Page 73 of Her Viking Master

Marmareus’ expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Camille. “I’m afraid that’s not how this works, my dear,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to make demands here.”

I watched in horror as Marmareus moved swiftly, grabbing Camille’s arm and pulling her to her feet. She struggled against his grip, but he was far stronger. With a fluid motion, he sat on the edge of the bed and yanked Camille over his lap.

“No!” I cried out, forgetting for a moment that they couldn’t hear me. I pressed my hands against the view screen, as if I could somehow reach through and stop what was about to happen.

CHAPTER37

Matthew

I positioned Camille across my lap, my movements precise and controlled. With my right hand on her taut, adorable bottom and my left on her lower back, I maneuvered her so that the pert, round cheeks, still faintly marked from Beaumont’s cane, rose perfectly, offered for the discipline she would soon receive.

The girl’s naked body tensed, muscles going rigid as she had time to react to her understanding of what was about to happen. I could feel her heart racing against my thigh, her breathing sharp and shallow. For a moment, I allowed myself to savor the weight of her, the warmth of her skin, the vulnerability of her position.

Then I looked directly at the hidden camera embedded in the wall across from us. I knew Mary would be watching, her eyes wide, her body trembling with fear and perhaps unwanted arousal. I wanted her to see the look in my eye, to understand that I was going to punish her friend in part for Mary’s own benefit. I wanted to make sure both girls knew what awaited them if they attempted to play games with me. I held that gaze for a long moment, letting the message sink in.

At last I turned my attention back to Camille, pressing more firmly with my left hand on the small of her back, pinning her in place. She squirmed beneath my grip, as if testing my resolve. I responded by raising my right hand high and bringing it down with calculated force on the center of her upturned bottom.

The crack of my palm against the tender flesh of the girl’s backside echoed in the small cell. Camille jerked and gasped, more from surprise than pain. I knew how to build a punishment properly, of course—starting with moderate blows that awakened the nerves, preparing them for the more severe spanking to come. This merely represented the beginning.

I spanked her again, and then a third time, as I settled into a rhythm, my hand rising and falling in a steady cadence. Each smack landed with increasing force, warming the girl’s bottom beneath my palm. I watched, satisfied, as the pale skin began to flush pink, then deeper rose, the color spreading across both cheeks like watercolor on wet paper.

“Please,” Camille gasped after the tenth blow, her voice cracking with distress. “I don’t know anything important!”

I ignored her pleas, continuing the punishment without pause. My hand fell again and again, alternating cheeks, occasionally landing where thigh met bottom—a particularly sensitive spot that made her kick and yelp. The sound of old-fashioned correction filled the small cell, mingled with Camille’s increasingly desperate cries.

“This isn’t about what you know right now,” I explained calmly, even as I delivered another stinging slap. “This is about making sure you understand your position here. About ensuring you don’t attempt to resist me.”

I paused briefly, running my palm over the heated flesh of her bottom. The skin was hot to the touch, glowing a deep pink that would soon deepen to crimson. Camille trembled beneath my hand, her breathing ragged.

“Do you understand, Camille?” I asked, my voice deceptively gentle.

She nodded frantically. “Yes! Yes, I understand!”

“I don’t think you do,” I said, resuming the spanking with renewed vigor. My hand fell harder now, the sound sharper, crisper. “If you did, you wouldn’t have tried to make demands of me earlier.”

Camille’s body bucked against my lap as I landed a particularly hard smack at the sensitive crease where bottom met thigh. I could feel her trying to squirm away, but my left arm held her firmly in place, pressing down on the small of her back. Her legs kicked helplessly, toes barely touching the floor.

I found myself admiring her spirit even as I worked to break it. Most subjects would be begging incoherently by now, but Camille maintained a certain defiance despite her cries of pain. It made the punishment all the more necessary.

“I need to know that when I ask you a question, you’ll answer truthfully,” I said, punctuating each word with a sharp smack. “I need to know that you won’t attempt to manipulate or deceive me.”

“I won’t!” Camille cried out, her voice breaking. “I promise I won’t!”

I didn’t believe her, of course. Not yet. Breaking through deeply ingrained resistance required more than just physical pain.

I continued the spanking for several more minutes, deafening myself to the girl’s sobs and shrieks, until Camille’s defiance finally crumbled. Her body went limp across my lap, her resistance giving way to helpless weeping. The proud, defiant girl who had demanded to see her friend was gone, replaced by a chastened submissive whose bottom glowed a deep, angry red from my discipline.

I paused, resting my palm on the heated flesh of her punished backside. Beneath my hand, I could feel Camille tremble, her whole body quivering with the aftermath of pain and the shame of surrender. Her sobs had quieted to whimpers, alternating with shuddering breaths as she struggled to regain her composure.

“There we are,” I murmured, my voice low and soothing now that the punishment was complete. “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer, but I felt the tension in her body ease slightly at my gentler tone. I allowed my hand to stroke her bottom, caressing the punished flesh with feather-light touches. Camille shivered under my ministrations, a small gasp escaping her lips.

Slowly, deliberately, I let my hand drift lower, fingers trailing along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. I could feel the heat emanating from her pussy even before I pushed my hand in and forced her legs apart so that I could touch her there exactly as I chose. When my fingers finally brushed against her pussy lips, I found them slick with arousal.

Camille whimpered in shame as I began to fondle her, my fingers exploring the sensitive furrow and the entrance to her needy sheath with practiced ease. I slid one finger along her slit, gathering her wetness, then circled her clit with a gentle touch. Her reaction was immediate and unmistakable—a sharp intake of breath, a helpless arching of her back, a tremor running through her entire body.

“Please,” she whispered, though whether she was begging me to stop or continue, I couldn’t be sure. My long experience told me that the girl didn’t know herself.

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