Page 62 of Her Viking Master

I chuckled.Only Selecta. The perfect partner for an organization like the Pretorian Guard, intent on saving the world one thoroughly whipped, roughly fucked young woman at a time.

* * *

Mary

Camille and I knelt, naked of course, in Monsieur Beaumont’s enormous bathroom, our eyes downcast. Beaumont stood in front of us, clad in a deep blue silk robe.

“Let’s have a look at those cunts and bottoms,” he said abruptly. “Lay yourselves over the bench over there, with your asses toward me and your legs spread.”

As Beaumont’s order rang in my ears, my heart raced, but I knew better than to defy him. Slowly, Camille and I rose to our feet, our bodies trembling with trepidation. I shot her a brief glance, and in her dark eyes, I saw the same anxiety that gripped my own heart. Though we dared not exchange a word, we both knew the needle we had to thread.

A guard whose name I didn’t know had come for us earlier that evening, silently leading us down the cold stone stairs to Beaumont’s opulent master suite. A sense of doom had settled over me, and I’d almost tried to whisper something to Camille about Jean and his message. However, the guard’s presence had left me paralyzed with fear. My news, and my desperate plan, would have to wait until we were alone… if we ever were again.

Camille and I moved to the bench, our bare feet padding softly on the cool marble floor. The polished wood of the bench felt smooth against my skin as I draped myself over it, face down. I turned my head to the side, meeting Camille’s gaze. Her eyes were theatrically wide with what I saw must be pretended apprehension. I had to fight a sudden, awful urge to giggle as I marveled again at my new friend’s resilience, and I thanked her, internally, for reminding me we had to act like frightened, captive fuck toys.

I focused on positioning myself as Beaumont had ordered. I spread my legs wide, feeling horribly exposed. The cool air of the bathroom moved against my pussy and my anus, making me shiver. I couldn’t help imagining how we looked to the man who thought himself our owner—two young women, his naked sexual servants, bent over and presenting ourselves for his inspection. The thought made me blush furiously even knowing the fundamental falsehood of it and the truth of my mission. Real heat spread across my cheeks and down my neck and I wondered if the same trouble afflicted Camille.

As Beaumont’s footsteps approached, a dismaying impulse to whisper something—anything—to Camille almost overwhelmed me. “Be ready,” I wanted to say, though I wasn’t even sure what I meant by it. Ready for what? For Beaumont’s cruel touch? For the Guard to get us, as I’d glimpsed in my vision of the world tree? For whatever plan to take her with me I was desperately trying to formulate in my racing mind? The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, but I bit them back, terrified of the consequences if Beaumont heard me speak without permission.

I felt Beaumont’s hands on my legs, his touch rough and invasive as he adjusted my position. He pulled my knees even further apart, stretching me to my limit. I had to stifle a whimper at the strain in my inner thighs. Then I felt his thumbs tugging my bottom cheeks open and the whimper emerged at the shameful sensation.

“Hmm,” Beaumont mused, his voice carrying a note of displeasure. “I see your cunt hair is starting to grow back. Both of you.”

I tensed at his words, suddenly acutely aware of the soft fuzz that had begun to sprout between my legs. In the chaos of the past few days, I hadn’t even thought about maintaining the smooth skin the Sons of Odin insisted on for their bed thralls.

“This won’t do at all,” Beaumont continued, his fingers trailing along my inner thigh, inching closer to my exposed sex. “I prefer my little sluts nice and bare. We’ll have to remedy this situation immediately.”

I shuddered at his touch, hating how my body responded with a treacherous surge of arousal. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Camille’s fingers curl into fists, her knuckles white with tension. I longed to offer her some comfort, but all I could do was lie there, helpless and exposed, just like her.

I felt Beaumont’s hands leave my body as he stepped back. “Into the shower, both of you,” he commanded. “You’re going to shave each other smooth. I want to see every inch of those pretty cunts and assholes bare and glistening.”

Camille and I exchanged a quick glance as we stood up from the bench. In that fleeting moment, I saw the same thought reflected in her eyes that ran through my mind over and over: we had to pretend we’d never done this before. We had to act as if the very idea shocked and horrified us.

“Monsieur,” Camille began, her voice trembling. “I… I don’t know how to do that. To another girl, I mean.” Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she spoke, and I marveled at her skill in feigning such genuine-seeming embarrassment.

I chimed in, trying to match Camille’s tone of mortification. “The men who… who took us,” I stammered, lowering my eyes to the floor. “They shaved us. It was so shameful, Monsieur. I can’t… I just can’t do that to Camille.”

Beaumont’s eyes narrowed, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Is that so?” he purred, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You poor, innocent little things. So ashamed of your bodies, aren’t you?”

I nodded vigorously, biting my lip as if fighting back tears. “Yes, Monsieur,” I whispered. “It’s just too humiliating. Please don’t make us do this.”

As I pleaded with Beaumont, I couldn’t help but remember the last time Camille and I had shaved each other. It had been in the bathing chamber of the Sons of Odin, underMorAstrid’s watchful eye. Camille’s touch had been so gentle, so careful as she’d run the razor over my most intimate areas. The memory sent an involuntary shiver through me, one I hoped Beaumont would interpret as fear rather than arousal.

“Well,” Beaumont said, moving to a nearby cabinet. “If you’re too ashamed to obey me, perhaps you need a reminder of your place here.”

My stomach dropped as over my shoulder I watched him retrieve a long, slender cane from the cabinet. He flexed it between his hands, then swung it sharply in front of him. The whoosh of it cutting through the air made both Camille and me flinch.

Seeing the cane, my eyes widened in fear. “No, please, Monsieur!” I cried out. “I’ll obey, I promise. I’ll… I’ll shave Camille… down… down there… just as you asked.”

Beside me, Camille nodded frantically. “Yes, Monsieur. We’ll do it. Please don’t punish us.”

But Beaumont just shook his head, that cruel smile still playing on his lips. “Oh, no, my little sluts. You’ve already disobeyed me once. Now you must learn the consequences of your actions.”

He pointed the cane at me. “Prepare yourselves, whores. Turn your heads. Eyes down and look at the floor while I whip you.”

My whole body trembled as I obeyed, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to focus on the marble tiles, the veins running through the stone. I gripped the polished edges of the bench tightly. Suddenly I didn’t need to pretend at all; the cane truly terrified me.

I heard the whistle of the rattan cutting through the air a split second before it connected with my bare bottom. The pain was immediate and intense, a line of fire across both cheeks. I couldn’t hold back my scream, the sound echoing off the bathroom’s tiled walls.

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