The Viking's Captive
Page 6
“Like this.” He pulled her arm, forcing her to bend.
Suddenly she was over his lap, her ribs pressing against his solid leg muscle, and her hair falling over her face.
He pressed her lower, so her ass was the highest point of her body and her toes had lifted from the ground.
Gasping, she reached for something to hold and found both his leg and the chair leg. “Get off me.”
“Hush, for that kind of talk is forbidden. You are mine. You will not tell me to ‘get off you’ when a punishment has been earned.”
Her mind was swimming. What did he have planned for her? Her cheeks reddened as blood rushed to her face. She wished the smell of burning fish would weaken, for it reminded her of the rash decision she’d made to spoil their meal.
“Like this,” he said, dragging up the lower half of her dress. “I need to get to you.”
“No, please, don’t rape me…” Fear gripped her as cool air washed over her naked thighs. She battled to get up, get away from him. She’d run into the hills, take her chances with the wolves and the boar, anything was better than Halvor forcing himself upon her.
“I’m not raping you, Duna.” He placed his hand squarely between her shoulder blades, keeping her in position. “Now keep still.”
She huffed out a breath. He’d well and truly trapped her.
He continued to hike up her clothing, until she was aware of it bunched around her waist.
Her undergarments were old but clean, and as he dragged them downward, exposing her bare buttocks, she suddenly realized what he had in mind.
I’m going to get spanked.
She hadn’t been spanked since she was a child, and then only once for going to the other side of the island without telling her mother and creating a day of worry for her parents.
“Keep still,” he said, rubbing his work-worn palm over her naked flesh.
She tensed and clenched her ass cheeks. His touch was so intimate, on a part of her that she kept covered and unseen.
Yet here she was exposed and vulnerable before this Viking.
A sob bubbled up from her chest; it was part humiliation, part regret for her actions.
He chuckled. “I haven’t even started yet, Duna, surely you’re not crying already.”
She writhed within his hold, finding a new strength she hoped would mean escape. But she barely moved. His strong grip on her seemed effortless. “Leave me alone.”
“We’ve already established that’s not going to happen.” He leaned, reaching for something.
It was with horror she realized what.
His shoe.
“Now this will hurt, as it’s designed to. For what would be the point of a master reprimanding his slave if it wasn’t painful?”
She didn’t answer. It was another one of his stupid questions.
“But if you relax,” he continued to stroke her buttocks, as if learning their shape, “it will be less so. There’s nothing I can do about that, slave; you can choose or not choose to make this a whisper easier on yourself.”
She closed her eyes and curled her toes.
“Answer me.” He pinched the skin on the roundest part of her left buttock.
“Ouch!” She jerked. “Yes, Master. I understand, Master.”
“Good. Now you will receive one dozen strokes to each side. You may cry out, for there is no one to hear.”
She gripped the chair and his leg until her knuckles paled. All she could do was brace for the impact.
A fraction of a second before the sole of his shoe collided with her left buttock, she was aware of the air shifting. Instinctively she tensed, then cried out as the burning pain spread over her flesh.
The sound of it shocked her too. A resounding snap, like a whip being cracked, and it echoed around the room.
She’d barely registered the first strike, when the second one came, in exactly the same spot.
Again she jerked within Halvor’s grip. Heat shot over her skin, as if a swarm of angry bees had landed on her buttocks and stung over and over.
“No, no,” she cried.
“Be still, woman.” He clamped her closer to his side, his body and arm holding her hostage. “We’ve barely started.”
He spanked her with the shoe again. “This,” he said—another whack—“is to teach you.” Smack. “To be…”
“Ouch!” She bucked upward, thrusting her ass into the air then away. The pain was growing, each hit layering up the heat.
“More careful when cooking.”
“Yes, yes, I will,” she cried out. When would this stop?
“A spanking will not kill you, Duna.” He paused and stroked his hand up her back and neck then over her hair, almost caressing.
She shook her head, not wanting his soothing touch.
“So there’s no need to wail as if you’re being murdered though it is quite amusing.”
“You,” she panted, “are not the one having their hide tanned.”
“No, because I am Master. And if I’d been cooking, I would have seen to it you were fed.”
“I wouldn’t have eaten it.” She gripped his leg harder, hoping her fingers were hurting his flesh. She doubted they were.
“Which is why you were cooking,” he said. “Because it was the only way I thought you’d eat.”
Thwack.
She jolted forward. But this time, didn’t cry out. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Thwack.
Grunting, she squeezed her eyes closed, moisture had built up within them. Battling against him was futile.
As he continued to spank her left buttock, raising it to a temperature she’d never experienced before, she tried to release the tension.
“Good girl,” he said, finally pausing, and again smoothing over her flesh.
She winced as his rough warrior hands slid over her tender skin, then pursed her lips and blew out a breath.
“I believe you’re beginning to understand the nature of our relationship, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes… Master.” She was panting. Her throat was tight, and her chest ached.
“And it’s taken the reddening of one cheek for that to happen. Perhaps when the other matches, you will not only accept the nature of our relationship, but also understand it.”
“Understand that I have to obey you, until my dying day?”
“That is the fate the runestones have delivered you.”
Runestones?
Before she could ask what he was talking about, a spank on her right buttock had her jolting forward. It seemed now it was the turn of her previously unblemished cheek to be slapped red.
She bit on her bottom lip, tried and failed not to lurch within his grip as another spank was laid over the first two.
Again she closed her eyes, and wished she could make her buttocks relax. Because he’d been right; tensing them did seem to make it worse. She consciously released the muscles, hoping to ease her torment.
“Ah, you’re trying.” The shoe was replaced with his hand. “I’m impressed, because I think this is your first admonishment as an adult woman and relaxing into it isn’t easy.”
“How would you know this is my first… admonishment?”
“Is it?”
She said nothing; instead she kicked her legs, hoping to get enough leverage to stand. But of course it was futile. She was going nowhere.
“Is it your first taste of a man’s hand on your rear in discipline?” he asked, louder this time and finishing his words with a slap with the shoe.
“Yes, yes, it is.”
Smack.
“Ouch!”
“I’ve spent many a long hour on longboats,” he said. “What do you think Vikings talk about?”
“I don’t care to know.”
“Well, you will.”
Slap.
She grunted, tensed for a moment then allowed her buttocks to relax.
“They talk,” he said, “about slaves, and sex, and food, and what
He struck her with the shoe again; three hard spanks that once more brought tears to her eyes. The heat was intense, as if real wild fire had stroked her ass.
She whimpered and hung her head. Her brow was sweaty, and strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. When would this end?
Chapter Eight
Halvor surveyed the rouged buttocks over his lap. He couldn’t deny they were lacking in meaty flesh, but still, they were perfectly round and they had been of the most delicate white he’d ever borne witness too.
But not anymore. Now they were as red as crab apples. Each time he’d delivered a swat another depth of color had arrived. And now… now she glowed a stunning scarlet.
And he had to say she was taking it well. But then again, from the moment he’d decided to grab her, take her as his captive, he’d known she was different. She had fight in her, a will to live, and a stubborn streak that would be hard to break.
He brought the sole of his leather shoe down once more on her offered buttock, layering the shoe-shaped redness his swat would create over the previous ones. Anticipating the jolt of her body, as he continued to deliver the discipline, he tightened his hold. He was nearly done. Each quivering buttock was almost on an equal number of slaps and of a matching delightful shade…
He paused for a moment and explored his handiwork, enjoying the heat that radiated onto his palm. Her skin had appeared virginal, now it was his, burning with his mark.
She moaned, kicked her legs a little, and clasped his calf. Her small hand was nothing more than a kitten’s paw. But her slight frame, her tiny hands and feet, delicate features, just added fuel to the protective streak in him.
How can I protect her if she won’t obey me?
He had to set down rules if he was to keep her safe. This first spanking would start growing her trust and dare he say it… respect.
He gripped the shoe, slapped it down again. This was the last one, and he didn’t hold back, gave her a good hard whack.
“Ouch! Please, no more. I beg you, Master.”
Part of him was sorry it had ended, but equally he was glad it had.
Will her pain ever become mine? Will she ever truly become a part of my soul and my destiny?
He shook his head to rid his mind of such a ridiculous thought. She was a slave. The lowest of the low. A thrall. He needed to remember his place as master, and not allow her to affect him… much.
He tossed his shoe to one side, gripped her waist, and pulled her upward so she was half sitting on his lap, her tender ass not in contact with anything.
Her face was flushed, her cheeks wet, and her eyes were misty. She was breathing hard.
He stared at her chest rising and falling. Her pert breasts were pushing at her clothing then retreating over and over. A sudden urge struck him to see her chest, to explore her shape, witness the color of her flesh… her nipples.
Reaching for the base of her dress, which was rucked around her waist, he tugged it upward.
“No!” She tried to fight him, but her efforts were of little hindrance to him.
Quickly he had her dress off and discarded on the floor. He’d have to organize new garments for her; what she had was in a sorry state.
“What are you doing?” She clasped her hands over her small breasts, hiding them from his view.
Her breaths had sped up further, adding to his pleasure at having a near naked woman on his lap. She was flushed, a little damp with sweat, and despite her naivety he could sense the spark in her, the passion that lurked beneath the surface.
“You are mine,” he said, gripping her wrists, “and as such I wish to inspect my property.”
“You have tormented me enough already.” She frowned and tensed her shoulders. “Leave me be.”
“I will… soon.” He pulled her arms away from her body, exposing the gentle globes of her slight breasts.
Her nipples were the palest pink and barely bigger than a tunic button.
“Ah, that pleases me.”
“You’re a brute. I don’t want you looking at me.” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
“I needed to look,” he said.
“Why?”
“To see if you had been with child.”
“What? How would you know by looking?”
“If you’d carried a bairn,” he said, “these pretty nipples of yours would be large and dark. As it is I can see that you have never given birth in your twenty-one summers.”
She clamped her lips together.
Halvor could resist no more. He leaned forward and flicked his tongue over her left nipple.
She gasped and jerked.
He repeated the action, enjoying the pliant peak against his tongue and spreading saliva around it. He then pulled back a little and blew gently, knowing the action would cool her skin and peak her nipple.
With satisfaction he watched as the flesh of her areola contracted and her nipple became a tight twist.
He glanced at her face. Her lips were slightly parted. She’d stilled, eyes closed, as if absorbing the sensations he was creating.
Smiling, he repeated his action on the other breast, using wetness and air to stimulate that nipple.
She released a jagged breath as he took each nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugged, elongated, and rolled.
“Master,” she gasped.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he instructed. He was enjoying her responsiveness. For a woman who had no care for him, her body was reacting quite beautifully.
He released her nipples and cupped the heavier underside of her breasts. A little more weight on her and they’d be the perfect handful.
She moaned as he gently massaged her, then flicked over her taut nipples.
“Your breasts are enjoying me,” he said.
“Leave me alone.” She was panting, her back arched as if pressing into his touch. “Now.”
“Is that what you really want?” He took her right nipple into his mouth and sucked.
She groaned and squirmed on his lap. His cock was semi-hard and he enjoyed the brush of her thigh over it through his clothing.
He clamped his thumb and finger around her left nipple and stretched it.
Her sharp intake of breath told him when to stop. Quickly he switched his attentions, pulling that stretched nipple into the warmth of his mouth.
I could stay here all day, feasting on her.
“Please, no more… Master.” She pushed at his head and pulled back.
There was something in her tone that touched a chord within him. It was time to stop. This was their first day together and he had promised not to force himself on her. If he kept going, if his cock became any more insistent, he might have to act on his urges.
He released her and she swayed as if about to keel over.
“Duna,” he said, clasping her face in his hands and steadying her. “Look at me.”
“Why… should I?”
“Because, my slave, you have weathered your first punishment and inspection well, and I believe you have learned an important lesson.”
She opened her eyes. “I will obey you, Master.”
“Good.” He pushed her hair from her face, the lank strands catching in his fingers. “I’m pleased.” He smiled, a little, enjoying studying the tilt of her nose, her perfect rosebud lips, and the deep chestnut color of her eyes.
“I will obey you, Master,” she repeated. She drew her eyebrows together, and a tiny muscle tugged the right-hand corner of her lip. “But I will always hate you.”
His jaw clenched. His palm itched to tip her over again, spank her until tiny red dots blemished her skin. How dare she? He’d vowed to care for her, protect her, yet she hated him.
He stood, allowing her to almost fall.
But she didn’t; she clutched the table and regained balance.
“You have no gratitude,” he said.
“Gratitude?” She was hunched over, as though she ached. “You’d have earned my gratitude if you’d left me with my father, if your devil friends hadn’t killed my neighbors and people I care about. If you hadn’t rowed your snake-headed longboat onto our shores, then I would be grateful… Master.”
“I cannot entertain you,” he said, striding to the barrel of ale he kept in the corner of the room.
“I don’t wish you to.” She stooped and reached for her dress. “I wish you to take me home.”
“That’s not going to happen.” He filled a cask with ale and drank deep. It was warm and malty, not the freshest but it wasn’t sour. “And do not forget to address me as Master, otherwise you will feel a switch on your rear, and I will not be as forgiving as I was this time.”
She opened her mouth then closed it again.
Perhaps she was wising up to her situation.
He dragged in a deep breath and looked around his longhouse. For many months he’d ached to be here. Fill his lungs with fresh air, and his belly with fresh food. He enjoyed the rewards of his travels—the coins in his pocket and the treasures he could barter for—but here, in the home he’d helped his father build when he had been less than a score of summers old, was where he could truly relax. Let his breath out, his guard down, and sleep without a dagger in his hand.
Except now he couldn’t.
The Celt heathen standing before him had disrupted all of that. She was a whirlwind of energy spinning around his home and his brain. His body… that was also a swirl of emotions, a bunch of reactions to her alluring femaleness that he was struggling to ignore.
She must feel something too, when we touch.
He slammed his cask down and stepped up to her.
“What… what are you doing?”
“This.” He stooped, slid his hand beneath her dress, and yanked it up so it bunched around his forearm. He had to show her he could play her body like a musical instrument. He was more than a skilled warrior and a competent farmer; he was a man who was able to please and satisfy a woman.
“No more!” She tried to step away. “My bottom hurts so much.”
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