Page 52 of Her Viking Master

“Not like those little ones you rode last night, girls. I mean a real man’s big, thick cock… fucking… you… so… hard… you… can’t… walk… right… when… he… lets… you… get… up.”

With each word he delivered another lash, so that Camille and I almost drowned him out with our cries of agony.

Finally, Sven lowered the strap, his arm seeming to tire at last. “I think that’s enough discipline for now,” he said, his voice rough with exertion. “Let’s see how our little whores comfort each other after their punishment.”

My body sagged in relief as Sven’s words registered through the haze of pain that enveloped me. Every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire, the welts from the strap throbbing in time with my racing heart. Beside me, I heard Camille’s ragged breathing, alternating with soft whimpers.

As Erik continued to film, Sven moved to unhook our bound hands from the wall. Without the support, my legs buckled, and I would have fallen if not for Sven’s strong grip on my arm. He lowered me to the ground, the rough wooden planks of the stable floor hard against my feet.

I watched through tear-blurred eyes as Sven retrieved a coarse horse blanket from a nearby stall. He shook it out, sending motes of dust dancing in the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the cracks in the walls. The blanket looked scratchy and uncomfortable, but after hanging from my wrists for so long, any softer surface seemed preferable.

Sven spread the blanket on the floor, then turned his attention back to Camille and me. With deft movements, he untied our wrists, only to immediately rebind them behind our backs. The new position made my shoulders ache even more, adding to the catalog of pains that assailed my body.

“On the blanket,” Sven commanded, his voice brooking no argument. “Lie down, head to tail.”

I hesitated for a moment, my mind struggling to comprehend what he wanted. But a sharp slap to my already tender bottom spurred me into action. I crawled awkwardly onto the blanket, the rough fibers scratching against my sensitive skin. Camille followed, her movements just as clumsy and pained as my own.

We arranged ourselves as Sven had ordered, my face near Camille’s knees, hers near mine. I could smell the sweat and fear on her skin, mingled with a musky scent that I recognized with a jolt of shame as arousal. My own body was betraying me in the same way, a slick heat building between my thighs despite the pain and humiliation.

Sven’s large hands gripped my hips, manhandling me into the position he wanted. “Bend your knees,” he instructed. “Spread your legs. I want Monsieur to see everything.”

I obeyed, trembling with a mixture of pain, shame, and an unwelcome surge of arousal. In this position, my eyes were mere inches from Camille’s most intimate parts. I felt faint with mortification and need as I took in the sight before me. Camille’s backside was a canvas of angry red welts, crisscrossing her pale skin in a brutal lattice. The marks of our shared punishment were stark and vivid, a testament to the ordeal we had just endured.

But it wasn’t just the visual evidence of our whipping that made my head spin. My gaze was drawn inexorably to the glistening wetness between Camille’s thighs. Like mine, her body had responded to the pain and degradation with unmistakable arousal. The musky scent of her desire mingled with my own, creating an intoxicating aroma that made my mouth water even as I burned with shame.

I was acutely aware of my own wetness, feeling it pool between my legs and smear against my inner thighs. The knowledge that I had gotten just as aroused as Camille, that my body had betrayed me in the same way, sent a fresh surge of humiliation traveling through me. Yet beneath the shame, a desperate need pulsed insistently, making my clit throb and my inner walls spasm.

Sven’s voice cut through the haze of conflicting emotions. “Now, little whores,” he said, his tone a mixture of amusement and command, “you’re going to show Monsieur Beaumont how skilled you are with your tongues. Each of you must make the other climax three times.”

I whimpered at his words, my face burning even hotter. The thought of being forced to pleasure Camille, and to receive pleasure from her in return, while Erik captured it all on camera seemed almost more than my mind could cope with, though the perverse fire in my body that rose dismayingly high at the idea.

Erik moved around us, adjusting the camera angle to capture every detail of our impending performance. I could almost feel the weight of the lens on my skin.

Sven circled us like a predator, his eyes raking over our bound and trembling forms. “Begin,” he commanded sharply.

For a moment, neither Camille nor I moved, both paralyzed by the enormity of what we were being forced to do. Then Sven’s hand came down hard on my already tender bottom, making me cry out in pain.

“I said begin,” he growled. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Trembling, I inched my face closer to Camille’s glistening sex. The scent of her arousal was overwhelming this close, making my head spin. I felt Camille’s hot breath against my own pussy, sending shivers of anticipation through my body.

I gasped as Sven’s large hand gripped the back of Camille’s head, roughly pushing her face deep between my thighs. My whole body tensed as I felt Camille’s hot breath against my pussy and anus.

“Eat her ass,” Sven commanded Camille, his voice harsh and brooking no argument. “Show Monsieur Beaumont how eager you are to please.”

I couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped my lips as Camille’s tongue tentatively probed the wrinkled button of my anus. The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced before—shameful and dirty, yet sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. Tears streamed down my face as I battled the conflicting emotions of humiliation and arousal.

Camille’s tongue became bolder, circling my puckered hole before pressing inside. I cried out, my hips jerking involuntarily. The feeling was so intense, so taboo, that it made my head spin.

“That’s it,” Sven encouraged, his voice thick with lust. “Lick her cute little asshole like the whore you are.”

I felt Camille whimper against me, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming sensations. Her tongue delved deeper, and I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my lips. My body betrayed me, responding eagerly to the forbidden pleasure despite my mind’s protests.

Suddenly, Sven was on the other side of us. His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. “Your turn,” he growled. “Show me how well you can eat your friend’s ass.”

My stomach flipped as Sven pushed my face against Camille’s backside. The musky scent of her arousal filled my nostrils, mingling with the clean smell of her well-washed anus. I hesitated for a moment, overwhelmed by the intimacy of the act I was being forced to perform, thinking about the cleansingMorAstrid had taught us in what seemed to me now the warm haven of the bathing chamber.

A sharp slap to my tender bottom spurred me into action. Tentatively, I extended my tongue, running it over Camille’s puckered hole. The taste was strange—still freshly washed, but also undeniably, indefinably, terribly naughty. I heard Camille gasp, felt her body tense against mine.

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