The Viking's Captive

by Lily Harlem

  His cock was stiffening.

  If he hadn’t made a decision as a young man to only ever be with willing women, he’d finish his food and take her sweet little cunny as his own. He’d sink deep on the first plunge, relish the way her body opened for his. He’d pound hard and find his pleasure, each gasp and cry she made would spur him on. And he’d be sure she found release too; he wasn’t a selfish lover.

  He watched her eating, the firelight licking over her delicate features and creating shadows on her cheeks. Had she ever found release, even at her own hand? He suspected she was inexperienced with men, judging by her reaction to seeing him naked in the bathtub, but that may mean she had only been with men of her own small size. The locals on her island had certainly not been a big breed of males.

  She’d also appeared shocked when he’d laved his tongue over her nipples and touched the sweet spot at the front of her cunny. But that could have merely been shock that he, her Viking master, was beginning to claim her body. Not that she’d never been pleasured or caressed by a male.

  Continuing to eat, and enjoying the heat of the horseradish coating his tongue, he wondered about the noises she’d make as she hit the climax of coupling. Would she sound the same as during a spanking, all breathy and pleading, or would she pant and gasp for more? He’d been with both sorts of women, long ago, but that kind of thing stayed in the memory.

  He found himself hoping she’d gasp, and cling to him with all of her limbs. Be enthused, want his cock deep and deeper still and give herself up to his kisses.

  Thinking about kissing her drew his attention to her sweet mouth. He adored it when she smiled, which she’d done several times, if not at the moment. Would she allow him to kiss her? When she was in a better mood? Or would she slap his face for attempting? He’d thought about it when lifting her down from the wagon, but then Asmund had interrupted his plan.

  She finished and stood. “I will clean these in the stream morrow.”

  “You will, slave.”

  What was he doing? Sitting there thinking about kissing his thrall. That wasn’t how their relationship was. He had to be a strong, stern master. Take her in hand. He reminded himself of her wild side, the defiant nature he’d borne witness to on the island beach and on the longboat. Again he thought of the feral cats at the port. Just when you thought you’d gained one’s trust, it would hiss and scratch and there would be nothing but hate in its eyes.

  “I’m going to bed, Master,” she said, reaching for Misty. “The day has been long.”

  “Sleep well. There is much for you to do. It is high time to get seeds planted.”

  * * *

  Duna didn’t reply. All his talk of inspecting her rear had irked her. But what was worse than that was she’d found it strangely arousing.

  As she’d eaten her broth, she thought of him bending her over the table, hoisting up her clothing, and drawing down her undergarments. Her naked rump would be there for him to gawp at, and stroke, and judge.

  Her internal muscles had clenched and a warmth, almost a dampness, had collected between her legs. That annoyed her too, and she frowned, not wanting to react to Halvor’s possession of her buttocks or her asshole.

  What does this mean about me?

  Yawning, she stepped past him and settled on the bed she preferred to use, the furthest from his.

  After slipping beneath the blanket, her kitten cuddled close, she sighed, then closed her eyes. It had been a long day, a pleasant one, mostly. Also it had held revelations. The elk were much bigger than she’d ever have imagined, Nadir was nice, almost friend material, she’d held silk and discovered that a reverend who believed in her God lived within these fair hills.

  Soon Misty stopped wriggling and he settled beneath her chin, his soft fur a comfort to her. Duna found herself drifting away.

  But it wasn’t a dreamless sleep.

  Snow. Thick flakes falling. The moonlight catching in them, creating a glittering display. Home. She was running, barefoot, dressed in a warm woolen dress. But soon the beauty of the snow and the full moon faded. Panic gripped her. She wasn’t home. She was at the longhouse. Something was wrong. She turned this way and that. Raven was barking. The hens creating a racket in the coop. The sheep were bleating.

  It was then she saw it.

  Wolf.

  Its amber eyes were staring at her through the darkness. It had paused in what it was doing, but quickly resumed. It was digging, at the side of the barn, creating a tunnel to get to the sheep.

  The sheep.

  They needed the sheep to survive. That knowledge was deeply ingrained in Duna’s psyche. Livestock had always been precious to her.

  “No,” she yelled, rushing forward. The wolf stopped again and stared at her; it pulled back its lips and growled, a low menacing sound that chilled the blood in her veins.

  It was then she realized it wasn’t growling at her, it was growling at Raven who was at her side.

  She spun around, looking for Halvor, but the longhouse was quiet; he was oblivious to what was happening. Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. There were more wolves creeping from the shadows, coming their way. “Halvor. Help!”

  “Duna. Duna. Stop it!”

  A deep voice, sounding like it was coming from underwater, penetrated the dream.

  She twisted this way and that, sending snow skittering over her feet. The wolves were coming closer, snarling, their attention on Raven. They were going to kill him to get to the sheep.

  “Duna, for the love of Odin, wake up.”

  “Halvor?” she murmured.

  “Aye, I’m here. Wake up, you are scaring Misty.”

  The wolves faded, the snow melted away, the sounds of the terrified flock quieted.

  She opened her eyes.

  Her master was staring down at her, his brow creased and his eyes narrowed. “Good, you have woken.”

  She clutched Misty and willed her heart to stop racing. “I… I…”

  “Shh, it’s all right. You are safe.” He stroked her hair. “I’m here. Nothing will harm you.”

  “But my dream… it was of here.”

  “This is your home now, of course you dream of here.”

  She stared up at him. “No, you don’t understand, I have dreams that tell of the future.”

  He frowned.

  Turning away, she wished she’d not spoken. Her father had always mocked her dreams, saying it was simply a vivid imagination.

  “Go on,” he whispered, still smoothing her hair from her damp forehead.

  She shook her head. If she was dreaming of here, this strange land in the winter months, it meant she would be staying, for the next season at least.

  “Try me,” he said. “I might surprise you, slave. I might understand.”

  She gulped in air. “I saw you, your boat, before I ever met you.” She turned back to him, feeling sure she’d see disbelief in his eyes.

  “Go on.”

  “Your face.” She reached forward and touched the ink around his right eye. “It’s the same as my dreams about you.”

  He appeared to tense, as though shocked by her gentle touch.

  “And the snake’s head, on the longboat. With its tongue, and scales, it’s exactly like my dream.”

  He nodded, just a little.

  “And this one. The dream I just had. It’s the same, it’s a window to the future.” She paused. “And it’s not good for us, Master.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She swallowed. “It’s winter, snow all around. We have secured the animals but the wolves are here, digging around the barn, tunneling their way in. And Raven, he—”

  “Tunneling?”

  “Yes, as if they’ve been at it for months, planning a way into the sheep for when they’re hungry.”

  He stood, forcing her to drop her hand, and pushed his fingers through his hair. “I believe you, wench.”

  “You do?” She sat.

  “Yes, for only this day I
spotted evidence that something had been digging on the yonder side of the barn. I didn’t think much of it, but yes, it could be the wolves that were here the other night. They have a plan and are working stealthily on it.”

  “We must do something. Raven, he’s outnumbered in trying to protect the flock. In my dream I fear for him, that he will be attacked… killed.”

  “We will do something.” He placed his hands on his hips. “At first light, I will investigate further, and now, thanks to your dream, we can change the course of our future, and that of our livestock.” He smiled. “You are quite the find, Duna.”

  “I’ve pleased you?” She knew she had, by the tone of his voice and the soft look in his eyes.

  “Yes, very much.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Three weeks later

  “Oh, you clever boy, you found the little critter.” Duna clapped as Misty shoved his tiny paw between two barrels and prodded a mouse. “You’re growing up to be so clever.”

  He’d almost doubled in size, he chewed everything and had just about learned not to jab his claws into Duna as she held him—for each time he did, she yelped and pushed him aside.

  “That’s it, a bit more,” she encouraged. She had jobs to do, but playing with Misty was too tempting.

  He flattened his small furry body to the stone floor and stretched to reach the mouse.

  But it must have found an escape route and made a run for it toward the stack of grain.

  “Misty!” she called, laughing. “This way.”

  He raced after it, going so fast he was almost a blur.

  Duna followed him, tugging the sack of grain away from the wall to make his job easy. The sooner the mice population was extinguished the better. Halvor was anxious not to have their winter stores depleted.

  “Duna! Why in Odin’s name are the hens still out?”

  She gasped. The harsh tone of Halvor’s voice told her he was most displeased.

  Glancing out of the propped open window, she realized darkness had encroached without her noticing. With the fire blazing and caught up in her game with Misty, the time had slipped away.

  “Slave wench! Get out here.”

  She jumped up, her heart tripping over itself.

  How could she forget the hens? She was dutiful in her responsibility to them. Not only that she was quite fond of them, they were prettier than the ones back home, cluckier too, as if they had conversations with each other and her.

  She left Misty to his hunt and raced outside. The chill of the evening wrapped around her.

  “Duna!” Halvor shouted again. “Where are you?”

  “I’m here, Master.” She rushed to the hens that were pecking around the edge of the vegetable patch. “Come on, come on.” She ushered them to the barn, but as she went she spotted several fluffy white feathers catching on the breeze. “Oh, no. Not that.”

  Looking into the shadows, she searched for an injured hen, or a fox, or maybe a big bird of prey feasting on one of her livestock.

  But there was nothing.

  More feathers fluttered past her, each one evidence of a struggle.

  “Quickly, quickly.” She ran this way and that, sending the hens into their coop.

  Raven was barking; something had set him off.

  Halvor appeared at her side, wearing just his breeches, for he’d been working in the field all day. “One of them is missing.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “There are more feathers on the breeze than a bird can lose.” He slammed the door of the coop shut, trapping the clucking hens safely inside for the night.

  The sheep were quiet, having been put away a few minutes ago and feasting on meadow grass Duna had collected earlier for them.

  “It’s your one eve job.” He slammed his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “How can I plow, drive in the sheep, and see to the hens?”

  “You can’t, I’m so sorry.” She clasped her hands behind her back and hung her head.

  She hadn’t had a spanking since the day at the lake. She’d worked hard, obeyed, tried to make the best of the situation she’d found herself in.

  But now she feared a bare-bottomed spanking was in her near future.

  “I am sorry, Master,” she said again. “Perhaps you will allow me to search for the hen.”

  “Raven can do that.” He turned to the dog and spoke in his native dialect. Raven began scooting around, with his nose to the ground. “At least it wasn’t the rooster.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Get in the longhouse, wench. I will see to you in a moment.”

  See to you.

  She knew what that meant.

  She scurried into the longhouse, perspiration popping in her armpits and cleavage.

  Misty had been successful and was snacking on his catch.

  She left him to it, then rushed to the fire and threw on two stumpy logs, poked at it to bring it back to life. She’d neglected the flames while she’d been playing with Misty and that would double her spanking, for another of her jobs was to keep it burning.

  Perhaps if she quickly made Halvor’s supper, he’d go easy on her. Food would maybe mellow his mood.

  She grabbed two carrots, a parsnip, and some salted mutton.

  “Put that down.”

  Her belly clenched, and she tensed all over, especially her buttocks.

  “Now!”

  She tossed the food back into the basket. “I was making—”

  “I do not care what you are making. I care about a lost hen which I paid good coins for and still had another year, at least, of laying.”

  Again she hung her head. “I wish it had not happened.”

  “What were you doing for it to happen? How can you not notice the sun slipping from the sky?”

  “I was…” She could hardly bring herself to give the explanation. She feared it would mean her ass was tanned more severely.

  “Spit it out, Duna.”

  “I was playing with Misty. Well, not playing, Master, teaching him to catch mice. And he was successful, look.” She pointed at him.

  Halvor didn’t look. “He is a cat, he can teach himself to catch mice, which means you were wasting time when you had duties to perform.”

  “Yes, Master.” She paused and swallowed a lump the size of a crab apple, which had formed in her throat. “I understand that I’ve disappointed you.”

  “You have. And when you’d been doing so well at carrying out instructions, slave. I haven’t had to spank you for a long time.”

  She could hear the disappointment in his tone. It made his voice deeper, dragged out the last few words of his sentence.

  Staring at her feet, she wriggled her toes within her boots.

  “Bend over the table,” he said.

  “I do not understand.”

  “I think you do, bend… over… the… table.”

  Nerves swirled within her belly, memories of her previous spankings filling her mind. She was glad there was no ginger root in the house.

  “Now!” he commanded, his tone sharp.

  She started, her eyes misted. Rushing to the table, she pushed a small wooden board used for slicing bread aside and bent over. Her breasts pressed against the surface, and she went up onto her toes.

  “Pull up your dress.” He strode to the fire and held his hands to it, as if warming his palms. “Quickly.”

  Reaching behind herself, she dragged at the material of her dress, her fingers fumbling in the folds. All the time she had one eye on him, watching what he was doing, wondering how he would spank her. With his shoe? His heated palms? Or did he have some other implement in mind?

  “Right up.” He turned to her, his muscles rippling beneath his skin. “You know full well where your punishment will be delivered.”

  She did as instructed.

  The dress was at her waist, her ass in the air, covered now only by her white undergarments.

  He stepped up to her.

  Re
signed to her fate, she rested her cheek on the cool surface of the table.

  A sudden yanking of her undergarments made her gasp and jolt forward.

  Cool air slid over her ass cheeks.

  The pose was familiar now, bared to him, but still a wave of humiliation went through her. She closed her eyes, trying not to think of how she must look to him in this position. So immodest, so vulnerable. He could, and would, do what he wanted with her.

  An image of him working his cock by the lake besieged her. She snapped open her eyes, almost afraid he’d see into her mind.

  He should have done it in private.

  That thought replaced her last one. She’d touched herself, of course she had, but never when anyone would see her. Not that she’d truly understood what all the fuss was about. Her friend in the village had said playing with her cunny made her breathless and she struggled to keep her mind. Apart from that one time with the ginger, almost at this very spot, that hadn’t been Duna’s experience.

  “You have added some meat to your bones,” Halvor said, smoothing his warm palms over her ass cheeks. “That pleases me for I was fearful for your strength and stamina come the winter.”

  “I only want to please you, Master.” As she said it, she realized she did… mostly. Bringing a smile to his face with a good meal, making him laugh with a comment gave her a warm, mellow feeling inside.

  But there was nothing warm and mellow about this moment—she was in for a good spanking, she knew that with every piece of her heart.

  “You should be able to take your punishment better,” he said, “with more flesh. But do not fear, that won’t affect my treatment of you.” His work-roughened palms caught on her skin. She imagined his hand spanned her buttock entirely as he rubbed over each one.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He set his hands on her shoulders, pressing her into the table. “I do not wish you to move from this position, slave.”

  “I won’t, Master.”

  “I want my hands free, not keeping you captive.”

  “I will do my best.” Her ass was tingling already, as if the skin there knew what was coming. Her heart beat so fast she could feel her pulse in her temple.