Page 77 of Her Viking Master

Marmareus had withdrawn his glistening cock from Camille’s mouth. Her lips were red and swollen, tears tracking down her flushed cheeks. With deft, practiced movements, he unclipped the leashes from her collar, his expression a mask of controlled desire.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice low and rough with arousal. “Present yourself properly.”

I watched, transfixed, as Camille awkwardly maneuvered her body, hampered by the restraints that still bound her wrists to her belt. Marmareus helped her, his large hands guiding her movements with firm authority until she was positioned on her knees, her face pressed against the cushion, her bottom raised high in offering.

With swift efficiency, Marmareus unclipped her wrists from her belt, only to reconfigure her bonds. He pulled her arms back, forcing her to bend even more deeply, then clipped her wrist cuffs together behind her thighs. The position was terribly obscene in the revelation it forced on Camille—her pussy and anus completely exposed, available for whatever use he might choose.

“Beautiful,” Marmareus murmured, running a hand over the curve of her still-pink bottom. “This is how aColumbamust learn to present herself to her master.”

I should have looked away. I wanted to look away. But my eyes remained fixed on the screen, drinking in every detail of Camille’s subjugation. The way her body trembled under Marmareus’ touch. The soft, helpless whimper that escaped her lips when his fingers trailed down to explore her exposed sex. The way her hips instinctively pushed back against his hand, betraying her arousal amid her humiliation.

Marmareus crouched over her, his powerful body dwarfing hers. He reached beneath her to cup one breast, pinching the nipple between his fingers as his other hand positioned his cock at the entrance to her pussy. Camille made a sound—half protest, half plea—as the thick head pressed against her opening.

To my dismay, I felt my hand drifting back between my legs, drawn there by some primal force I couldn’t resist. My fingers found my clit, still sensitive from my recent orgasm, and began to circle the little bud once again, a whimper escaping my throat at the jolt of ecstasy that shot through my system.

“Mary O’Toole,” Marmareus said, looking directly at the camera, at me, “you’re a very naughty girl, aren’t you? When I’m done with you, you’ll wish you only got a spanking and a fucking like your friend here.”

I heard Camille moan, as if in response to the idea that I could see what the enemy agent was doing to her. Then I watched him reach into his pocket and take out his handheld. Blinking, my heart skipping several beats, I understood that the device must have been the thing monitoring me—giving Marmareus some sort of alerts about what I had done, was doing, here in my cell.

He looked from the device into the camera, a tiny, dismaying smile on his face. Then he tapped something on the handheld, and the screen in front of me turned back into a stone wall.

“No,” I whispered. “Oh… God. Please…”

Then I felt a hot blush fill my face and scald my scalp. I wanted to see what Marmareus did to Camille, but not for the right reasons. I should want to make certain he didn’t harm my friend… and, yes, I did want that, but…

But really, to my mortification, I wanted to watch him fuck her.

“Sven,” I breathed. “Oh, God… I… I can’t…”

I bit my lip and choked back a sob as I returned to the bed and sat, looking down at my hands, clenched into little fists atop my naked thighs. I had said myHerra’s name. I prayed I had said it so softly it wouldn’t be picked up on.

There’s nothing I can do about it now, I told myself, swallowing hard. I returned in my mind to the strange vision of my master and my captor meeting there on the frozen bay. I tried to remember what we had figured out about the symbolism of the vision’s elements: the longship for the Sons of Odin, the metal cathedral for whatever the Pretorian Guard had begun to build in the Arctic.

If Sven andLeoMarmareus could be friends in my vision, what did it mean in the real world? I smiled at the thought of calling my current insane circumstances the real world, but the question remained: was the vision I’d received true, or did it just represent my unconscious mind’s wishful thinking?

* * *

I had no idea how much time had gone by when the door to my cell finally opened again. I’d spent what felt like hours curled on the narrow bed, my mind oscillating between despair and defiance, my thoughts circling endlessly around the vision I’d received. The frozen bay, Sven and Marmareus meeting as equals, perhaps even as allies… what could it mean?

The sound of the door sliding open jolted me from my reverie. My heart leapt into my throat as I sawLeoMarmareus standing in the entrance, his tall frame silhouetted against the corridor lights. His expression was thunderous, his dark eyes glittering with controlled fury. I knew immediately that he had come to punish me for my disobedience.

“Mary O’Toole,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “Time for you to learn what happens to naughty littleColumbaewho disobey direct orders.”

Terror gripped me, primal and overwhelming. Without conscious thought, I scrambled off the bed and retreated to the corner of the cell, pressing my naked body against the cold stone as if I could somehow melt into it. My hands rose instinctively in front of me, a futile attempt to ward him off.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to?—”

“Silence,” Marmareus snapped, cutting off my pathetic attempt at apology. “You deliberately defied me. You touched yourself when I expressly forbade it. You brought yourself to orgasm while watching me use your friend.”

He advanced into the cell with the measured tread of a predator, each step deliberate, unhurried. He knew I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The cell suddenly seemed much smaller, the air thicker, harder to breathe.

“I… I couldn’t help it,” I stammered, pressing myself harder against the wall. “It just… happened.”

Marmareus’ laugh was cold, humorless. “Nothing ‘just happens’ in the Mithraeum, Mary. Every action has purpose. Every disobedience has consequences.”

He moved to the section of wall that I knew now must conceal a cabinet similar to the one in Camille’s cell. With a press of his palm against the seemingly solid stone, the panel slid open, revealing the compartment within. My breath caught in my throat as he withdrew the familiar leather items—a collar, a belt, wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, and thigh cuffs. The same restraints I had watched him place on Camille.

The leather gleamed in the cell’s soft lighting, the metal fittings catching the light and throwing it back in glittering pinpoints. Despite my fear—or rather, to my horror, because of it—I felt my body responding to the sight, the unwelcome warmth building between my thighs.

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