Page 7 of Her Viking Master

My master. Sven, the warrior who owns me… whose skillful hand spanked me so hard, and probed me so deep… the way he’s doing now…

“Oh, God…” I moaned. “Oh… my…”

“Herra,” Sven growled in my ear. “That is your word for your lord and master.”

A sob of utter confusion—arousal and fear and mortification and… and…elation—burst from my chest. My hips jerked backwards hard. For the first time in my life, even with all the illicit self-stimulation in the shower, my pussy felt truly needy.

Not even needy… my pussy… myfisse… it feels…greedy.

A new flush of heat came into my cheeks as I truly understood, at that lowest level, that I was a captive virgin who needed her master’s cock inside her. The noises coming from the girls tied to the other rowing benches only made it worse; I could hear for myself the truth of what Sven had just told us. All of us needed this crazy, perverted scene, as shameful and forceful as it might look to any given outside observer.

If I had heard a single one of the other girls—Camille, above all—truly protesting, it might have turned me away from the deep, biological need Sven had awakened in me. Instead, their soft cries, even the many times I heard, “Non… s’il vous plait… oh, non… monsieur…” only seemed to make my breath come more raggedly, my aching vagina clench harder.

Sven’s fingers stilled, then withdrew from my desperately needy pussy. I cried out in frustration, my hips pressing backwards instinctively, seeking his touch. “No… please…Herra…” I whimpered, shame flooding through me at how helpless I sounded.

Around me, I heard similar cries of dismay from the other girls. Camille’s voice rang out clearly, a stream of French that, while I couldn’t understand the words, carried a tone of desperate arousal that matched my own feelings.

Then Sven’s voice boomed out, speaking that harsh, guttural version of his language again. Though I couldn’t comprehend the words, the authoritative tone sent shivers down my spine.

A chorus of zippers being lowered filled the air, followed by the rustle of fabric. My breath caught in my throat as I realized what was happening. They were undressing. All of them.

I strained against my bonds, trying to crane my neck to see. But the way Sven had tied me left me frustratingly blind to what was happening behind me. All I could see was the rough wood of the ship’s deck, my own bound hands, and glimpses of the other girls similarly restrained on their benches.

I could hear what I thought was the petite brunette toward the bow weeping softly, her body trembling. But even as I heard her tears flow, I heard something different, too, in her noises. I couldn’t help picturing it—the way her hips must be moving in the same small, involuntary circles mine were. To my right, Camille had managed to turn her head slightly. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted as she stared at something—or someone—behind her.

The sounds of clothing hitting the deck echoed through the cavern. My imagination ran wild, conjuring images of the muscular, masculine bodies being revealed. I thought of Sven’s broad chest in his Oxford shirt, the powerful arms that had so easily manhandled me. What did he look like with none of that veneer of civilization?

A warm flush spread through my body at the thought, pooling low in my belly. My pussy clenched around emptiness, the dull ache building even further between my legs. I had never seen a naked man in person before. The idea of being surrounded by them now, while I lay bound and naked, sent conflicting waves of terror and arousal surging through me.

I heard heavy footsteps approaching, and then Sven’s commanding presence loomed over me once more. His large hand came to rest on the small of my back, his touch scorching against my skin.

“Soon,lille en,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my entire body. “Soon you will know what it truly means to belong to a Son of Odin.”

I trembled as Sven’s footsteps circled around the bench. My heart pounded, a mix of fear and shameful anticipation traveling through my body. When his feet came into view, I couldn’t help but stare. They were large and masculine, dusted with golden hair. My gaze traveled upward, taking in his muscular calves, his powerful thighs.

And then I saw it.

His cock jutted out proudly, impossibly large and thick. It was fully erect, the head swollen and purple, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. I gasped, my eyes widening in shock and awe. I had seen diagrams in biology textbooks, of course, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of a man’s aroused member mere inches from my face.

“Behold your master, Mary,” Sven’s deep voice rumbled above me. “This is the cock that will claim you, that will reshape your virgin cunt to fit me perfectly.”

I whimpered, unable to tear my gaze away from his imposing manhood. It looked impossibly large—how could something like that possibly find room inside me? And yet, my traitorous body clenched with need at the very thought.

Sven’s hand came to rest on my head, his fingers tangling in my red hair. “Sons of Odin,” he called out, his voice echoing through the cavern. “The time has come to proclaim our ownership of these thralls. Let them confess their need and pledge their bodies to our service.”

I heard movement around me, the sound of the other men positioning themselves before their chosen girls. Sven’s hand tightened in my hair, tilting my head back slightly so I was forced to look up at him. His steel-blue eyes bored into mine, filled with a primal hunger that made me shudder.

I felt his other hand reach over my back, his fingers finding my wet folds once more. I gasped as he began to stroke my sensitive inner lips, his touch expert and maddening. As Sven worked his magic on my aching pussy, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his massive cock. To my utter mortification, I felt my mouth begin to water at the sight. What was wrong with me? How could I be reacting this way to my own kidnapping, to this bizarre ritual?

But his manhood looked so powerful, so virile. The thick vein running along its length pulsed visibly. The head glistened, a bead of clear fluid forming at the tip. I found myself wondering what it would taste like, what it would feel like on my tongue…

I shook my head, trying to dispel these shameful thoughts. But Sven’s expert touch between my legs made it impossible to think clearly.

Suddenly, a man’s voice rang out from further down the ship. “I, Henrik, claim this thrall, Amélie, as my own. She belongs to me, body and soul.”

There was a pause, filled only with the sound of soft weeping. Then a girl’s voice—Amélie, I assumed—spoke in trembling French. It was too soft and too complex for me to follow, but her tone of desperate need was unmistakable.

Sven leaned down and whispered a translation in my ear, his hot breath making me shiver. “She says: ‘I need to serve you, Master Henrik. I pledge to please you with my body. I am yours to use as you will.’”

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