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)
Sven moved to stand in front of the camera, his imposing figure blocking most of our view. From a hook on the wall, he took down a wide leather strap, its surface worn smooth from years of use. He flexed it between his hands, the soft creaking of the leather unnaturally loud in the hushed stable.
“Monsieur Beaumont,” Sven began, his voice taking on a formal, almost businesslike tone that sent chills down my spine. “I hope this video finds you well. As promised, I have procured two young women who I believe will meet your exacting standards.”
He stepped aside then, giving the camera a clear view of Camille and me. I felt horribly exposed, painfully aware of my nakedness and the vulnerability of my position. Beside me, I sensed Camille trembling slightly.
“Allow me to introduce them,” Sven continued. “This lovely redhead is Mary O’Toole, eighteen years old, recently taken from her college program in Rouen.” He reached out to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back painfully. “As you can see, she has striking green eyes and the kind of delightfully pale skin that displays the marks of discipline so beautifully.”
I trembled as Sven released my hair and moved to Camille. My scalp stung from his rough grip, but the pain was nothing compared to the mortification I felt as he began to introduce my new friend.
“And this dark beauty,” Sven said, his voice smooth and professional, “is Camille Dubois, also eighteen. We found her at the same party as Mary.” His large hand cupped Camille’s chin, tilting her face toward the camera. “Note her high cheekbones and full lips—perfect for a variety of uses, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
My heart pounded as Sven continued, spinning a tale that was both truth and fiction. “We picked these girls up just last night, at a party near their college. It seems our little sluts had decided to experiment, losing their virginity to some boys they’d just met.”
I felt my face burn with shame as I tried to understand what Sven meant to do. Why would he use our real names?
“When we found them,” Sven went on, his tone taking on a note of mock disapproval, “they were stumbling drunk, their thighs sticky with the evidence of their debauchery. It was clear they needed a firm hand to guide them.”
Despite my mortification at the story, I began to see what my Herra was doing. He had begun to create a narrative that would be believable to both Beaumont and, more important, to the Pretorian Guard when they inevitably investigated our background.
With a jolt of realization, I understood that the Guard would indeed be able to figure out who we really were. Especially me—I had been enrolled in a Selecta college program, after all. My records would be easily accessible to an organization with their resources.
But Sven’s story provided a perfect explanation for our disappearance. The Guard would believe that Camille and I had gone to a party somewhere outside of surveillance, gotten drunk, lost our virginity to random boys, and then been kidnapped by Sven and Erik. It was a narrative that fit all the known facts while obscuring the truth of our connection to the Sons of Odin.
Sven’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “The girls resisted us a little at first,” he said, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “So we’re going to have to punish them now. Then we’ll make them show you what kind of girls they really are as they console each other after their whipping.”
CHAPTER 26
Mary
The first crack of the leather strap against my bare bottom sent a jolt of white-hot pain through my entire body. I couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from my throat, echoing off the wooden walls of the stable. Before I could catch my breath, another blow landed on Camille’s backside, her cry of agony mingling with mine.
Sven alternated between us, the strap whistling through the air before connecting with our flesh. Each strike felt like a line of fire being drawn across my skin. I lost count of how many times the leather bit into me, my world narrowing to the rhythm of pain and the sound of our screams.
“Look at how their asses jiggle when you hit them,” Erik commented, his voice thick with cruel amusement. “Beaumont will love watching this video.”
“Indeed,” Sven replied, pausing in his assault. “And I’m sure their cunts are getting wet anyway. These little sluts can’t help but respond to a firm hand.”
I felt my face burn with shame at his words, knowing they were true. Despite the pain—no, worse, because of it—I could feel a telltale slickness between my thighs. My body’s response both horrified and aroused me further, creating a feedback loop of shame and desire that left me dizzy and confused.