Page 13 of Her Viking Master

“Be quiet,” Camille hissed. “Don’t give them any more reason to come back and… and…”

She trailed off, but we all knew what she meant. My body ached from the rough claiming, and I wasn’t sure I could endure another round so soon.

“Please,” Amélie whimpered, her voice rising in pitch. “I can’t hold it much longer.Herra!Please, I need to use the toilet!”

“Tais-toi!” Camille snapped. “They’re not going to?—”

But Amélie was beyond reason now. “Herra!” she wailed. “Maître, please, let me go to the toilet! I’m begging you!”

My heart raced as I waited for a response, terrified of what punishment her outburst might bring. But only silence answered her pleas.

Sophie’s calm voice cut through the tension. “I don’t think the Vikings are going to let us go to the toilet,” she said matter-of-factly. “Amélie, you should accept your situation and let go.”

I shuddered at her words, my own bladder painfully full. The thought of wetting myself like a child filled me with shame, but Sophie’s tone left little room for argument. She sounded so certain, so resigned to our fate.

“Non, je ne peux pas!” Amélie wailed, her voice thick with tears. “I can’t! It’s too… too…”

I could hear her struggling against her bonds, the wooden bench creaking with her efforts. My heart ached for her, even as my own discomfort grew. How long could any of us hold out?

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber. My breath caught in my throat as I realized the Sons of Odin were returning. The massive door swung open with a groan, and the scent of saltwater and male sweat filled the air.

“Herra!” Amélie cried out, her voice desperate and pleading. “Please, Master Henrik, I beg you! Let me use the toilet!”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Henrik’s voice rang out, cold and stern. “Be silent, thrall. Make your water on the bench. Do it now. Here, I’ll help you.”

The sharp crack of a whip filled the air, followed by Amélie’s agonized scream. I flinched at the sound, my body tensing in anticipation of my own punishment. Would Sven whip me too? The thought sent a confusing mix of fear and shameful excitement through me.

“You will learn obedience,” Henrik growled, punctuating each word with another lash. Amélie’s cries grew more frantic, a stream of French pleas and apologies pouring from her lips.

As the whipping continued, I became aware of a new sensation. My bladder, already painfully full, spasmed with each crack of the whip. I bit my lip, trying desperately to hold on, but I could feel my control slipping.

At the third lash, I heard a sudden change in Amélie’s cries. There was a moment of shocked silence, and then the unmistakable sound of liquid hitting the wooden floor of the longship. She had lost control, unable to hold back any longer.

The realization was too much for my overtaxed body. With a sob of shame and relief, I felt my own bladder release. Warm urine flowed down my thighs, pooling beneath me on the bench. I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control the flood of relief that washed over me even as tears of humiliation streamed down my face.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

But then I felt a large, warm hand on my bottom, and Sven’s deep voice rumbled above me. “Good girl, Mary,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “You’ve done well.”

I whimpered in confusion and shame as he began to rub my little cheeks in soothing circles. How could he praise me for this? I had just wet myself like a child, unable to control my own body. And yet… his touch felt so comforting, so right.

“This is part of your voyage,lille en,” Sven continued, his hand never ceasing its gentle ministrations. “You must learn the ways of your masters, and this is but one brief tack on that journey.”

I felt his other hand come to rest on my lower back, warm and reassuring. Despite my embarrassment, I found myself relaxing into his touch, grateful for the comfort he offered.

“Warriors returning from a long voyage,” Sven’s voice took on a storytelling quality, rich and mesmerizing, “would reward well the service provided by their new bed thralls. Those women who pleased their masters most skillfully often found themselves elevated to positions of honor within the clan.”

His words brought back the carvings to my mind, their vivid pictures of men’s bravery and women’s subservience.

“You must learn to perform this service now,” Sven said, his voice growing firmer. “To give your bodies over even more fully to our use and our pleasure.”

His hand moved from my bottom to my thigh, and I gasped as I felt his fingers play with my still-sensitive folds. Even in the shame of my accident and feeling the ache from my earlier defloration, I sensed a new warmth building low in my belly.

“Remember that your bodies are no longer your own,” Sven continued, his touch growing more insistent. “Do not forget that all of you belong to us now, to use exactly as we see fit. Whether for our pleasure, or to tend our hearth fires, to craft the things we need.”

I blinked at his words, wondering at their implications. Surely, like this ‘voyage,’ the ‘hearth fires’ my master meant were a metaphor, but for what? Sven must intend for me to understand that I would serve the Sons of Odin in some more practical way, and my mind searched for what exactly that might imply.

Disquieting though myHerra’s words were, I found myself pressing back against Sven’s hand, seeking more of his touch. My breath came in short gasps as his fingers explored me, expertly stoking the fire of my arousal.

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