Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Yet as I watched Marmareus complete Camille’s transformation with the addition of the final restraints, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about my training from Sven chimed too well with what Marmareus seemed to intend.
The act of civilization. That phrase he had used, to refer to… I swallowed hard again, remembering how I had so wantonly displayed the tiny flower of my anus, telling Marmareus I knew I needed a man’s hardness there. Ass-fucking as the act of civilization. It seemed insane, but hadn’t Sven said something like that, too, when he had opened me as I rode his saddle?
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. No, I told myself again. The Pretorian Guard were keeping Camille and me against our wills, keeping us apart, keeping us naked. They were forcing these leather restraints onto Camille’s body, transforming her into what they called a ‘Columba’ without her consent.
I pushed away the voice that whispered that the Sons of Odin had also kept us naked. That was different, I insisted silently. That had been for our training, for our enlightenment as völur. Sven had seen our true nature, had recognized our connection to Yggdrasil. What the Pretorian Guard was doing was about control, about breaking us.
Wasn’t it?
I could see that Camille was affected in the same way I was by the leather bindings, but even more intensely, since—obviously—she was the one having the leathers put on her. Her breathing had grown rapid and shallow, her skin flushed not just where Marmareus had spanked her, but across her shoulders and the back of her neck as well. When she shifted slightly, I caught a glimpse of her nipples—hard and peaked, just like mine.
I watched as Marmareus stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Camille knelt on the bed, her body adorned with the black leather restraints that marked her as a Columba, whatever that meant—something beyond captive fuck toy, at least, I felt sure. The collar encircled her throat like a badge of ownership. The belt cinched her waist, emphasizing the curve of her hips. The cuffs at her wrists, ankles, and thighs completed the ensemble, turning her body into something that could be arranged precisely as the Pretorian Guard desired.
“Beautiful,” Marmareus murmured, and despite everything, I felt a surge of agreement before I could stop myself. She was beautiful, transformed by the leather in a way that made my heart race and my pussy clench with unwanted desire.
I watched as Marmareus reached for his handheld, tapping something on its screen. To my surprise, though I supposed I should probably stop feeling such astonishment at such things, two metal posts rose smoothly from the floor of Camille’s cell, positioned about three feet apart. Each post featured steel rings at various heights, with clips, carabiners, and what looked like retractable leashes positioned strategically. From the same cabinet where he had gotten the leathers, he took a leather-covered cushion about two inches thick and put it between the posts.
“Come,” Marmareus commanded, gesturing for Camille to leave the bed. “Kneel between the posts.”
Camille hesitated only briefly before obeying, sliding off the bed and moving to the space between the posts. Her movements seemed graceful even in her obvious nervousness, and I couldn’t help but admire her courage. She knelt on the cushion, her back straight, her head held high in spite of the collar around her throat.
Marmareus circled her slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. “Hands at your sides,” he ordered.
I watched as Camille complied, placing her trembling hands down along her flanks. Moving so smoothly that I felt my eyes go wide at his easy skill, Marmareus took Camille’s right wrist and clipped it to one of the rings on her belt. The soft click of the carabiner connecting the metal rings seemed to echo in my cell, though it came through the audio system. He repeated the process with her left wrist, effectively binding her hands at her sides. The position forced her shoulders back, thrusting her breasts forward in a display that seemed both vulnerable and obscenely inviting.
I leaned forward, my breath coming faster as I watched Marmareus attach two leashes from the posts to the side rings of Camille’s collar. The thin straps immobilized her, and the symbolism was unmistakable—a little dove, she was restrained, controlled, a captive to be positioned just as her master chose.
Marmareus stepped back again, admiring his handiwork. Camille knelt before him, adorned in the leather restraints, her body positioned perfectly between the two posts. Her face was flushed, her breathing rapid, and to my mingled dismay and unwilling excitement I could see a sheen of moisture on her inner thighs that betrayed her arousal even in that humiliating position.
“Now,” Marmareus said, his voice low and commanding, “you will demonstrate your willingness to serve. You will show me that you understand your place as a Columba.”