by Lee Savino
He led me to a chair, and sat down before tipping me over his lap.
“W-what are you doing?” I asked.
His hands roamed over my bare bottom. “Making ye feel better.” He spanked one cheek and I jumped, though it didn’t hurt. “Will ye mind me?”
He smacked the other cheek when I didn’t answer right away.
“Yes,” I sulked. More swats, and I kicked. Fergus spanked me harder until I went limp, yielding to his will.
“Good lass.” He squeezed my warmed buttocks, pulling them apart. A pause, and warm oil drizzled between my cheeks. I made a noise deep in my throat as he fished a finger in my rear hole, and replaced it with a plug.
“Deep breath,” he ordered and pushed it inside. My feet kicked again.
“It’s too big.”
“‘Tis the same size as always. You’re just unused to it. We’ve been too long making ye feel owned.” He set me off his lap, on my knees. “Thank me for preparing ye,” he ordered.
When I was too slow to undo his breeches, he pulled me up again over one knee and rained blows on my bottom. I cried out, even as warmth stirred through me, my body readying for pleasure.
Back on my knees, I eagerly drew him out and sucked. Fergus cupped my head, murmuring encouragement as I licked him up and down. Drawing his cock up, he had me tongue his tight sac, guiding me until I relaxed into giving him pleasure. No more thought, no more sorrow, no more worry. Following Fergus’ orders, I could simply be me. By the time he drew me up, I was wet and panting with need.
Fergus turned me and pushed my front flat on the table. Hand clamped on the back of my neck, he stroked inside me, thrusting forcefully until my body rocked into the wood. My cunny quivered, tissues tightening in readiness.
He pulled out at the last minute. “No,” he smacked my ass again. “You don’t deserve to cum.”
I bit my lip against begging him. He helped me onto the table, having me lie back and he tied me down. I end up spread eagled, arms and legs bound. Fergus stood over me and finished jacking his cock, turning my head at the last second to have me swallow his seed down. A little dribbled from the side of my mouth, and he scooped it up and fed me.
“Good lass,” he crooned and I melted.
I raised my head as he got a cloth and cleaned me. “So wet,” he tsked. With a grin, he bent his red-head and lapped up my juices, licking me until I jerked in the bonds. “There. Now ye are ready.”
“For what?” I asked. He stuffed the cloth into my mouth, and bound another on my eyes.
Blindfolded, I could only wait at his mercy.
Cold metal trailing over my skin made me jerk, and his fingers pinched my nipples, toying with piercings as he attached the chain to the rings tipping my breasts. Slowly, he drew the chain down my quivering stomach and took his time attaching it to the ring between my lower lips.
“There,” he gave the chain a tug. I sucked in a breath as the sharp pain woke my arousal, my body roaring to life.
Fergus?
Silence. Whatever this was, it would be a test. My chest rose and fell under the chain, my cunny grew wetter.
And then—a slight sound outside. A boot on the outside stoop.
I gurgled in my gag and yanked the bindings. Anyone could walk in and see me—
Shhh, Muriel. Trust me.
Fergus’s voice calmed me somewhat.
The door swung open. Chilly air gusted across my bare body. I shivered slightly, my body coming even more alive, nipples hardening to points.
The door shut as the stranger came inside. The air grew warm again. Whoever it was drew near, stopping at the foot of the table. I could only imagine what they saw—a naked woman, bound, gagged, and spread, legs open and cunny on display. Gold glinting drawing attention to soft flesh trembling underneath.
The stranger came to stand beside me. A fresh scent washed over me, and, even though he didn’t speak, I knew who it was.
“What is this?” Wulfgar rasped. A part of me tensed as another part of me relaxed. My great mate didn’t sound angry, but didn’t sound happy.
“This is your wife,” Fergus said from his corner. I imagined him sitting near the fire, boot propped on a stack of ready kindling, drinking mead and enjoying the firelight flickering over my skin. He sounded casual, almost bored. “You’re late.”
A hand skated over my chest, hovering but not touching. I sensed it, and my breath came faster.
“Why have you done this?”
“Ye need to remember your duty.”
“I know my duty.”
A scrape of a chair, and Fergus said with more force, “Ye know the one you owe to the pack. You’ve forgotten what you owe your mate.”
Wulfgar sighed.
“She cried today. She thinks you don’t want—”
“I know. I know. Muriel, I’m sorry.” He laid his hand at my collarbone. I whimpered a little, but the sound was muffled by the gag.
“Don’t tell her,” Fergus said. “Show her.”
For a moment there was silence, but for Wulfgar’s ragged breathing. Then a click of a weapon, and the fall of fabric. My mate stripping to come to me.
“Build up the fire,” Wulfgar ordered. “I don’t want her cold.”
“Ye can warm her,”
“First things first,” Wulfgar murmured, and eased the gag out of my mouth. A little water dribbled into my mouth.
“All right, sweetheart?”
I nod, still unsure. I’m bound and sightless, helpless before the most powerful man I know. A warrior with the strength to break me, in more ways than one.
But I would never hurt you, he spoke into my mind. You have nothing to fear.
I bit my lip. He already hurt me.
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Muriel.” His hand came to my knee. “I will atone.”
Giant hands brushed my hair back, stroked down my needy flesh. My hips rose to greet his touch and he clucked, avoiding the area of my throbbing pussy. I whimpered again, but didn’t speak. Fergus was right. The time for words had past.
“Untie her,” Wulfgar ordered.
“You sure? It can be great fun to tease her with them.” Another scrape of the chair as Fergus came to do his warrior brother’s bidding.
“No. I don’t want the ropes. I don’t need them.”
My arm relaxed as the bonds fell away.
Heat hit my body as Wulfgar leaned over me. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you, Muriel?”
Tears pricked my eyes as I nodded.
“Oh Muriel.” Rough hands massaged my limbs, arranging me carefully. “Let me atone. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”
My lips parted as Wulfgar put his mouth on me. Two hands, two lips, one hot tongue, and I gasped and twitched.
“Be good,” he reminded me, with a snap of the chain. He spread my legs and I kept them where he desired. Two large hands palmed my buttocks, pulling me to the table’s edge. Then his mouth covered my most sensitive place.
He licked, he sucked, he probed me with his great tongue. I jerked and shook, a leaf on a branch, but didn’t move from where he placed me.
Good lass, Fergus encouraged.
I opened myself to him and Wulfgar, both body and mind.
“Muriel. Dear one,” Wulfgar murmured, his stubbled cheek scratching the inside of my thigh. I jumped at the rough treatment, and he soothed me with a kiss to the thin skin.
Take your pleasure, he ordered, and ate me with such fervor I fisted my hands to keep them where they were.
When my orgasm rolled over me, he tugged the chain, a flash of pain to make the pleasure sharper. He propped my legs up against him, ankles barely resting on his shoulders, his own hands steadied my hips and pulled me onto his cock with one great thrust. My climax ended and another one began as Wulfgar grunted, thrusting deeper and deeper inside of me.
Give it to me, Muriel, he commanded, hovering in my mind, feeling my pleasure as if it were his own.
I can’t—
You m
ust. With a growl, he gathered me up into his arms. I was weightless for a moment before he laid me on the bed. The bed he hadn’t shared with me for so long.
Pain bubbled in my chest, choking me.
“Give it to me, Muriel.”
I shook my head, tears streamed out from under the blindfold.
“Yes.” He cradled my chin gently. The briefest touch, just enough to leave me sobbing. The stone around my heart cracked, broke.
Give me your pain. Let me soothe the hurt away.
Finally, I nodded. My arms and legs wrapped around his large body as he hovered over me.
His breath caressed my face.
Then he slammed his body into me. My climax exploded as he rubbed the right parts inside me. I rocked back with each savage thrust.
“Wulfgar,” I call out his name, consumed.
He let out another growl. No more man, only beast, the predator unleashed, feasting on my satisfied cries.
I bowed—but didn’t break. He had nothing to fear. I am the vessel of his child, but I am strong. And he realized it as he sated himself in my body. I hang on, shuddering with pleasure, loving the drag of his thick cock over the plug. He pulled it out, and I climaxed again, limbs shaking as I peak.
Still, Wulfgar pounded into me, holding me tight in his massive arms. I’d have marks on my flesh when he was done.
He pulled off the blindfold, I drank him in, pulling him into my body, my mind, my heart.
“Muriel,” he whispered over and over as he lost control and spilled inside me. “Muriel.”
I rubbed my face over his face and chest, savoring the strength of his arms, the bite of his stubble.
Fergus stood next to the bed, stroking my leg as Wulfgar licked at my breasts to clean me. Smiling, he handed Wulfgar a cloth to finish the job.
I stopped my giant mate when he would wipe his seed away. “Leave it. I already carry our child, but I want the reminder.”
Wulfgar bowed his head. “You humble me.”
Fergus laid a hand on his arm. “You think you do not deserve this.” My red haired mate nodded to my naked self, spread before them, glistening with sweat and our combined juices.
“But you above all have earned it.”
Come, I invited Wulfgar. Sleep beside me.
Fergus fetched us some mead, and we both drink, but then Wulfgar laid down, with me on my side before him, his large palm cradling my belly.
Comfortable? He asked me, as gentle now as he was brutal.
In answer, I wriggle back against his massive bulk, and fall asleep in the shelter of his arms, my belly protected by my mate’s great hands. Hands that will one day hold his baby daughter.
The End
Night of The Berserkers
I have one night to meet the mage...
One night to destroy him...
One night to break the Berserker's curse...
One night to save them...
I woke in a field, surrounded by warriors. The spell had brought me to the threshold of the Corpse King’s fortress. When the men seized me, I reached for my power, but none came to my aid.
I was a thousand years from home, a captive of the Corpse King’s warriors, and I had no magic.
Night of the Berserkers is a stand alone reverse harem romance starring four huge, dominant warriors and the witch who must free them from the Berserker curse.
This is the story of the witch Yseult.
Yseult
The fog stood thick over the moor, heavy as an omnipresent hand pressing down, sucking the air from our lungs. Crows cawed in the skeletons of trees as I passed. The dead grass and disfigured trees were only more proof that the land withered and died under Corpse King’s power.
The wind picked up, but I didn’t shiver, even though I was cold. Magic hummed through me, warming me even as goosebumps rose on my flesh.
“Every day he grows stronger,” one of my younger sisters raised her head. “Even the weather heeds him.”
“Shhh,” another hushed her, holding a sachet of herbs to her own face. Posies were no use. The stench of the Corpse King penetrated our very bones.
I left them and headed to the women bent around a fire. My older witch sisters stood in a tight circle, chanting as one. The neophytes hung back, allowing the ancient ones to combine power to work the spell.
I remained outside the circle. Silent, though my own lips moved with the chant.
And when shall we all meet again?
In fog or thunder or wasting rain?
When the spell we set is done,
When the battle’s lost and won
With the dying of the sun
Moonlight reigns when love doth come…
My brow creased under the weight of the magic. I labored to breath as the spell took hold, twining around my body like a vine. I swayed a little before I caught the gaze of one of my older sisters.
“Here,” the witch beckoned to me. Her body was draped in what once was a purple robe, now rags. She looked like a wasted crone, but when I took her hand, power tingled in my arm. “Are you ready?”
Nodding, I stepped into the circle of witches. Despite the sickly chill, I wore only a thin white shift, with my hair unbound down my back. My arms and feet were bare.
“Child, have you cleansed yourself?” The witch speaking was the oldest of us. I was no girl, but to her, I’d always be a child.
“I have,” I answered clearly. “Cleansed with water and hyssop.”
“Drank only mead, ate only honey?”
I nodded.
“You’re ready, then. You’ll walk through fire.”
I swallowed and stepped forward. She kept her hand in mine, guiding me firmly the last few inches before the coals. The fire would cleanse me. Burn away whatever the spell could touch. It was necessary.
It can’t hurt me. I reminded myself again as the heat hit my skin. The crone’s hand both helped and guided me, but if I bolted, she would hold me fast.
Purifying smoke shot up on either side of me, the heat blasting my face. Tingles spread over me again, as I burned without burning, the spell fire licking but not touching my skin.
Once I made it through, I took a deep breath of cool air. I felt lighter, empty. A vessel for the spell, the great power my sisters and I would call into my being.
“The cleansing is finished. Let the spell begin.”
I took my place on the cold rock as my sisters gathered around me. Ancient hands raised, the younger neophytes huddled behind, heads bowed, arms linked for protection.
I steadied my breathing and looked within.
I could do this.
Of all my witch sisters, I was the best choice, blessed with both power and youth. I must succeed. This spell was our last hope.
I don’t know how long I stood waiting for the magic to come. A minute, an hour, a day and night?
When it came it was as if it had always been.
The power rose around me, swirling my garments, spreading thickly over my skin like water, burning like fire. If there was any uncleanliness left, the spell would destroy it, and me with it. I opened my eyes and met the crone’s gimlet gaze.
I could do this.
The wind picked up, a great howling as the Corpse King battered our defenses. The outer circle of neophytes staggered and steadied. The crones all lowered their arms. The sky above them cleared, the sinister fog gone. The night sky rolled out in front of me like a black carpet studded with bright jewels, hazy around the edges with the gathering dawn. The stars winked and whirled in ageless dance. Hurry, they beckoned. Journey with us, before the dawn.
I breathed deep, and accepted the power, and rose among the stars.
Tristan
I rose, sword in hand, swiping it overhead to drive off the cawing ravens. An endless battlefield stretched from where I stood, stinking of death and blood. My warrior brothers lay around me, faces dirty, armor smeared red, weapons clasped in still hands. I walked through the field of the fallen, pausing when a de
sperate gasping rose from one at my feet. A warrior lay in the mud, his guts spilling from the gaping wound in his stomach. He was dying, choking on his own blood. Wide, pain-filled eyes pleaded with me. My lips moving in a forgotten prayer, I thrust my sword downward and ended his struggle. I stood there for a moment, keeping the crows off him. His face, young and bloodied and framed with light blond hair, was familiar, but try as I might, I could not remember his name.
In my dreams, I marched on, until I could bear the sight of the dead no more. I ran, seeking the dark forest on the edge of the field. I entered a thicket, hacking with my sword as briars tore at my face. When I broke from the bracken, a silvery light beckoned me through the trees. A woman’s voice was calling my name.
Tristan, Tristan. The high, sweet tone was so familiar.
The shadows parted, moonlight glimmering off a woodland pool. A woman turned, white gold hair crackling around her face, and I had an answer to my prayers.
I woke hard, the woman’s voice echoing in my head. I kept my eyes closed, trying to conjure her face, but, like the dream, the scene with the woodland pool and still, silvery moonlight, she had slipped away.
Men’s voices murmured in the barracks. Someone was telling a story. Lars probably. He finished, and the others laughed.
I sat up, reaching for my weapon and my helm, feeling relief. I was alive, along with many of my warrior brothers. But as I moved from my bunk to join them in breaking our fast, I still smelled the sick scent from my dreams and heard the buzz of flies, feasting on the dead.
Yseult
The spell ripped and wrenched me. I cried out as it prised me apart. Vision swirled away, the stars dying, my ears filled with the roaring of time, the oncoming dawn.
The blast drove me into blackness.
