Page 74 of Her Viking Master

I continued my intimate exploration, marveling at how responsive she was to my touch. With just a few skilled caresses, I had her teetering on the edge of orgasm, her body taut as a bowstring, quivering with need. Her pussy clenched around my probing fingers, desperate for fulfillment.

I stilled my movements, holding Camille at the precipice of pleasure, but denying her release. Her hips moved desperately against my hand, seeking the friction that would push her over the edge. I felt her pussy pulse around my fingers, greedy and desperate.

“Such a responsive little slut,” I murmured, loud enough for Mary to hear through the surveillance system. “Your body betrays you, Camille. No matter what defiance your mind attempts, your cunt knows what it needs.”

Beneath me, Camille shuddered, a sob of humiliation and desire escaping her throat. I could almost feel her conflicted emotions—the shame at her arousal warring with the desperate hunger for release. It was a battle I’d witnessed countless times during my years with the Guard, yet something about these two young women struck me as exceptional.

As I held Camille suspended in that exquisite agony between pain and pleasure, I reflected on what I’d observed of both girls. Their responses seemed to be remarkably similar—the way their bodies yielded to domination, how quickly their defiance gave way to submission, how their arousal built so rapidly under firm handling. It spoke of a natural proclivity, yes, but there was something more… something cultivated.

Beaumont was skilled, certainly, but the level of sexual responsiveness these girls displayed suggested training that predated their time with him. Mary’s eagerness to please me sexually, her instinctive offering of her anus rather than her vagina—these weren’t the behaviors of a recently corrupted innocent. And now Camille, struggling against her own arousal yet unable to prevent her body’s betrayal—this, too, felt like the product of sophisticated conditioning.

I withdrew my fingers from Camille’s dripping sex, leaving her whimpering with need. Her pussy was exquisitely sensitive, her clit swollen and begging for attention. The ease with which I’d brought her to the edge spoke volumes. These weren’t simply frightened captives desperate to please; they were submissives whose bodies had been trained to respond to dominance with almost Pavlovian precision.

Carefully I wiped the girl’s need off on her upper thigh, feeling her shudder at the humiliation. I took my handheld from the breast pocket of my jacket and tapped out a message to my boss, the head of the New York Mithraeum.

Pater, I’d like permission to begin initiating the two assets we picked up from GS yesterday.

* * *

Mary

I watched in confusion and dismay asLeoMarmareus helped Camille rise from his lap. Her face was streaked with tears, her bottom a bright, angry red that made my own flesh tingle in sympathy. With firm hands on her shoulders, he guided her to kneel on the bed, pressing her face down into the covers while keeping her bottom raised high.

Marmareus looked at the camera, then adjusted Camille’s position so that her bottom and her pussy and even the tiny bud of her anus were on display for me. I swallowed hard at the dismaying implication, that he wanted me to observe closely as he humiliated my friend.

“What is he doing?” I whispered to myself, pressing closer to the view screen as if I could somehow reach through it to Camille.

My confusion deepened as I watched Marmareus approach a section of the stone wall that looked no different from the rest. He pressed his palm against it, and to my astonishment, a panel slid open, revealing a hidden cabinet. From within, he withdrew what appeared to be a collection of leather items: a collar, a belt, and various cuffs.

The items gleamed in the cell’s light, their black leather surfaces looking supple yet strong, adorned with gleaming metal rings and buckles. My heart raced as I recognized their obvious purpose—restraints. But these were unlike anything I’d seen before, even in my time with the Sons of Odin. They looked custom-made, precisely crafted with an attention to detail that spoke of ritual significance rather than mere functionality.

“Remain still,” Marmareus commanded Camille, his voice carrying clearly through whatever audio system connected our cells. “I’m going to explain something important to you now.”

Camille’s body trembled visibly, but she didn’t move from her position. Her dark hair spilled across the bedding, obscuring her face from my view even if she had it turned toward the camera. I longed to see her expression, to somehow communicate with her, to let her know she wasn’t alone.

“From this moment forward,” Marmareus continued, approaching the bed with the leather items in his hands, “you are no longer simply Camille. You are aColumbaof the Order of Ostia, the sexual servants of the Pretorian Guard.”

There was that word again—columba. It sent a shiver down my spine. The way Marmareus said it conveyed weight, significance, as if the term itself carried power.

“AColumba,” Marmareus explained, “is a young woman who serves the Guard. The word means ‘dove’ in Latin—a symbol of peace, purity, and sacrifice. You will learn to embody all these qualities.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat. The Sons of Odin had called usvölur, seers with a connection to the world tree. Now the Pretorian Guard sought to rename us as well, to reshape our identities according to their own mythology. Surely they couldn’t know about our true nature, our connection to Yggdrasil. Had they sensed something special in us, though, the way Sven had?

“The leathers,” Marmareus said, dangling the restraints in front of Camille for her to see, “are the mark of aColumba. They will remind you always of your place within our order, and they will allow your masters to arrange you as we wish when we use you for our pleasure—as well as when we punish you.”

CHAPTER38

Mary

I watched, mesmerized and horrified, asLeoMarmareus fitted the leather restraints onto Camille’s trembling body. First came the collar—wide and supple, with gleaming metal rings at the front, sides, and back. He buckled it around her throat with deft hands, adjusting it so it was snug, but not too tight. Camille shuddered visibly as the leather embraced her neck, and I felt an answering quiver in my own body.

Next, Marmareus fastened a leather belt around Camille’s waist. Utterly unlike an ordinary belt, it had more of the metal rings positioned strategically around its circumference. The purpose was clear, especially in light of what he had just told Camille—the rings would serve as attachment points for further restraints, ways to secure her in whatever position pleased our captors. The belt cinched her waist, emphasizing the feminine curve of her hips and the vulnerable exposure of her still-glowing bottom.

“Fine,” Marmareus murmured, his fingers lingering on the leather as he checked the fit. “These must be snug enough to hold you securely, but never so tight as to harm you. The Guard values itsColumbae.”

I swallowed hard as I watched him take the wrist cuffs next. The leather was thinner than the collar and belt, but still substantial, each cuff bearing a D-ring that could be easily clipped to other restraints. He fastened them around Camille’s slender wrists, checking each one carefully before moving on to the ankle cuffs.

As Marmareus worked, a strange feeling crept over me. The sight of the leather restraints against Camille’s pale skin stirred something deep inside me—a recognition, a resonance that went beyond mere familiarity. It was as if my body recognized these bonds on some primal level, as if my training with the Sons of Odin had tuned every nerve in my body to respond to what this man had done, was doing.

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