Her Rogue Viking

by Ashe Barker

  “It hurts…”

  “I know. It will not bear your weight for some time, perhaps weeks. I do not believe it is broken though, so should heal with rest.”

  “I am a slave, am I not? Slaves do not rest.” Fiona could not keep the bitterness from her tone.

  Ulfric wound one end of the length of linen around her ankle just above the swelling. His grin was wicked, and for the first time Fiona acknowledged that he, like his darker sibling, was a beautiful male.

  Ulfric’s features were rugged, his jaw square and clean-shaven, and his lips were full. The lower one protruded ever so slightly, and his cheek sported a dimple when he smiled, which made him appear almost playful. She had never seen hair paler than this Viking’s and wondered if the shoulder-length strands were truly as soft as they appeared. He wore his locks loose and they now framed his face, all but glowing in the fading light. The deep blue of his eyes had been the first thing Fiona had noticed about him when he took her prisoner, and now she found herself comparing their vivid hue to the plumage of the kingfishers that inhabited the river close to her home… her old home, the home she might never see again.

  “I am quite sure I can find duties for you which you may perform whilst seated, or even on your back.” He continued to bind her swollen limb, his movements deft and capable.

  “What duties? Oh. Oh!” Fiona reddened as his meaning became clear.

  His dimple deepened as Ulfric just grinned at her. He continued to tend to her ankle, the barbarian obviously enjoying her mortification.

  “You would force me.” It was a statement, not a question. Fiona might be unmarried, but she knew well enough the likely fate of a female captive.

  “I doubt that will be necessary. The life of a bed-slave is not onerous, and can yield pleasure if you let it.”

  “A bed-slave?”

  “Aye. I have decided that you shall warm my bed and spread your delightful thighs for me when I command it. In return I offer you food, warmth, a life of reasonable comfort, and more pleasure than I believe you currently comprehend.”

  “I comprehend perfectly well that you mean to abuse me, to take me by force. You will have to, for I shall never yield to you, Viking.”

  He paused in his ministrations, his gaze solemn as he regarded her. Fiona could not look away, though she badly wished to.

  “You are mine now, little Celt, my property, by the laws and customs of this land. I may do with you as I wish. Your body is mine, to explore, to punish, and to pleasure as I see fit. But I shall make a deal with you, Fiona. I swear I will not take your virginity by force, as I will have no need to. You will ask me to fuck you. No, you will beg me to do so, and only then will you experience the satisfaction of my cock filling your sweet cunt. Do you understand my words, little virgin slave?”

  Fiona was incredulous. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment at the tableau he described. “I do and you are quite deluded, Viking, if you think I shall ever say such a thing to you.”

  “Ah, but you will, my slave.”

  “Never. I shall die a virgin first.”

  He laughed out loud at that. “Have no fear, my fiery little Celt, I can be quite persuasive when I set my mind to it. I promise, it shall not come to that.”

  * * *

  The sky was darkening by the time Ulfric concluded his binding of her ankle. He glanced up at Fiona, one blond eyebrow raised. “How does that feel, my little Celtic captive? Better?”

  Fiona tested her injury by slowly circling her foot. It hurt, but was bearable.

  She nodded. “Yes, it is easier, a little. Thank you.”

  “Remember, you are not to place any weight upon it. Which offers me something of a challenge given the need to see to your well-earned chastisement.” He looked about him as Fiona’s heart sank. She had harboured the small hope that he might even now relent. She had apologised, after all, and sworn not to lift a hand against him again. It appeared her hopes were in vain.

  “Ah, yes, that will do nicely.” Fiona turned to see where his gaze had landed. A large tree lay on its side some twenty paces from where they sat, its trunk offering an obvious support against which a Viking bent upon imparting discipline might lay a recalcitrant thrall for a thrashing.

  She groaned as Ulfric called to a passing guard. “Yngvarr, throw a fur over yonder tree if you would, and bring me a switch. A good one, nice and supple and stripped of any sharp twigs. In fact, make that two switches. And be quick about it, the light is fading fast now and I prefer to be able to see what I am doing. I would not wish to be forced to delay until the morning since we need to be on the road at first light.”

  Two switches? Dear Lord, what does he mean to do to me?

  Ulfric allowed Fiona to remain where she was as the tree trunk was readied for her switching. She watched in mounting horror as the man, Yngvarr, did his master’s bidding. A thick fur was slung over the rough bark, then a blanket too, at Ulfric’s command. Yngvarr was quick to select several potential switches from the trees still standing, and there were many to choose from. He lounged a few feet from Fiona as he used a ferocious-looking dagger to whittle away any sharp points. Satisfied, he passed the first of the switches to his chieftain for inspection.

  “Yes, this is fine work. Thank you, Yngvarr. Now, another just as good, if you please.”

  The man bent to his task once more as Ulfric turned to regard his fearful captive.

  “In the future, little wench, and when your injury is quite healed of course, I shall require you to keep me well supplied with switches. You will be responsible for selecting and preparing them, and I will expect at least a couple to be at hand at all times as I expect to make frequent use of them as you adjust to your new station in life. If any fall below my standards I shall prepare the replacement myself, and your intended punishment will be doubled. Is that perfectly clear?”

  Fiona did not deign to respond.

  “Wench, do I make my instructions quite clear?” His tone had hardened. He expected an answer.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Good. You will do well to obey. Ah, thank you, Yngvarr.” The second switch was ready and Ulfric declared himself satisfied with that also. Ulfric offered a cold smile in Fiona’s direction. “I shall carry you over to the tree trunk, and aid you in assuming the necessary position. Your skirts will be raised as I will always deliver a switching on your bare bottom. Usually, I will expect you to make yourself ready for punishment, but on this occasion I am prepared to assist you. You may thank me if you so wish.”

  Hades would sprout icicles before she would do any such thing. Fiona glowered her resentment and stiffened as her captor reached for her.

  “Your resistance will cost you in the long run. The sooner you submit to the reality of your situation, the better it will be for you.” He lifted her in his arms and rose easily to his feet. It would seem she had not hit him nearly hard enough because apart from the angry-looking bruise he appeared to suffer no lingering effects. Did all Vikings possess skulls made of granite?

  Ulfric carried her to the fallen tree and set her down beside it, taking care to allow her to lower her good leg first. Then, still ensuring that her weight remained on her uninjured foot, Ulfric helped Fiona to turn and face the trunk, then eased her torso forward until she was balanced across it. The furs and blanket provided a soft cushion. Fiona could find no reason to complain that her comfort was not considered as Ulfric patted her soon-to-be-punished bottom.

  “I will lift you a little higher, to ensure that your feet are off the ground and taking no weight, and to offer me a better target, naturally.” He did not wait for any further comment from Fiona. In moments she was dangling over the tree trunk, her feet inches from the bare earth and her head and shoulders balancing her weight on the other side. The grass and a light dusting of fallen leaves were just inches from her nose but she could just make out their shapes in the gathering gloom as she quivered in this unfamiliar and vulnerable position.

  Her fath
er had been no disciplinarian. In all her nineteen summers no one had ever so much as slapped her wrist, let alone bent her over a fallen tree for a public switching. Fiona wondered if it was possible to die of humiliation.

  She managed not to whimper as her skirts were raised above her waist, then tucked under the woven braid that served as a belt. Fiona was acutely aware of the half dozen or so Viking warriors who had gathered to observe the proceedings. They were all now afforded a fine view of her upturned, naked buttocks. She was glad she could not decipher the exact meaning of their calls and remarks, though the general gist was plain enough.

  The jocularity ceased abruptly at a word from Ulfric. The men remained in place, watching, but they no longer offered their lewd observations.

  Fiona was accustomed to harsh winters, but the bitter chill of this Nordic early evening was equal to anything she could recall in her own country. She shivered as the icy breeze caressed her bare backside and could not help clenching as Ulfric bent to select the first switch.

  “Fear not, little wench. You shall soon be feeling a good deal warmer.” He swung the switch in an experimental arc, slow at first, then fast enough to produce an ominous whistle. Fiona shrieked.

  Ulfric chuckled and moved in close. He laid the palm of his free hand on her bottom, the caress almost affectionate. “Try not to clench, though I realise it is difficult. Are you ready?”

  There was nothing to be gained by delaying matters. Fiona nodded, then clenched her bound hands into fists as she tensed for the first stroke.

  “Aagh!” She let out a shrill scream as fire exploded across her right buttock. Her entire body jerked with the force of the blow, though she had been expecting it. This hurt though, more than she had ever imagined.

  “One,” Ulfric intoned. “Be still, Celt. Settle down and we shall continue.”

  Somehow, through the haze of pain, she heard his words and managed to obey. Moments later fire snaked across her left cheek.

  “Ooh!” Sweet Jesus, can I bear this?

  “Two. Now relax, you do not wish to drag this out, I am sure.”

  He was right, she did not. Fiona willed her tense muscles to soften and drew in a shuddering breath.

  “Three. Four.”

  She was managing the pain just slightly better now, no longer so shocked by the intensity of sensation. She managed not to cry out, and needed no further reminders to keep her buttocks soft.

  “That is good. Five. Six. Seven.”

  Fiona writhed against the blanket. Despite her determination to bear this ordeal with fortitude she was unable to remain still, nor could she contain her tears that flowed unchecked across her face.

  Ulfric paused to once again lay his palm over her throbbing backside. Her bottom was on fire and she flinched under his touch though he was not rough with her.

  “You are doing well. Just three more to go. Shall I continue, Fiona?”

  No! Enough! “Yes. Please, just finish this and let me get up.”

  He squeezed her flaming buttock briefly and resumed his stance. The switch whistled through the air and landed full across both buttocks.

  “Eight. The final two will be on your thighs. These will really hurt.”

  Dear Lord in Heaven…

  “Nine.” The switch split the frigid air again and pain blazed across her right thigh. Fiona screamed and gasped for breath. One more. Just one last…

  “Aagh!” The final stroke landed on her left thigh and despite her best intentions Fiona kicked back hard. The leg-iron rattled as she writhed and wriggled but a firm hand in the small of her back pinned her in place.

  “We are done, but you will remain where you are until I help you to move.”

  Sobbing, Fiona could barely manage to bob her head to indicate her obedience. She lay still, suspended over the fallen tree, though she flinched as the weight of her rough skirts settled on her punished bottom. Still, she was relieved to be covered once more and grateful that her Viking captor had not seen fit to extend her mortification by leaving her on display. He could have, she well knew that.

  Strong hands rolled her over and cradled her behind her knees. Unthinking, Fiona reached her bound hands up and looped them about Ulfric’s neck as he stood with her in his arms. He murmured to her in his own tongue, soft-spoken words of comfort and reassurance, words she did not understand but drew strength from even so.

  He carried her over to where the other men had built a fire, and laid her on a pile of furs beside the cheery flames. The warmth caressed Fiona’s chilled face and hands as she lay on her side, her body still trembling. Ulfric dropped another fur over her shoulders and turned away as if he meant to simply to leave her.

  “Wait.” The word sprang from her lips before she could think, before she could stop herself.

  Ulfric halted and crouched beside her. “I will bring you food. You need to eat now, then sleep.”

  “Do not leave me. Please.” She was weeping again as she reached for him with her bound hands. “Please, stay. Just for a few moments.” She could not bear the thought of being left here alone among these fearsome warriors, hurting and humiliated, beaten and humbled before them all. Fiona needed her Viking to stay, to surround her in his warmth and his approval. She needed to know she had his forgiveness now.

  “I am sorry that I… that I hurt you.”

  He cupped her chin in his right hand, his fingers stroking her damp cheek.

  “I know that. And it is over. We will not speak of it again.”

  “Over?” She could not quite believe that it would be so simple. “You forgive me?”

  “Of course.” He gathered her into his arms and pulled her into his lap. Fiona did not complain as her tender bottom rubbed against the coarse fabric of her skirt. All that mattered was that he was close to her, and that he must not abandon her. She grasped the front of his tunic, curling her fingers around the brass cloak pin holding his warm outer clothing in place. Ulfric pulled the garment forward until it enveloped her too and drew her close in to his chest as she shook and sobbed in his arms. He nuzzled her hair and rubbed his large hand in slow circles around her back and shoulders until her trembling subsided and at last she was still.

  “Better?”

  Fiona managed another small nod. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome. You will learn, little wench, that I will punish you when you deserve it. Always. But I will also be there to comfort and protect you when you need me. You are mine now, you see, my property, and my responsibility so I will take care of you.”

  Fiona might have again contradicted his proprietorial claims, but could find no real inclination to do so at that moment. Instead she leaned against him and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Four

  Ulfric extricated himself from the determined grip of his raven-haired captive and eased her down onto the soft bracken that would serve as her mattress this night. He left his cloak wrapped around her, along with the furs and blanket from the fallen tree. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully so he slipped from the makeshift bed and left in search of food.

  His men had managed to take a couple of rabbits, and had satisfied their own hunger. They had kept enough back for their leader and the Celtic girl so Ulfric gathered up their portions and returned to the nest beside the fire. Fiona did not wake when he settled himself beside her, and he considered allowing her to sleep now.

  No. She had not eaten well in days, he knew that. Utter fatigue might have felled her this evening, aided by a decent switching, which would drain the energy from more robust constitutions than he believed she might lay claim to. She possessed the most delightful curvy bottom, now beautifully adorned by the stripes he had laid there, but otherwise the Celt was so slender she might be blown away by the merest breath of a Nordic wind. There was little enough weight to her as it was and he could not help but note the fragility of her wrists and ankles as he had bound her and tended to her injury. It was vital that she eat, and sleep would come after.

  “Wak
e up, little one. You must eat.”

  Fiona did not stir.

  Ulfric laid the food down and reached for her slim shoulder. He gave her a gentle shake. “Fiona, wake up.”

  She furrowed her brow and muttered into the fur that covered the lower half of her face. “No, I am tired…”

  “I know, and you may sleep soon. First, you should eat.”

  “Not hungry.”

  “Liar. Sit up and I shall help you.”

  She opened her eyes to gaze up at him blearily. His cock hardened, stirred by the sultry smokiness of her grey gaze. He had only just managed to regain some semblance of control following her switching but it seemed he had but to look at her and he was ready to make a spectacle of himself. By the gods, he would enjoy this wench, but first he had to feed her and bring her safe to his home. Then… well, then the fun might begin.

  “I am able to feed myself, thank you.”

  “I daresay, as a rule. But not with bound hands.”

  “Then…”

  “No. I do not greatly care for the prospect of allowing you to cave in what remains of my skull as soon as I fall asleep. You shall remain bound until the morning.”

  “But I said I was sorry, and you forgave me.”

  “True, but shall we not tempt fate, eh? So, are you ready for this?”

  He selected a fine piece of the roasted rabbit and dangled it beneath her nose, then smiled when she licked her lips. Now she offered no resistance as he slid his free arm under her shoulders and brought her to a sitting position. He held the morsel to her lips and Fiona took it in her mouth and chewed.

  “Is that good?”

  “Yes. Very.” Her stomach growled loudly and Ulfric laughed. He had been right to wake her.

  “Here, have another piece.”

  They shared the meat, though he selected the best mouthfuls for her. She ate with relish, thanking him for each bite he offered. When the carcase was picked bare he flung the bones into the nearby trees for the wild creatures to finish off.