Page 38

CHAPTER 38

M ary

I watched, mesmerized and horrified, as Leo Marmareus 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 its Columbae .”

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.

I felt my nipples harden, my pussy clench with unwanted arousal. The leather thigh cuffs Marmareus fastened around Camille’s legs—high up, just below the curve of her bottom—seemed to echo the leather bindings Sven had used to secure me during my initiation into the mysteries of the volur .

A disturbing thought slipped into my mind: did something connect the Sons of Odin and the Pretorian Guard? Were their rituals of dominance and submission somehow linked by ancient traditions? I remembered how Sven had bound me to the Viking bride saddle, how he had positioned my body just so for his pleasure and for my training. The parallels seemed unmistakable.

No, I told myself firmly. The Sons of Odin fought to preserve civilization, to protect humanity from the very forces the Pretorian Guard represented—whatever this apparently Roman group pretended. They couldn’t be linked; it simply meant that dominant men could follow an enlightening, truly civilizing path, or a false, repressive one.

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 volur . 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 .”

My heart raced as I watched him step closer to Camille, his hands moving to the front of his trousers. The soft whisper of his zipper seemed impossibly loud in the silence that had fallen. I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he freed his cock, thick and hard, jutting proudly from his body.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded.

Camille hesitated for just a heartbeat before parting her lips. Marmareus took hold of the leashes attached to her collar, wrapping them around his fists to gain better control. With a sharp tug, he pulled her forward, guiding her mouth to his waiting cock.

“Take it,” he growled. “Show me how eager you are to please your new master.”

I watched, mesmerized, as Camille’s lips stretched around the thick head of his cock. Marmareus didn’t give her time to adjust, pushing forward relentlessly until he was buried deep in her throat. I could see the muscles in her neck working as she struggled to accommodate his size, to breathe around the intrusion.

Using the leashes, Marmareus controlled every aspect of Camille’s movements. He pulled her forward when he wanted to thrust deeper, eased the tension when he allowed her to retreat. The chains clinked softly with each movement, a delicate counterpoint to the wet, obscene sounds of Camille’s mouth around his shaft.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. “Show me what a good little Columba you can be.”

My hand drifted down between my legs, drawn as if by some magnetic force I couldn’t resist. My fingers found my inner lips, already swollen and wet with arousal. I gasped at the contact, at the sudden, sharp pleasure that shot through me.

I hadn’t meant to touch myself. I hadn’t consciously decided to masturbate while watching my friend being used by our captor. Yet here I was, my fingers sliding through my wetness, circling my throbbing clit as I watched Marmareus fuck Camille’s face with brutal, methodical thrusts.

The sounds of Camille’s mouth around his cock filled my cell through the audio feed, mingling with her muffled whimpers and Marmareus’ occasional grunts of pleasure. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene before me—Camille on her knees, bound in leather, her body positioned precisely for Marmareus’ use. The leashes connected to her collar jingled with each thrust, a perverse musical accompaniment to her violation.

My fingers moved faster between my legs, my breathing growing ragged as my own pleasure built. I slipped two fingers inside myself, feeling my inner walls clench greedily around them. With the heel of my palm, I ground against my clit, matching the rhythm of Marmareus’ thrusts into Camille’s mouth.

“Take it deeper,” he commanded her, yanking on the leashes to force her forward. “All the way down your throat, Columba .”

I moaned softly, imagining myself in Camille’s place—remembering myself there, when I had had the same rigid penis in my own mouth… feeling the thick intrusion of his cock stretching my lips, filling my throat, the leather restraints tight against my skin. The fantasy blended with reality until I could almost feel the collar around my own neck, the belt cinching my waist, the cuffs binding my wrists to my sides.

My hips rocked against my hand, my body seeking more friction, more pressure. The coil of pleasure in my core wound tighter and tighter, building toward a peak that I knew would explode soon. I gasped, my free hand moving to pinch one of my nipples, adding a sharp edge of pain to the mounting pleasure.

On the screen, Marmareus had grabbed a handful of Camille’s dark hair, holding her head steady as he thrust brutally into her mouth. Tears streamed down her face, her eyes glazed with a mix of humiliation and unwanted arousal. Yet even through her obvious distress, I could see a surrender in her expression, a yielding to the dominance being imposed upon her.

“That’s it,” Marmareus growled, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take the cock, you naughty girl.”

My fingers moved faster, plunging deeper inside me as I watched. The wet sounds of my own arousal seemed obscenely loud in the silence of my cell, matching the sloppy, gagging noises in the other one. I felt my forehead crease hard, and I chewed the inside of my cheek as the pleasure grew. I was almost there… almost there…

Suddenly, to my horror, Marmareus turned from his contemplation of Camille’s mouth receiving the brutal thrusts of his manhood to look directly at the camera.

“Mary,” he said, his voice strict, though husky with his arousal. “Don’t you dare come, you little whore.”