesland, part of the Federation of Odin—a theocratic alliance of Germanic and Nordic countries. Within the Federation, Friesland holds a distinct identity as Wodanist rather than Odinist, though the core values are the same: tradition, hierarchy, and religious order. It is a conservative society, deeply rooted in fixed roles for men and women. Only recently have homosexual boys, the so-called Sons of Balder, been granted legal recognition—a progressive step welcomed by some, reluctantly accepted by others.
The Sons of Balder form a separate class within society. Their relationships mirror the strict hierarchies expected between men and women: one assumes the leading, Dominant role; the other submits. In many regions, Sons of Balder are placed in supervised homes, where they are guided to embrace their place in the social order.
In this world, young men must find their way not only within a religious framework, but also within a system of power and submission. Some resist. Others surrender. But no one remains untouched.
Arrival
The sound of the electric bus hums softly—a constant tone in the background. We’ve left Denmark and Mandø behind. The land here is already flat, dotted with rows of tall wind turbines. The first streaks of sunlight are beginning to show. Trees lining the meadows form dark silhouettes. Low patches of fog make the cows appear to float above the ground. Although the German landscape resembles that of Friesland, there’s a subtle difference; it feels unfamiliar, even eerie. It’s as if I’m traveling between two worlds.
The boy to my left has leaned his head against the seatback, his breath fogging up the window. Absentmindedly, he strokes the strap of his bag with his fingers. I wonder what he’s thinking. On my right, another boy is trying to sleep. He’s slumped forward, his shirt stretched tight across his back, with a glimpse of his stomach and navel visible between shirt and trousers. I stare too long and feel a flutter in my stomach. No one says anything. The silence between us is heavier than I expected.
On Mandø, we were all given a choice—though it didn’t feel like one. Return home, to live under our fathers’ authority until we turned twenty-three. Or go to Groningen, to the home I’m headed to now. *“Make your own choice,”* the Dominant supervisors had said, as if that was real freedom.
But I knew my father. His cold eyes. His words: “You are weak, Jelte.” After the Midsummer Run, going back was no longer an option. And now I’m here.
The bus jolts over a bump, and I knock into the boy beside me. He glances at me, eyes flickering with a strange mix of shame and annoyance. I quickly look away. His hand is still on the strap, knuckles white. Maybe he’s also resisting what they say he’s supposed to be.
We cross the border. Friesland is different from Denmark—busier, with dikes and water that now and then offer a glimpse of the Wadden Sea. The air feels heavier here, more oppressive. I don’t know what awaits me in Groningen. They call it a place of second chances, a place to learn your role.
But how can you learn a role you never asked for?
My gaze drifts back to the boy on my right. He turns and looks at me for a moment. His eyes are a bright, elusive blue, and I feel my cheeks flush. The corners of his mouth twitch in a faint smile, as if he notices my discomfort. Then he turns away again, shoulders loose, posture relaxed. It’s a stark contrast to the knot in my stomach. He seems untouched, while I’m still tangled in the question of who I’m supposed to belong to.
No one here is really looking for contact. I’d like to, but like the others, I’m afraid to show weakness.
We’re on our way to a place that will teach us what we are—whether we want it or not.
------
The bus comes to a jolting stop on a small square. The building in front of us is large and angular, its sleek grey stone façade stark in the early light. Tall, narrow windows line the front, and above the wooden door hangs a sign bearing the Runic symbol of Balder.
The home for Sons of Balder without a Dominant.
Apparently, my new home.
The bus door slides open with a beep, and a young man steps inside. He’s tall and slim, wearing a tight, dark shirt that emphasizes his lean upper body. His leather pants fit like a glove and catch the morning light with a soft sheen. His hair is short and tousled, and his face holds an open, almost friendly expression.
“Good morning, guys,” he says with a faint smile. His voice is low and velvety, and I feel an involuntary tingle deep in my abdomen.
“Welcome to Groningen. Grab your stuff and follow me.”
The boys around me immediately start gathering their bags. I glance at the boy beside me, who is still staring at his backpack as if it might tell him what to do. He sighs eventually and stands up.
I’m the last to remain seated, gripping my bag tightly between my feet.
I watch the Dominant boy guide everyone off the bus. A clearly visible bulge strains against the crotch of his leather pants. No matter what I do, I can’t take my eyes off it.
I freeze when he looks my way. His bright blue eyes rest on me a little too long. “You coming, or should I throw you over my shoulder?” he asks with a wink.
My face burns. “I’m coming,” I mumble, scrambling to my feet and grabbing my bag.
His smile widens.
“Good,” he says, turning around and stepping off the bus.
My gaze lingers on the taut lines of his leather pants as he walks away. My stomach tightens, and I can’t tell whether it’s discomfort or something else entirely.
It’s warmer outside than I expected. The air feels heavy, almost sticky, and the square suddenly seems far too small. The other boys stand in a line, eyes on the ground. I join them, doing my best to keep a straight face.
The young man turns to face us. His posture is relaxed, hands in the pockets of those damned pants, and he looks at us like we’re a bunch of shy schoolboys. “My name is Kasper,” he says. “I’m one of the mentors here. Don’t worry - I’ll take good care of you. But I do expect you to listen.”
His gaze moves over us, lingering on me a fraction of a second too long. My heart pounds. I’m not sure what annoys me more: that he seems nice, or that I’m already drawn to him. It infuriates me.
“This is a place of learning,” he continues. “Here, you’ll discover what it means to be a submissive Son of Balder. You’ll be given structure—and maybe a little discipline.” His eyes flash briefly in my direction, and heat rushes through my body. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
The words strike deeper than I want to admit. Structure. Discipline. What do those even mean? My body responds to his voice, while my mind pulls away. I clutch the straps of my bag a little tighter. I have no intention of simply surrendering to whatever he or this place expects of me.
Kasper smiles again, a glint in his eye as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Come with me,” he says, gesturing toward the building. His movements are fluid and assured, and my eyes are drawn to the ease in his stride.
I follow reluctantly. The suffocating heat outside gives way to a cool, almost icy stillness as we step inside. The hallways are wide and bare, with grey stone walls that echo the sound of our footsteps.
Kasper pauses occasionally to explain things. His voice is soft but firm, and I find myself listening - despite myself. My eyes keep drifting to his back, the subtle tension in his shoulders beneath that tight shirt. Why does he have to look so good? Why does he have to be so…? My thoughts scatter in all directions. And the frustration inside me keeps growing.
------
Our footsteps sound hollow as Kasper leads us through the building. I glance around, searching for something to hold on to, but everything looks the same: sterile, impersonal. It feels like I’ve ended up in a prison.
Kasper suddenly stops in a wide hallway with a few benches along the walls. He turns to us. “Wait here a moment,” he says with a smile. “I’ll be right back. “Before anyone can say anything, he walks off—still as graceful as ever.
I remain standing, my bag pressed against my side. Some of the boys sit down; others linger like me. Whispered voices fill the room, but my attention is fixed on the door Kasper disappeared through.
Two boys are standing there, carrying themselves like they own the place. They’re clearly a few years older than the rest of us.The first, taller of the two, radiates a kind of authority you can feel from across the room. He’s tall and composed, with neatly trimmed blond hair. His shoulders radiate control, his posture almost regal. He stands straight as an arrow, as if nothing could shake him.This has to be a Dominant—his self-assurance and unreadable gaze make that more than clear.
The second boy draws my attention even more. He’s slimmer, with tousled dark blond hair and leather pants so tight they ought to be illegal.He moves like he doesn’t care, but you can tell he knows exactly what effect he has. His posture is cocky—he could probably silence a room with a glance. My eyes linger on his hips, where those pants hug him perfectly. A warm shiver snakes through my stomach, and I quickly look away. Why am I even staring at him? Why does he have to look so... outrageously hot?
Kasper chats with them, smiling like they’re old friends. “Haukon,” he says to the taller one, who gives a brief nod and replies in a calm, low voice. The other—Ivar, Kasper calls him—laughs out loud and taps Kasper playfully on the arm. Now he’s leaning against the wall, all attitude and ease, like he’s ready to take on the world. His gaze drifts across the group, and I swear it lands on me. My breath catches.
“Who are they?” whispers the boy next to me.
“Dominants,” I reply, more bitterly than I meant to. Of course they are. Haukon exudes authority without even trying. And Ivar... Ivar looks like he’s enjoying every second of the attention. My jaw clenches as I glance at him again. Everything about him irritates me —and I still can’t get him out of my head.
Kasper walks back over and claps his hands. “Well, time to see your rooms,” he says cheerfully. His gaze lingers on me a beat too long, and I quickly avert my eyes. “Come on,” he adds, already turning away.
I follow, but my thoughts remain fixed on the two by the door. Haukon and Ivar.Their names repeat in my head like a rhythm. As we walk, I glance back.They’re just disappearing around the corner—and a warm, throbbing tension pulses low in my groin.
What is happening to me?
------
Kasper opens the door to a small, spartan room and gestures for me to enter. “This is your room, Jelte,” he says, his tone friendly—but with an undertone that allows no argument.
I glance around. The room is bare: grey walls, a single bed with a hard mattress, and a wooden chair against the wall. “It’s... austere,” I mutter, placing my bag on the chair.
“It’s functional,” Kasper replies, closing the door behind him. His presence fills the space, and I suddenly notice how small the room feels. He leans casually against the door, arms loosely folded. “You’ll learn what you need to here. No unnecessary distractions.”
I feel his gaze on me—far too intense—and quickly turn away.“ What if I don’t want to learn any of that?” It slips out before I can stop myself.
Kasper laughs softly, but his smile fades just as quickly. He steps closer, and I feel my breath quicken. “Jelte,” he says slowly, almost teasing. “I know you think you don’t belong here. But you’re here now. And if you don’t adapt, it’ll only get harder for you.” His hand glides over my shoulder, his fingers briefly brushing the edge of my neck. My body tenses—not with fear, but with something else. Something I don’t want to feel. My breath hitches at the heat of his touch—so close, so intimate.
He’s standing right behind me now. I feel his breath against my ear.“You don’t want to feel at home here, do you?” he whispers, low and teasing. “But I can tell, Jelte. It’s not that you don’t know how to obey. It’s that you don’t want to admit how good you’d be at it.”
I turn a little too fast and bump straight into him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap—but my voice shakes. His blue eyes meet mine, and I feel my face flush. He looks at me like he knows everything I’m trying to hide.
“Don’t lie, Jelte,” he says, his voice softer now, more intimate. “I can see it. You don’t have to explain.” He’s so close I can feel his warmth, catch the scent of his skin. “I already know you kept your distance during the Midsummer Run.” A devilish grin curves his lips.
“And?” My voice sounds more cracked than I meant.
“That means you haven’t been able to come in a long time. Which means you must be pretty frustrated by now… and horny as hell.”
“So what? That’s my business!” I feel the blood rush to my face.
His hand rests lightly on my shoulder, and my whole body reacts. “But maybe I can help you feel that it’s okay.”
My knees are close to buckling under the tension. I want to say something—something sharp—but the words won’t come.
I don’t know if I want to push him away or pull him closer.
His fingers trail along my jaw, featherlight, and my breath falters. My legs feel like they no longer belong to me.
He leans in slightly, his blue eyes burning into mine. “I saw you staring at my crotch,” he murmurs. “What do you want, Jelte?”
My head is screaming that I should move, that this is wrong. But my body stays rooted, caught in the heat of his gaze and the thick air between us. My heart is pounding. I want to say something—anything—but the words are gone. Why does this feel so good? Why don’t I want anything else anymore?
To my own surprise, I’m already sinking to my knees. My hands are trembling. My breath stutters. “I…” My voice breaks. I meet his eyes one last time before I whisper: “I want to suck your cock.”
A faint smile tugs at his lips, as if he’d known it all along. “Good,” he says softly. His hand slides into my hair, almost tenderly, as I sink lower.
He’s right. The frustration is too much. All those days of abstinence, the tension, the constant self-control... It’s become unbearable.
I want his cock in my mouth. Now.
------
Kasper’s hand guides my head down—firm but controlled. His crotch fills my view, the scent of leather mingling with the heat of his body. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, voice low and confident. “Take a good look. I know how badly you want to.”
The bulge in his tight leather pants draws my eye, just like it did earlier on the bus. But now, I’m allowed. His cock and balls press thick and dominant beneath the smooth, taut surface. My breath catches. My muscles tense—not to pull away, but to get closer.
“You look like you want to memorise every detail,” he says with a chuckle. His thighs tighten subtly as he tilts his hips just a fraction. “You know what to do, my horny little twink.”
The scent of leather is thick, heady. My head spins. My mouth is dry. Too late—an involuntary moan escapes me.
Above me, Kasper smiles. He heard it. Of course he did.
His grip tightens—rough. A warning. I’m not allowed to flinch. His thumb brushes my jaw. A guiding touch. No escape. Then he presses my face into his crotch. The cool leather bites against my cheek—a sharp contrast to the heat beneath. He’s hard. Big. Unyielding.
“Feel that? Feel how hard I am. How much you want this,” he growls.
His voice. The smell. The weight of his presence. It overwhelms me. My lips part. My tongue tingles. My skin shivers as I lean into him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, warm and merciless. “Smell me. Feel me.”
The tension hums between us. His tone turns softer, darker. “Just wait until you taste me.”
Everything else falls away. No shame. No doubt. Only this.
Kasper unbuckles his belt. The zipper opens with a sharp, practiced motion. “Unwrap your welcome gift.”
My fingers tremble as I fumble with the button of his pants. They won’t cooperate. He smirks, lets me struggle. He enjoys it. Then he takes over, his fingers brushing mine—warm, steady, in control. The button pops. His pants drop.
His cock is right there. I reach for it, find it heavy and thick, even more than I expected. I ease it out of the leather, breath catching. His scent engulfs me—salty, earthy, with a hint of musk and something sweet. Precum glistens on the tip.
“All yours,” he says, voice edged with impatience.
He gives me a moment—no more. Then he grabs me tighter and begins to guide himself into my mouth. Slowly, deliberately, he fucks my face. Deep enough for me to feel his weight, his warmth. His cock slides over my tongue, painting my palate with his taste.
A low, approving growl. “Mmm… yes. That’s how it’s done. My little cock-sucker’s doing so well.” His grip tightens. “You don’t need to do anything. Just take what I give you.”
Deeper. Harder. My spit runs down his shaft. My throat contracts. My body trembles with pure arousal.
“Your mouth was made to serve a Dominant, Jelte. Feel how right it is.”
I nod—barely—his cock deep in my mouth. A needy sound escapes me. He drives deeper, fills me completely.
Then, without warning, he pulls out. Suddenly empty. My mouth aches from the loss. My throat clenches at the absence. A sharp tug on my hair yanks my head up. My lips are wet. My eyes shine—red, watering, hungry. “Feel that?” His voice is razor-sharp. “That’s how much you miss my cock.”
And he’s right. I feel it. The loss. The ache. The burn on my lips from where he used to be. I need him back.
Kasper sees it. Loves it. His eyes gleam with triumph.
“I want you to really feel it, Jelte. On your knees. Look at yourself.”
My chest heaves, my breath unsteady. My mind resists, weakly. But my body gave up long ago. “It feels good,” I whisper.
His eyes narrow. It's not enough. His fingers grip my jaw, force my chin up. No room for doubt. “Be explicit. Not just how it feels. Tell me what it is.”
My breath catches. My throat still raw with the memory of him. This is more than sensation. This is truth. “This is good,” I pant, hoarse. “This is how it’s meant to be. This is what I am.”
His grin is pure dominance—possessive, satisfied. His thumb brushes my cheek—firm, hard enough to mark. “Good boy. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He releases me. “Open your mouth.”
Gratefully, I obey.
His thrusts return—harder, deeper. His balls slap against my chin. He uses me. My throat tightens. My body seizes in perfect submission. I am filled with him. My own arousal spikes. My body begs for release. I reach down.
Kasper notices. His boot taps lightly against my balls. “No, Jelte. Eyes on me. The Dominant.” He pants above me, fingers tangled cruelly in my hair. The final thrusts come—deep, relentless. His cock pulses on my tongue.
Then—Release. Warm. Salty. Bitter. Intense. His orgasm spills into my mouth. I swallow. All of it. As if I could drink his power. And just as I do, my own climax takes me. My cock pulses, spilling hot and fast. My entire body shakes with it.
Kasper withdraws. I stay on my knees, dazed. Weak. He lifts me—effortlessly—his hands under my arms. Our faces level. He smiles. Playful. Triumphant. Satisfied. One finger traces my cheek, then wipes a streak of his cum from my skin. He presses it to my lips. Smears it there. A brand.
“My horny little cock-sucker. That’s what you are, Jelte. And you know it.”
My skin burns. My heart pounds, slow and heavy in my chest. And in my head? A storm.
What have I done?
