Page 48 of Her Viking Master

He alternated between Camille and me, then, slapping our breasts and twisting our nipples until they were red and swollen. The pain blurred with a shameful pleasure that made me squirm in my restraints. I caught Camille’s eye and saw my own conflicted arousal reflected there.

“They’re both good little sluts,” Erik called up to Sven. I couldn’t keep down the pang of betrayal that rose in my chest when Sven grunted in wordless approval.

As Erik continued his merciless attention, I couldn’t help marveling at how skilled the Sons of Odin were at dominating women. Every touch, every cruel pinch or stinging slap, seemed calculated to push us further into a state of helpless arousal. I realized with a start that Erik must mean it as part of our training—teaching our bodies to respond to pain and humiliation as readily as to pleasure.

The thought sent a chill down my spine. If Erik and Sven could reduce us to quivering, needy messes so easily, what hope did we have of resisting the Pretorian Guard? Fear coiled in my belly, mingling with the heat of my helpless arousal.

After what felt like hours, but must only have been a few minutes, the van began to slow. I craned my neck, trying to see out the windshield. The urban landscape had given way to lush, rolling countryside. Fields of vibrant green stretched out on either side of the road, dotted with the occasional farmhouse or copse of trees.

The van turned onto a narrow lane, bordered by ancient stone walls half-hidden beneath tangles of ivy. We bounced along the uneven surface for several minutes before coming to a stop in front of an imposing set of wrought-iron gates.

Sven got out to punch a code into a keypad, and the gates swung open with a creak of protest. As we drove through, I caught a glimpse of a grand chateau in the distance—all pale stone and elegant turrets rising against the blue sky.

The van came to a stop in a graveled courtyard. Sven got out and I heard his shoes crunch on gravel. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by Camille’s and my ragged breathing. Then the back doors swung open, flooding the interior with bright sunlight that made me squint.

Sven reached in as Erik freed us from the webbing restraints. Together our masters hauled us roughly out of the van. My legs, stiff from the long minutes of immobility, nearly buckled beneath me. Only Erik’s iron grip on my arm kept me upright.

“You’ll be able to scream all you want once we take out your gags,” Sven said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. “No one will hear you out here.”

I shivered at his words, realizing just how isolated the place must be. Then I stumbled as Erik began to drag me across the gravel courtyard, my bare feet stinging from the sharp stones. The chateau loomed before us, its pale stone walls gleaming in the late morning sun. But we weren’t heading for the grand entrance. Instead, Sven and Erik steered us toward a building off to the side—an old stable block, I realized, my eyes widening.

The massive wooden doors creaked as Erik pushed them open, revealing a cavernous interior filled with shadows and the musty scent of hay. Shafts of sunlight filtered through gaps in the roof, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. Old carriages stood in the back, and tack lined the walls, relics of a bygone era.

As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I noticed thick rope dangling from exposed rafters and what looked like medieval stocks in one corner. My stomach clenched as I realized the true purpose of this place.

“It’s a shame you’re not virgins,” Erik said, his voice echoing in the vast space. “You would have fetched a higher price. But at least it means we’ll be able to use you thoroughly.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. I glanced at Camille, seeing my own fear reflected in her wide eyes.

Sven and Erik forced us to our knees on the rough wooden floor. The planks bit into my skin, adding to the myriad discomforts assailing my body. My arms ached from being restrained for so long, and my cheeks still stung from Erik’s earlier slaps.

“Now,” Sven said, reaching for the buckle of my gag, “let’s hear those pretty screams.”

As soon as the rubber ball was pulled from her mouth, Camille let out a piercing shriek that echoed off the barn’s high ceiling. I hesitated for a split second, my mind racing. This was it—our cover story began now. Everything that happened from this moment on would be recorded, analyzed by the Pretorian Guard. We had to make it convincing.

Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth and screamed. The sound tore from my throat, raw and primal. I poured all of my fear and confusion into it—fear of the mission ahead, confusion at my body’s traitorous responses. I screamed until my lungs burned, until spots danced before my eyes.

When I finally fell silent, gasping for air, I realized Sven had moved to stand directly in front of me. My gaze traveled up his long legs, past the obvious bulge in his jeans, to meet his icy blue eyes. The look he gave me was one of cold appraisal, as if assessing livestock at auction.

With deliberate slowness, Sven began to unbuckle his belt. The soft whisper of leather sliding through denim loops seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his hands as he unzipped his fly and reached inside.

I heard a sharp crack echo through the barn as Sven’s palm connected with my cheek—as if the blow had happened to another girl. Then the sting bloomed across my skin, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. Before I could process the shock, I saw Sven’s thick manhood spring free from his jeans. My mouth watered involuntarily at the sight, my body’s Pavlovian response kicking in despite my fear.

Without warning, Sven grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. I gasped at the sudden pain, and he used the opportunity to thrust his cock past my parted lips. The musky taste of him filled my mouth as he pushed deeper, hitting the back of my throat.

I gagged reflexively, tears streaming down my face as Sven began to fuck my mouth in earnest. His hips pistoned back and forth, driving his shaft deeper with each thrust. The sound of his grunts and the wet slap of flesh on flesh filled the air.

“That’s it, little slut,” Sven growled, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take it all.”

To my right, I heard Camille let out a muffled cry. The sound was so full of desperate need that it made my pussy clench with sympathetic arousal. I caught a glimpse of Erik’s powerful form looming over her, his hands tangled in her dark hair as he used her mouth just as roughly.

My jaw ached from the stretch, and I struggled to breathe around Sven’s thick member. But even as I choked and sputtered, I felt a familiar heat building between my legs. My body betrayed me, responding to the rough treatment with shameful eagerness.

“Listen up, you little whores,” Sven said, his voice strained as he continued to thrust. “We’re going to make a video now for the man who’s paid to acquire you.”

My eyes widened at his words, and I saw Camille’s do the same. I understood, and I processed it, on a logical level, even in the midst of the terrible confusion it evoked in my body. This video would convince the Pretorian Guard of our captive status.

“The man who paid,” Sven continued, punctuating his words with particularly deep thrusts, “wants to determine if he’ll keep you for himself or sell you to another master.”

---