Bound by the Viking (A Reluctant BDSM Erotic Romance)
By Delilah Fawkes
Aislin awoke in the dark, her wrists aching from where the ropes cut into her skin. For a moment, she panicked, unable to remember where she was or how she got here, but then the memories bubbled up, and hot tears rolled down her cheeks. In her mind’s eye, she saw the cottages burning, columns of black smoke rolling upward out of the windows of the monastery.
They’d taken it all. Everything she’s ever loved was rent from her and set to the torch or given to the blade. Everything except her sister, Brenna, who she’d seen bound like herself and thrown over the back of a horse by one of them. The brutes who swept her away from her home; who had ripped her life from her. The men from the north. The Vikings.
Aislin cursed now, her voice high and echoing, bouncing off the walls in her dark prison. She stopped when she realized no one was coming. No one cared how much she cried or screamed. Perhaps they couldn’t hear her, wherever her captors were, or even more likely, they didn’t care.
In the quiet, she could just make out a drip, drip, drip as well as a deep creaking noise, like a giant barrel full of too much whisky. Was she in a cellar? Or perhaps the belly of a ship? The thought that she might be carried away from her homeland made her shiver and pull against her restraints. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her ankles were bound together. Wherever she was, her captors wanted to make sure she didn’t cause trouble.
There was the squeal of a rusted hinge, then a piercing light that made her squint, her eyes watering from the shock after so much time in the dark. Coarse male laughter met her ears, and she winced, hating the fact that she was so helpless.
“So she’s finally awake.”
A rough hand grabbed her chin, tilting her head up. The man before her was in shadow, his features blocked by the white light of day behind his silhouette. She could make out long hair, and what looked like a sword hanging from a belt at his side.
“You were right, Eirik. She’s the fairest one we’ve captured thus far. She’ll do nicely for the chief. Bring her!”
Aislin opened her mouth to protest, but her words turned to a scream as another man stepped into the dark room and pulled her up by her coppery hair. She struggled to find her footing, bound as she was, and stumbled into a standing position.
“Quit your wailing, thrall,” the big man said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you don’t stopper that mouth.”
She closed her lips, only a small whimper escaping between them. The last thing she wanted was to be brutalized by someone so large. Sure, she’d fought them all the way when they’d first snatched her from her home, but she still felt the bruises, reminders of how much that fighting had gained her.
The big man pulled her out into the light. At first, she still squinted, adjusting her eyes as she was pulled along, but the sound of waves, working men’s grunts, and the cry of sea fowl circling overhead let her know soon enough she was on an ocean vessel. Her eyes stopped watering as she was dragged to the front of the ship, past what she now saw were rows of men pulling oars, their wide-shoulders sweat-drenched in the hot midday sun.
He dragged her to the bow and yanked her hair again, forcing her to stare straight ahead.
“See that, little one? See that strip of land up yonder? That will be your home from now on. Welcome to Paaviken, and your new life. If you please the chief, you could have a place here.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks now, chilling her as she shivered in nothing but ropes and her torn shift, facing what she feared was now her destiny. Up ahead, she saw a scattering of wooden buildings surrounding a great hall, all nestled on the icy banks of a wide bay. They would be on shore any minute, and for the first time, she wondered how long she’d slept in the darkness of the ship.
How long had it been since her home burned? Since she was taken?
Not that time mattered when each second sped her toward some new horror.
Determined to cry no more for these brutish men, she let her last tears dry in the harsh sea air, setting her jaw. She would face whatever was to come with all the bravery she could muster. It’s what her father would have wanted.
***
Once on shore, she was taken by several large-boned women with hard faces into an outbuilding and scrubbed unceremoniously in a half-barrel full of warm water. She felt like a mule standing there naked before these strangers, getting her skin rubbed raw with coarse cloths, until she was clean and glowing. They removed the ropes, and she winced as the hot water touched the raw skin, but was glad for the kindness nonetheless.
They chattered softly among themselves, ignoring her even as they dressed her, laying out clean garb for her to wear, obvious finery compared to their own homespun and furs. They brushed her wet hair, touching it and commenting on its color and softness, so much different than their own. Compared to their muddy blonde, her red must have been something special, especially the way they fawned over her appearance, braiding it artfully in a way that made her feel like a princess. Either that, or a whore.
She’d never dressed this well or fussed much over her looks, much less lain with a man, but as the hours passed, it became increasingly clear that she was being prepared as a gift of sorts for the head of this village. The thought made fear coil inside her stomach like a snake, the anxiety biting at her as she thought of who might be waiting for her in the long hall.
“Are you a maid?” One of the women glared down at her, hands on her strong hips.
Tears threatened to sting her eyes again, but she squared her jaw and nodded. “Yes.”
The woman frowned at her, then grabbed her with calloused hands, digging under her skirt before she could fight her off. An index finger worked its way between her squirming thighs and invaded her tightness. Aislin clapped a hand over her mouth as a sharp pain ripped through her. Her muscles clenched around the woman, and to her horror, a wetness grew as the blonde woman examined her.
Finally, she removed her hand and gave a sharp nod. Apparently, she’d passed the test. Her cheeks burned with humiliation as her sea blue gown as pulled roughly back down and smoothed down over her bare body. She would have given anything at that moment for a stitch of undergarments, but she knew that barrier would do no good. She was completely at these barbarians’ mercy. There was nothing that could stop them, not with so many of them in one place, and her stranded on this icy stretch of unfamiliar land.
She couldn’t run, or she’d surely freeze to death, if she didn’t starve first, and if she tried to wrestle a weapon away, she’d be overcome. For now, she knew she needed to be brave. And the bravest thing of all would be to let them do what they wished with her, if only to keep herself alive. Her moment would come, and in time, God willing, she would escape.
Raucous laughter met her ears and she cringed, dragged along by the strong hands of the blonde women. The cold bit into her in a way she never experienced back on the emerald isle--her former home. She shook, her small frame trembling as she was pushed along, as if she weighted no more than a leaf.
The door slammed open and she was pushed inside, feet barely skimming the floor in the leather shoes they'd given her, her linen gown swishing around her as she stumbled along as best she could. The smell of cooking game meat filled her nostrils, and her stomach rumbled painfully. How long had it been since she'd eaten a real meal?
Men filled the long benches of the hall, their long hair rippling down their backs in waves, some bearded and some clean-shaven. They laughed and hit one another as she passed, each eating a rich-looking stew out of a trough of crusty bread. She had the almost overwhelming urge to drop
to her knees in front of one of them and beg for mercy--Let me eat! Help me, and I'll be yours!--but there was no opportunity as she was pushed roughly forward, past the stink of stale sweat and ale, and the clamor of drinking horns slamming down on rough-hewn wood.
She looked up then, to where she was being taken, the dais at the end of the hall. Her breath caught in her throat. A man sat on an intricately-carved wooden chair, above the rest of the men, laughing with a man standing nearby, but possessing an undeniable air of authority. His hair was like bright wheat, falling down his shoulders, longer than the others and shining in the light from the flickering torches on the walls. His tunic was held at the shoulder with an intricate silver brooch, his cloak of fine dark wool. His close-trimmed golden beard accentuated the firm line of his jaw, masculine and yet altogether beautiful juxtaposed with his soft lips and piercing grey eyes.
Aislin tried not to stare, but at that moment, he turned to regard her, his eyes focused on hers, hard like iron, but as arresting as ice on a winter lake. Heat blossomed in her breast as she met his gaze, and saw the first flicker of approval.
"What have you brought me?" His voice was rich and silken, his accent rounded and flowing.
"This girl is the fairest of the thralls we took. The men wanted to make a gift of her."
The tall woman at her right curtsied, and the others released her, making her stumble before the great wooden chair. They left and suddenly, she felt alone and exposed, standing before this great man. Warriors surrounded him, staring down at her slender body, their eyes sliding down over her delicate curves.
The chief dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and soon, despite the crowd joking and eating around us, she felt her world narrow to just her and him--the only thing that existed was the dais and the beautiful man radiating power and male potency in a way she couldn't deny.
"Come here, girl."
She bowed her head and moved to him, drawn toward him by the power of his command, although her whole being warred against compliance. Was this the man they'd planned to make her lie with? Who would take her against her will? To ruin her for all others?
Her cheeks colored as she wondered, would it be so bad?
"Look at me."
She tried to keep her chin from trembling as she raised her eyes to his once more. He reached for her and slid his rough palm over her cheek.
"Such soft skin, and such deep blue eyes... My men didn't lie. With your fiery hair, you are an exceptional beauty. Do you know that, girl?"
Aislin kept her eyes on him, but felt like her voice had left her. She pursed her lips.
The chief narrowed his eyes. “When I ask you a question, you will answer me, thrall. Do you understand?”
His voice suggested dark consequences if she disobeyed.
“Yes, my Lord.”
The air of authority around him made something stir inside of her. Despite her fear, she respected this man. It wasn’t a choice—it was just something that happened in his presence, she suspected.
He laughed, a hearty warm sound that made her blood stir. “I’m no Lord. For now, my sweet, call me ‘Master.’ I think you need to learn your place here if you’re going to share my bed.”
She swallowed hard. This man expected to lie with her. It was made as plain as day what her fate would be. She squeezed her thighs together, and wondered what it would be like. Would there be pain? Should she fight him, or would that just result in an even worse time for her, possibly even death?
The fierceness in his eyes frightened her, his strong hands whispering promises of torment if she did not obey his every command.
“Yes… Master.”
The word tasted foreign on her tongue. Her family had been poor, yes, but they’d never been anyone’s servant, much less a kidnapped slave. An ache grew in her chest, and she wondered how anyone could stand it? Being caged like a bird, unable to do anything but please another against your free will?
“Good girl.”
He pulled her roughly to him, and sat her on his lap, his strong arms encircling her delicate frame. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she remained still, forcing herself not to struggle. She could feel his heartbeat against her back and smell the masculine scent of him—leather and horse and the spicy musk of his sweat. More than that, his rock hard body surrounding her made her body heat, responding to him in a primal way that was unwanted, yet still exciting. Forbidden.
She’d never been held by a man before. Not like this.
The Viking chief stroked her hair, letting its silken strands fall through his fingertips. She shivered in his arms, and he chuckled.
“You’re mine now, little girl. You’d better get used to my touch.” He leaned in until his lips were on her ear, his breath tickling her. “And I will touch you how and whenever it pleases me.”
The soft brush of his mouth on her neck made her whimper, a fire building inside of her at his touch.
“Yes, Master.”
She didn’t dare anger him by shying away, not with all of his men surrounding him, weapons at the ready. Ready to hit. Ready to kill. It would be a long while until the image of her burning home left her mind, if ever. She couldn’t forget herself here, or what she was. Helpless, and so alone it made her chest ache.
He pulled her back on his lap until she was forced to lie back against him, her back to his front, as if she were a child on her father’s lap. But his motives were most definitely not fatherly.
One muscle-corded arm held her tightly around her waist, while the other gathered up the hem of her skirt. She tried to push his hand down, momentarily forgetting herself, but he swatted her hand away.
“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice cold like a dagger.
He pulled Aislin’s skirt up over her knees, and she squeezed her legs together, her cheeks burning at the thought of this room full of raucous men seeing her virgin body.
“You’ll learn soon that your body is mine, little girl,” Alrik said. “And if I wish others to see it, then see it, they shall.”
His rough palm slid up the inside of her thigh, pausing just beneath her bunched skirt, the trail he left burning her like a brand. Something deep inside of her yearned for this, aching at his touch, the touch of this brutally handsome, powerful man, but her conscious mind recoiled.
“You’re untouched, but soon I’ll show you what it means to be a woman.”
His voice was soft in her ear as his fingers inched slowly upward. She squirmed against him, and he groaned. To her horror, she felt his manhood stirring beneath her bottom, growing hard between her cheeks. Unwanted, a rush of heat blossomed between her own legs at the thought of him, aroused by her body moving against his.
“Keep that up, and I may take you here and now, little girl.”
His lips closed over her earlobe, biting her in a way that made her neck flush and her head spin. Then his tongue darted out, tasting her, and she barely stifled a moan herself.
What was this man doing to her? This was obscene, but his soft touches and the hardness of his body were titillating her against her will. She wanted to curse her traitorous flesh, but before she could think on it any longer, his hand moved higher, and his fingers brushed over her sex.
He parted her red curls and slid his fingertips between her velvet folds. Involuntarily, a moan escaped her lips and she leaned back against him. The feeling was altogether delicious—little jolts of pleasure rolling through her core as he stroked her secret place with sure movements.
“You’re a naughty little thing, aren’t you?” He breathed in her ear. “You’re wetter than a fish.” He moved lower, tracing her opening in a way that made her bite her lip to keep from gasping. He dipped the tip of his finger in, and she winced, squeezing around him.
“So tight,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
A few of the men had noticed the display happening on their chieftain’s dais and shouted ribald jokes.
“Spread her legs wide!”
“Let’s see that red little cunt of hers!”
Her face reddened, a hot tear rolling down her cheek, even as she tried to hold it back.
“Please,” she said. “Please…”
“Please what, little girl?” The Viking chief held her thigh in an iron grip and began stroking her more vigorously, his thumb rubbing evil little circles around her aching nub.
“Please, Master… Make it stop!”
Her shame was almost more than she could bear. She was a chaste young woman that had never brought embarrassment to her clan. Not until now, forced to show herself to these course warriors like a common harlot. And what was worse, the pleasure was coiling tight inside of her until her muscles were as tight as a drum, her face growing hot as the flames roared inside of her belly, stoked unwillingly by each stroke of her captor’s skillful hand.
A dark laugh met her ear, and instead of letting her be, a rough hand undid the clasp on her dress, drawing down the fabric to expose the rounded apples of her breasts. The crowd cheered, men banging on the wooden tables as they devoured her with their eyes. Her master’s erection pressed hard against her, and she mewled, helpless to resist her humiliation, caught between ecstasy and a sadness so great, she thought it might break her.
A sob welled up in her throat just as he squeezed her breasts, pinching her nipples into stiff peaks, throbbing and aching with need. Then, his hand closed gently around her throat, his voice once again rasping in her ear.
“You will cum whenever I wish it, little girl. Your body is mine, and so is your pleasure.”
He tightened his hand, reinforcing her status as prisoner, mind and body, just as he pinched her clit. Her thighs shook, then froze as she came with a wail, tears splashing down her reddened cheeks as she trembled in his lap.
“Yes,” he growled. “Cum for me. Let yourself go in my arms.”
She couldn’t do anything but what he commanded, her body convulsing in a wave of pleasure so intense, her vision grew dark for a moment, before the sound and color of the long hall came roaring back.
Bound by the Viking, Part 1: Captured Page 1
