He laughed louder and she longed to lash out at him. But instead all thought of dignity deserted her, and her will fast draining she writhed against his erection. ‘Such a waste,’ she sighed. ‘While the chieftain sleeps elsewhere there is nothing stopping you taking his wife.’
‘Ah, but there is. You’re being disciplined. None of this is for your pleasure.’
‘You’re nothing but an oversized oaf,’ she railed, his reply to breathe quicker as his orgasm began.
She tried to shrink away from that slippery shaft, to deny him what he denied her, but the post and the rope held her firm. One last rub produced the desired effect and his sperm spurted up her belly and over her breasts. He lent against her for a few moments resting from his exertions, and the warmth of him, the wonderful feeling of skin on skin delighted her.
He began massaging the creamy discharge into her stomach and breasts. ‘Is this what you want?’ he asked thickly. ‘Does it help ease your longing?’
‘Bastard,’ she hissed. ‘You know exactly what you’re doing to me.’
‘Of course.’
His reply was calmly cool and she forced back a cry of anguish. ‘You will regret this.’
‘I think not.’ His fingers ceased to work their magic and lay idly at her waist. ‘It’s my job to see that you suffer for your misbehaviour.’
‘Why?’ she asked miserably.
‘Because I choose to,’ he said simply. ‘Because taming you is fascinating, watching you suffer a great aphrodisiac.’
His lips captured hers roughly, but even so she gravitated to him body and soul. There was no way she was able to resist him.
He pulled away. He surveyed her steadily while she tried to compose herself. ‘Until the next time, Rowena,’ he intoned softly.
Just as dawn came with a rosy glow, so two robed and hooded figures released her from her bonds. She was so stiff they helped her back to the shieling. Once more in her own bed she tried to ease her aching body, stop from crying out at the excruciating pain in her limbs as her circulation began to return.
She had taken her first bout of punishment, but she would live from day to day in fear of those hooded figures until they came for her again.
Chapter Seven
Sigurd breathed in the air of the land he had decided to settle, and feasted his eyes on the rolling hills that hugged the sky to their breasts. From his position he was able to see the turf-topped shieling and the other buildings clustered around it. He was pleased with the unobtrusive way they blended in with the countryside. Children played on the grassy mounds, their dogs slumbering in the sunshine.
He was delighted to be back. The pirate in him had been satisfied by his last trip; besides bringing back a good haul in coins and jewels, he had brought the greatest prize ever, the seed of the Serpent.
‘Sigurd, you have paid me little attention since your return. Mayhap your new bride has tired you out.’
Sigurd looked down at the feisty woman at his side, and grinned. ‘Who’s a jealous little puss? I have to see to the land first, you know that.’
Maeve shook her long black hair and scowled. ‘I recall other times you have returned impatient to fuck me.’
Sigurd eyed the doe-eyed Irish beauty who was his mistress with amusement. ‘Has your cunny been aching for me, sweetheart?’
Maeve took his hand and, lifting her kirtle, thrust it between her thighs. ‘Feel how wet I am, love. I’ve been dying with longing for you.’
‘Enough to have been waving your arse at every cock in the district, I’ll be bound,’ he growled, his flaxen hair turned to gold in the sunshine.
Angered at his suggestion, Maeve dropped her kirtle and swung away from him. ‘What difference would it make, when you’ve been raping every Saxon wench you’ve laid your hands on?’
‘Temper, temper,’ Sigurd warned. ‘I don’t recall your Irish lips complaining when I took you.’
Maeve swirled her skirts coquettishly. It was true; when Sigurd’s army had invaded her land she was terrified of the huge Norwegians. But when the fair giant rode up on his horse her heart beat so fast she thought it would burst out of her breast.
She watched his men raping the village women and found it exciting. She abhorred their screams, and far from pitying them, wondered why they had not relaxed and enjoyed the rigid pricks jammed between their thighs.
He had taken her right there in the middle of her village, and she was more than willing, her vulva slick and welcoming for the handsome lord. Back then she was sick and tired of pretending to be a blushing virgin, when she had enjoyed many a secret tryst. She usually chose married men whose wives were far too prim and tight-arsed to make them happy. They weren’t disposed to having their sins aired in public any more than she was. When Sigurd stole her away from her land she was a willing victim. She went as a slave and fast became his mistress.
She had been happy in Sigurd’s land of fire and ice until now. All that changed when he brought back a bride. Although she knew he could not marry a lowborn slave, she had stupidly put any thoughts of his matrimony from her. She had woven daydreams about him when he was away, and none of those contained a Saxon bitch with red-gold curls and a face that sent men mad with longing.
Bringing her back from her reverie, Sigurd grabbed her and swung her off her feet. She giggled and beat at his chest. ‘Let me down, you great lump.’
‘And have you complain of being neglected? I think not.’
His lips bore down on hers and she clung to him, savouring the taste of him, the feel of his mouth as it devoured hers. There was not another man in the land, or any other, who made her body sing like Sigurd did. He lowered her gently to the grass and lay alongside her, throwing a thigh on top of her.
Maeve thrilled to the intensity of her feelings; she was ready to explode with love for him. The others, the ones before him, had been nothing in comparison. She was an extremely sensuous person and had needed those diversions, but since falling in love with the great chieftain there had been no one else. He had spoilt her for any other man. In her heart it was and always would be Sigurd, whether he was married or not.
When his hand began to wander up her thigh beneath her kirtle she stopped him. It was important to her that she pleasured him first.
She pressed the firmness of his erection through his breeches, satisfied by his sharp intake of breath. She had yearned for this moment for a long time. Releasing him from his clothes, laying the cloth he sometimes wore in his breeches aside, she took his shaft and licked along the silken skin, at the same time cupping his hairy balls in her hand. He tasted of sweat and man and her thighs trembled with her emotions.
Taking him in her mouth she worked on the bulbous tip, teasing and tantalising him with her tongue and lips. He grew even larger and Maeve surrounded his hardness, her skin glowing as her tongue danced firmly around his heated manhood. She sucked and sucked at his engorged flesh, welcoming him even deeper until the length of him was in her throat. Soon he was convulsing with his come and almost choking her with his seed, which she swallowed as though it was her life’s blood.
Her reward was to have his tongue inside her, heating her feminine core, thrilling her with each pull of its silken strength. When he lapped her womanhood she whimpered and held the flaxen head, urging him on. Her clitoris surged into his mouth; her love dew was his mead. His ministrations soon brought the desired effect and the most wonderful sensations built within her. Her climax came like a shooting star, for it was far too wonderful to be of this earth.
Afterwards she lay in his arms, knowing that whatever mood he was in, whether he chose to make love to her or punish her, she was his to command. And she was always open to a little discipline. Her bottom had often warmed to the feel of his switch or his calloused hands, for with each stroke came an intense longing to be possessed by him.
Sigurd parted her thighs; he never needed to rest
for long, and inserted her favourite weapon between her nether lips. Soon he was riding her to distraction, the most wonderful stallion she had found.
Afterwards their game began again, the game he always needed to play when he came back from his travels, the game that was their deepest and darkest secret.
Maeve helped him dress, making sure to slip the soft cloth back in his breeches. Sigurd snuggled his head in her lap, sucking on her nipples like a newborn babe, and as always she was sad she could not supply him with mother’s milk. She crooned a soft song and he seemed to rest easier. When he emptied his bowels she attended to him as tenderly as she would any babe, washing his skin until he was clean once more. For when the game was over he repaid her by making love to her again and it was more than she could ever ask for.
It was a long time before they parted, and although her lover had taken her to the heights, satisfaction would not truly be hers until she obtained her revenge on the redheaded Saxon bitch!
Algitha was mortified to see her lady so ill-treated, and rubbed her with her special oils to help relieve her painful joints. She could not understand why Rowena was so stiff and tired, and it irked her that she kept her own council. ‘‘Tis wicked to see you so. What ails you?’
‘I can only think my body is in shock from Sigurd’s ill use,’ Rowena replied weakly, having the need to keep her secret for the present. She was far too tired to battle with questions, and her limbs ached so badly she was utterly miserable. Even so, her mind dwelt on thoughts of the leader, of his voice, his manly stance, the feeling of his hands and manhood on her skin.
Algitha went around with drooping shoulders and a hard done by look on her face that drove Rowena to distraction. It was obvious that her handmaiden thought she was keeping something from her, so fed up with her manner Rowena bade her sit down.
‘I can’t bear to see your miserable face any longer,’ she complained, ‘so you might as well know that something did happen last night.’
Algitha clapped her hands. ‘Oh, mistress, I knew it had. Do tell.’
Rowena took a deep breath. ‘It started quite innocently. I needed a drink and was on the way to the kitchen when I heard a sound in the fire-hall. When I went to explore I found a couple making love.’
Algitha giggled. ‘Ooh, were they naked?’
‘As naked as the day they were born. But the strange thing was that they knew I was there and one couple after another followed suit and began fucking as though there was no tomorrow.’
‘And you stayed and watched it all?’
Algitha’s mouth gaped and it was Rowena’s turn to giggle. ‘If the wind changes you’ll stay like that, you know.’
The handmaiden closed her mouth, and asked, ‘Was it good?’
‘It was very interesting. And judging by the reactions of the women the Norse must have the biggest cocks anywhere.’
‘Oh, I think they have.’
Algitha blushed and Rowena nudged her elbow. ‘What’s all this then?’
‘I slept in the kitchen last night with one of the warriors and he stretched my cunny like it’s never been stretched before.’
Rowena rolled her eyes. ‘It seems the shieling is a hotbed of lust.’
‘They’re always at it in that hall,’ Algitha agreed. ‘And the way they creep from one bed to another I’m sure no one knows who’s sired what child half the time.’
‘I forgot to mention,’ Rowena remarked in a whisper, lest anyone was passing and she was overheard, ‘there were two women making love with a wooden penis.’
Algitha smiled knowingly. ‘A dildo. I will use one on you when you’re feeling better. Then you can tell me who has the biggest cock of all.’
The women tittered, and although Rowena felt slightly guilty for not mentioning the charismatic leader or what had taken place after the orgy, she was determined to keep it her secret.
Algitha gave her a soothing potion and she fell asleep and her dreams were full of him. She was on a verdant hillside where goats and sheep nibbled the grass. He wore a long flowing cloak, but although he was minus the concealing hood, there was a mist where his face should have been. Her arms reached out for him, and in the surreal world he came to her, his erection as large as she remembered.
She knew she had to have him and that this time she would take the prize. As he was a few inches from her the mist began to dissipate and she caught sight of dark-blue eyes and mocking lips. His arms went round her and she inhaled his skin, the scent of his tumescent prick. She was about to sink to the ground with him when she was taken from behind and tied to a pole.
‘You have sinned in Sigurd’s hall.’
The voices were heavily accented as the dark cloaked figures circled around her, their torches lighting hollow-eyed faces. Their cloaks opened to a breeze that whipped around the green hillside, revealing that beneath their dark covering they were completely naked. The women had long legs and trim waists, their breasts beautiful globes. The pelts that hid their feminine secrets were wheat-coloured, all except for one, whose mound was completely free of hair.
Rowena struggled to free herself, but as before the ropes that held her were too strong to break. She looked to the leader to help her, but he smiled slyly through the mist that hid most of his features. ‘You are here to be punished. The time is not right for you and I. But it will come.’
She stubbornly battled against her restraints. ‘I want you now,’ she retorted, wondering why he was unable to see that.
‘We will have you.’
The cloaked figures circled her with intent, before marching towards her. In their hands they carried sticks. Rowena cried out in fear. ‘Go away. I don’t want you near me.’
‘You have sinned and must be punished.’
The chant went on and on until she wanted to cover her ears. The leader untied her and she rubbed her sore wrists, glad she was free. But the feeling of euphoria wasn’t to last, for she was pushed to the ground on her face and her clothes were torn away. One of the women lay over her, stroking her with her large breasts. A man lay beside her and kissed her roughly. Someone wormed his way beneath her and bit and caressed her nipples. Another sucked her clitoris.
The leader watched, his dark eyes sparkling with lust. ‘Look at her,’ he urged. ‘Have you ever seen such a perfect bottom? It is the way with redheads; they have lovely skin. And look at her dainty waist, my hands could quite easily span it.’
Rowena bathed in his praise, in the ministrations of the group, as her body was driven to insensibility by the stroking and caressing. ‘Don’t stop,’ she begged, afraid they would leave her with her desires unsatisfied like the last time.
The leader bent over her, his robes tickling her back. Rowena sighed happily as he began to dabble his fingers in her wet furrow. ‘Your dew is a potent aphrodisiac, the scent of the oceans I have sailed. And this is my favourite port,’ he declared, rubbing her emissions into the small hole of her anus.
It was a strange and heady feeling as he poked his finger into that virgin orifice. He slid the unrelenting digit further and Rowena let out a small cry of fear and delight. ‘Oh, I do not think that can be quite right,’ she scolded.
‘Your body is for our pleasure,’ he reminded her. ‘And every hole you have belongs to me to use as I wish.’
A dart of wicked glee ran up her spine. ‘If it pleases you.’
‘It pleases me very much.’ He began to press his finger deeper as if making a pathway. ‘Do you like that, Rowena?’ he crowed. ‘Does it feel good?’
She was loath to admit it but the plunder of her virgin territory was not displeasing. It was exciting and extremely titillating. ‘I do rather like it,’ she whispered for his ears only. The others instantly withdrew and she felt lost and bewildered.
Sensing her distress the leader chuckled. ‘We are going to fill you now, Rowena. To plug your dainty arse wi
th our weapons.’
She was not convinced about this new diversion. ‘You must be joshing.’
She turned her head to look at him and gave a small screech to see a man approach with a thick stick, which he proceeded to dip into her juices. Then he bent down and began to ease it into her most secret place. The pain was indescribable and she wriggled and protested with all her might. But it was hopeless, for each one took it in turns to poke and work his own stick into her bottom hole. They threatened and cajoled but she refused to lie still and be violated by the hollow-eyed freaks.
‘Be still, wife! Be still!’
Rowena fought her way through waves of sleep to feel her husband tearing into her rear passageway with his huge cock. ‘No, Sigurd!’ she cried. ‘Have mercy!’
‘Mercy? Looking at the smirk on your sleeping face you are the last one to cry for mercy. You were wet and willing in sleep, how can you deny me now? Be still and let your husband have his way.’
He slapped her and continued to plunder her bottom hole until she thought the pain would make her faint. And then the incongruous happened, an overwhelming tingle spread through her bowels, through her sex, as pain and pleasure bonded and she teetered on the precipice of orgasm.
Sigurd shot his load into her and slumped beside her. Rowena clenched her fists in frustration. He surprised her, however, by finding the apex of her legs and rubbing her clitoris, beaded with his creamy seed.
Rowena pushed against his hand. ‘Oh, my lord,’ she sighed, ‘that is so good.’
The tingle began to spread through her sex once more, and she braced her legs against the tide of feeling, only to be disappointed again when he stole his finger away from her pleasure centre. She whimpered her distress, and Sigurd’s deep laugh signified his entertainment at her plight.
‘You have no regard or thought for me at all, do you?’
His answer was to roll her onto her stomach and pull a paddle from beneath the bed. ‘Ah, wife,’ he sighed, ‘I am merely teaching you to have more respect for your husband. It is the basis of a good marriage.’
a Wicked Conquest Page 11
