“Come for me, little wife,” he said, and I couldn’t control myself any longer—I moaned out his name over and over, gasping and panting, pleasure tearing through me increasing every moment as he filled me over and over again. Brynjulf reached climax right as I was finishing, and I let out a final moan of pleasure at the sensation of his heat flooding into me, deep inside. He let my legs fall from his shoulders and picked me up by the waist, pulling me along with him as he climbed into bed. He laid back amongst my pillows, cradling me against him, his cock still inside of me, twitching slightly with the aftershocks of his pleasure. “It’s been like torture, ever since I found you on the road,” he told me as his hands roamed over my body. “I wanted to pull you into the woods and rip off your clothes and have you right there.” I chuckled, lifting myself up onto my elbows and looking down at my husband; in spite of his new scars, and our years apart, he was still as gorgeous as ever.
“Being a good Viking wife, I would have absolutely let you.” Brynjulf laughed, sitting up slightly. He began to unbraid my hair, slowly working his fingers through it; I remembered that he loved to see my hair unbound.
“That reminds me, I still have to punish you for trying to command me.” I smiled slowly. I remembered the way that my husband liked to “punish” me—the strangely stimulating and heady feel of his hand coming down across my ass.
“Yes, husband,” I said, kissing him everywhere I could reach with my lips. “I have been such a poorly-behaved wife.” I looked into his bright blue eyes. “I believe it will take the rest of the day for you to punish me properly.” Brynjulf laughed out loud, pulling my face up and kissing me deeply. I could feel him becoming hard already, his cock stirring inside of me.
“And the whole night, as well.”
We only stayed in the village for a few months; we needed time to arrange everything we would need. I had kept what I could of Brynjulf’s treasures—what hadn’t been looted by the villagers who had separated us—and after Brynjulf and the other men who had been enslaved with him had fought and won their freedom, he had used his Viking talents to earn or take as much gold and silver as he could. We provisioned ourselves and prepared for a journey—not to the settlement that we had originally formed, but to a new place. Not far from the Viking lands my husband had known as a child, but not so close as to present a challenge to the established Viking communities.
My husband was the leader of our new community, as he had been the leader ever since I had met him. He decreed that there would be no slaves in our settlement, that all servants would be free men and women—who could serve as they liked, and would receive wages. The men who had endured slavery with him, who had followed him out of that horrible life, agreed to that law readily. We took on more servants as we prepared for our journey, and the other men who followed my husband hired their own from those in the village who wanted a change. We stocked up on food supplies and Brynjulf turned his skill to building and trading. We set off for our new home with as little danger as possible, just ahead of the winter storms. Brandt was everywhere, all the time—excited to be leaving the place where his mother was so sad, delighted at the full family he was now part of. Brynjulf began to teach our son the ways of his people, the wisdom he had learned from his own father.
Brynjulf and I could hardly keep our hands off of each other—day or night he would pull me into our room and touch me all over, stripping me out of my gown and carrying me to the bed. Sometimes we did not even make it that far, and we relived our reunion, Brynjulf lifting me up, wrapping my legs around his body and pushing me down onto his cock until I was breathless with pleasure, reeling against him. Like a wanton, I sometimes went without underclothes on, and Brynjulf would give me a little smirk, pulling me into the woods or some private place where he could take me quickly, lifting up my skirts and pressing me against a tree while I muffled the sounds of my pleasure against his chest. Or sometimes Brynjulf would interrupt me at my daily chores and lead me straight to the bedroom, reminding me in mock-serious tones that it was a wife’s duty to see to her husband’s pleasure as he stripped me down, letting me tease him with my mouth until he nearly came, and then plunging into me—or reclining in the bed and commanding me to ride him as he watched me play with my breasts. Of course, with so much sex, I was soon with child again, and Brandt was delighted at the prospect of a younger sibling—almost as delighted as my husband was at the realization that he would not miss this child’s early years.
Ashley Spector
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